The Spider

Sunday, 27 March 2011 13:12

Written by Anirooddha Mukherjee

He stood staring at the spider swaying menacingly near the mirror above the washbasin. The boy with two thumbs had his toothbrush in his left hand and the tube of toothpaste in his right. He shifted his eyes from the spider to his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were slowly opening wide in fear, in the revolting anticipation of something ominous to happen.

Suddenly the spider moved again and his eyes shot back to it. It wasn’t a huge black scary spider. It was a seemingly harmless household web-spinning spider, scores of which annoy us by their cobwebs sprouting up every week at corners and around tube-lights. Nevertheless, the spider scared the boy with two thumbs. Every morning as he got up and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, he saw the spider. It had an uncanny sense of prediction, as it positioned itself at the exact same spot near the mirror at the very moment the boy clicked on the light in the bathroom. The spider drew the boy to itself, much like a magnet draws iron fillings, and the boy, in spite of his terrified self, walked towards the washbasin, his eyes never leaving the swaying spider. He picked up his toothbrush and paste in a daze as he looked at the spider moving its legs threateningly. He tried to count the number of legs but couldn’t, as the moving leg distracted him, bringing his thoughts back to the spider’s intentions.

The spider inched forward and the boy left the tube and gripped the edge of the washbasin. He stood motionless as the spider moved along the edge of the mirror and stepped onto the washbasin. The boy took in his breath sharply. He knew the spider wouldn’t harm him, but he shook with fear nevertheless. His grip tightened on the washbasin’s edge as the spider started moving towards his hand, one spider-step at a time, closing the gap with infinite accuracy.

The boy stood hypnotized, utterly helpless, unable to move a single muscle voluntarily, as blackness clouded his eyes. The spider covered the remaining few centimeters and stood right next to the boy’s hand still tightly gripping the washbasin. The moment seemed like an hour. Through the haze in his eyes, the boy could see the spider’s leg moving slowly towards his hand, like an axe being brought down on a log of wood. He couldn’t watch more and shut his eyes closed.

When he opened them again, the spider was scurrying back to its position near the mirror. He looked at his hand. He had gripped the basin so hard that his knuckles had turned white. He looked at the spider. It was back near the edge of the mirror and was swaying cockily, as if mocking his pathetic condition. He looked at his left hand. His toothbrush wasn’t in his hand anymore. He had dropped it when he had closed his eyes, stricken with fear.

He tried to forget it as just a nightmare, a dream in his sleep, and started brushing his teeth hastily. He didn’t dare to look at the mirror again.

This had been happening for the past two weeks- about the same time he had joined his new school. And for the past two weeks he was being bullied by a classmate, a burly fellow with a scar above his left eyebrow. Every morning as the boy with two thumbs entered the school premises, with his satchel in his hand, he came face to face with the boy with the scar. Their eyes met for a while. The scar scared the boy. He imagined it to be a memento from a violent knife fight. The scar scared him more than the boy himself. When the boy smiled, the scar gave him a vicious look.

Suddenly the boy with the scar packed his palm into a fist and aimed it at the two-thumbed boy’s face. He saw the fist coming towards him, his vision blurred again and he closed his eyes. Half a moment later, he felt the punch pass harmlessly over his head, slightly ruffling his hair. He opened his eyes and saw that his satchel had dropped from his hand. He heard the evil cackle of laughter from the scarred boy, picked up his satchel, bent his head and made his way to his class.

The next morning, as he clicked on the light in the bathroom, his eyes almost involuntarily went to the spot near the edge of the mirror. His tormentor was there, waiting to unleash its tyranny. But the boy with two thumbs had something else in his mind. This morning, he held his toothbrush in his right hand and stood confidently in front of the mirror. The spider stopped swaying and started to move towards the washbasin, one spider-step at a time. But its steps weren’t as precise and as accurate as they used to be. Perhaps it had somehow sensed the change in the boy’s stance, and was moving hesitantly.

The boy’s vision was crystal clear this morning. He saw in perfect detail the eight legs of the spider carrying it slowly down the wall and onto the washbasin’s edge. He bent and lowered his face. The spider saw the movement and halted, unsure of whether to proceed or to retreat. The boy saw the spider quivering, instead of swaying now, quivering maybe in apprehension. He stood still for a moment, and then blew air at the spider with all his might.

The blast of air caught the spider unawares. It flew off the washbasin’s edge and dropped to the floor. The boy imagined the spider with its spider-eyes wide open in surprise mixed with fear, and a faint smile played on his lips.

The same morning at school, the boy with two thumbs punched the boy with the scar, right at the scar above his left eyebrow.