“Redbeet,” the General’s son yells, “are you the she beetle I mated with and am I the one who impregnated you?”
“Yes and no,” Redbeet answers.
“It is either yes or no,” he retorts.
“There were two questions,” she says.
“You agreed to mate with me,” he pursues, “therefore you agree that these children are mine, don’t you?”
“Not exactly,” Redbeet insists.
“What is it you don’t understand?”
Then the General’s son notices his father forehead is dripping with sweat.
“What’s wrong, Father?”
Redbeet begins to laugh.
“This isn’t funny, Redbeet,” the General’s son remarks, a little respect on your part would go a long way to—“.
“—There’s the father!” Redbeet says, pointing at the General. An atomic bomb might as well have dropped. A deadly silence prevails. The fall out of such cataclysmic revelation is impossible to estimate. Even in the jungle, news that feed gossip can be interesting.
The General attempts to clear his throat.
“Father?” his son asks, frowning.
“Your father is the father of my children and these children are your half brothers and sisters,” Redbeet insists, “and I am your step-mother”.
“This isn’t true, you dirty mongrel, why the need to utter such blasphemous words?” the General’s son now yells.
“Because it’s the truth. I had a flimsy moment and gave in to you too, but that was much later. I was already pregnant with your father’s littlies. I mean, the gestation period is six weeks from impregnation to birth for a beetle. You and I shared a moment three weeks ago.”
To be continued…