“Ha! Ha! Ha,” the General answers attempting a laugh, unable to find the necessary words.
But his son won’t have it: “she’s lying, she’s a witch,” he says, “we can’t allow her cheap, deceiving tricks to try and get the better out of my father’s fortune and rank. She remains a bottom cast, callous she-beetle. The birth marks are here to prove that I’m the father.”
“The birth marks aren’t under the third left arm, but under the third right arm,” Redbeet remarks, “which is the General’s markings. Right or wrong?”
The General and his son are left for words. Redbeet is shining and winning.
She too laughs now but quickly regains her senses for her children’s sake. She doesn’t want them to grow confused as to the identity of their father, nor does she want to deny them the wonderful outcome this has on their future rights and income.
“They are yours, General,” she reiterates.
“You disgusting, dirty, degenerate and disorderly beetard insect!” the General’s son stutters, “you’re dead mast. Tonight, we’ll have you for dinner.”
“I’ll take it you meant beetle, not bastard or retard,” Redbeet continues feeling lucky, “as to mast,—“
“—Don’t insult the mother of my children!” the General suddenly blasts, joining ranks with the other side.
A scuffle ensues: Shinybeet attacks the General’s son who was about to jump onto the youngest of Redbeet’s children. Then, as with all memorable battles of great magnitude, the dust in the air flies and thickens as all take part into the battle. It is impossible to tell the insects apart. Foe, friends and family all fight for and against each other, because in the jungle too war is blind and knows no limit.
To be continued…