Page:The life of the insects by Čapek brothers.pdf/16

 Felix. I don’t know. I forget. It was so long ago. I was a schoolboy.

Victor. Ah, you were still a caterpillar. Gobbling up all the leaves.

Iris. A little kitty kitty kitty caterpillar. Was she dark and beautiful?

Felix. As beautiful—

Iris. As what?

Felix. As beautiful as you.

Iris. And did she love you?

Felix. I don’t know. I never spoke to her.

Iris. Good heavens! What did you do to her then?

Felix. I looked at her from afar.

Victor. Sitting on a green leaf?

Felix. And wrote poems, letters—my first novel.

Victor. It ’s appalling the number of leaves a caterpillar uses up.

Iris. Don’t be nasty, Victor. Look, his eyes are full of tears.

Victor. Tears? Poor little cry-baby.

Felix. They’re not, they’re not Iris. Let me see—look into my eyes quickly.

Victor. One, two, three, four—Ah! I knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.

Iris. What ’s the colour of my eyes, Felix dear?

Felix. Blue—like heaven.

Iris. Yours are brown—golden-brown. I don’t care for blue eyes, they’re so cold. Poor Clytie has green eyes, hasn’t she? Do you like Clytie’s eyes, Felix?

Felix. Clytie’s? I don’t know. Yes—she has beautiful eyes.

Iris. Oh, but her legs are dreadfully thick! You’re such bad judges of women, you poets.