When you stepped out of the back door of our house in Singapore where I lived as a child, you could either turn left and down the long line of steps to the bathroom and lower compound, or you could walk in a diagonal to your right and get to the washing lines, and then the chicken coops if you walked past those.
I was near the washing lines one morning when I noticed that just beyond them and closer to the boundary fence of our compound was something glistening in the sun, seemingly in mid-air. I wondered if it was a group of fairies and went closer to see exactly what it was. I saw that, between a low hanging branch from the sour rambutan tree and the top of a low bush, a spider’s web hung in the sun. Because it was fresh it was almost moist, or at least, that was its appearance.
There, just to the right of the centre of the web was a dragonfly. It was no ordinary dragonfly. It was the most attractive, most handsome, proud, elegant and breathtakingly striking dragonfly. His entire body was a vivid vermillion. Each of his six legs was pure black, as though he was wearing highly polished ebony boots. His wings were filled with the seven colours of the rainbow, yet transparent. I was close enough to see the contours on each wing, each segment and section quite plainly. His head, although large and round, was in good proportion altogether: he did not have that “insect” look of a lopsidedly larger than required head. What looked like his eyeballs appeared to rotate within their sockets.
The most striking thing of all about this dragonfly was the expression on his face. I saw arrogance and defiance. Surely this must be a prince. Perhaps he was a prince dragonfly who had disobeyed his king father’s orders to not go out on his own without his bodyguards, and now he was in trouble. He was angry, and there was an air of determination about him as well, and I felt that I had to help him. (We could talk later about making me a princess and taking me off to a big castle with my own servants.)
I looked on the ground around me to see what I could use. A small twig which was knobbly and gnarled seemed like the best tool in the absence of something more scientific.
My intention was to “dig” the dragonfly out of the web until he could fly away. Just as I was about to start, I noticed the webmaster approaching his prey. He was big, black and furry with a large round body and a face that could not conceal his delight and glee.
I jabbed at it with my twig, not going too close because the end of the twig was only about 2 or 3 inches away from the tips of my fingers. The spider hesitated, moved slightly to one side, and waited for my next move. I stabbed the air in his direction, and he moved back, still keeping his beady eye on me. I flicked my hand towards him, and perhaps the sharp movement of air communicated to him that I meant business, and he backed right off, towards the edge of the web.
Swiftly, I got down to the task of rescuing the dragonfly. Unfortunately, I messed up the whole operation. My twig broke enough of the web to make a hole so that the dragonfly struggled to regain his balance. I used my left hand to remove the sticky string of the web from his wings. What happened next came as a huge shock to me. As my finger brushed against his face, he bit me! As I yanked my finger back in pain, I ripped the web even more. The spider started to fidget at the edge of the web, moving a few steps to the left and then to the right and back to the left again. I glared at the dragonfly, and saw that in all the commotion, he was stuck even more so than before. I had only made things worse. The spider continued to fidget impatiently at the edge of the web.
I searched my finger for the puncture wound. I cannot remember now if there was any obvious injury or not, but I do remember the sharp pain when he bit (or stung) me.
I decided to go indoors and get a more effective tool. As I turned to leave, I told them both to not move, and that I would be back shortly.
I returned with a long pair of tongs and a kitchen towel. How I was going to use them I did not know, but they seemed the best things to get.
I must have been gone for not more than a minute at most. When I returned, the spider had already begun to bind the dragonfly with sticky thread. He gave me a warning glare. I looked at the dragonfly, still a beautiful specimen, but conquered and bound. I had no choice but to concede. I watched the spider continue with his task. The final look from the dragonfly to me was still totally defiant, as if to challenge me, with a hot “What are you looking at!?!” One so proud must be a true prince, I concluded.
After a few minutes I went back into the house to return the tongs and towel. My finger was still a bit sore, but at least it was not me in a spider’s web, dying a horrible death.
A few days later, the spider was nowhere to be seen. His web had been repaired, but now was abandoned. The remains of the regal victim still hung from the web: a pair of transparent wings which no longer reflected any colour at all, and the hollowed out crisp and dry vermillion shell, still in the long shape of a dragonfly’s body.
I was filled with regret that my rescue effort had not only been in vain but had made things worse. He must have been such a character. I hope his family did not miss him too much. Although nearly nine, I could not even help a dragonfly. It was something I was not able to do, so would never even try to do again. Nonetheless, from that day to this, no dragonfly has left any impression on me as much as did that vermillion victim that humid day in Singapore when I was… almost nine!