Story 198: Reza Shadey and the Beetle Concert
It was a drizzly Saturday in Catford, and Mrs Higgins had been up in the loft.
Down she came, thump by careful thump, carrying a dusty cardboard box marked MUSIC — HANDLE WITH CARE.
She set it on the kitchen table and lifted the flaps.
"Oh, my old records! Look, Reza — The Beatles! I was their biggest fan when I was a girl. I still am. The greatest band that ever lived!"
She hugged a record sleeve fondly.
Reza Shadey, who had been watching a squirrel in the garden, froze.
"Beetles", he whispered. "She loves... beetles."
His magnificent tail puffed up like a dandelion.
Mrs Higgins was hugging a flat, papery sleeve while he, Reza Shadey, Chief Executive of the Entire Garden, received only four or five strokes a day.
This was intolerable.
"Clearly", he murmured, "Mrs Higgins requires a superior beetle experience. And I shall provide it."
Chapter One: Sergeant Reza's Lonely Hearts Club Beetles
The following morning, Reza called an emergency meeting behind the compost bin.
Penelope, Ginger Tom and little Tiger gathered around him.
"Colleagues, Mrs Higgins has declared her love of beetles. I am therefore launching Reza Shadey's Beetlemania — a one-afternoon-only concert by the greatest beetle band in history. We shall call them Sergeant Reza's Lonely Hearts Club Beetles."
Penelope yawned.
"Rezzi, dearest, are you sure she didn't mean —"
"You shall be Chief of Ethics, with a generous benefits package."
"What's the pay?" asked Ginger Tom.
"Prestige."
"I'm in", Ginger Tom sighed. He understood show business.
Tiger bounced excitedly. "Will there be a octopus's garden?"
"No, the strawberry fields are our exclusive venue."
Reza appointed Ginger Tom Director of Snacks and Tiger Head of High-Energy Outreach. Then he set off to recruit the talent.
Under the garden shed, Sinan the Raccoon was conducting his morning business from a hollowed-out compost bin.
"What's the trade today, Shadey? I've got pizza crusts, a chewed USB cable and half a pork pie."
"I require live inventory. Coleoptera. Hard-shelled, six-legged garden beetles. Premium grade."
Sinan scratched his chin.
"There's a convention under the big flowerpot by the fence. But they're a tricky lot."
"Three packets of gourmet salmon Dreamies, billed to the household entertainment budget."
"Done."
Under the flowerpot, Reza held auditions.
A splendid stag beetle was signed immediately as drummer. A shiny green beetle became lead guitarist, and a ladybird called Lucy was hired for glamour.
"Lady B", announced Reza. "Senior Female Executive."
"She's a ladybird, Rezzi", Penelope pointed out.
"That is her current job title. We are discussing her future."
A woodlouse arrived late and apologised.
"You're not technically a beetle", Reza admitted, "but the band needs a backing crustacean."
"I'm a crustacean?" the woodlouse asked, delighted.
"You are whatever I say you are. Welcome aboard."
By lunchtime, Reza had his Fab Four — two beetles, one ladybird and one backing crustacean — plus eleven assorted extras, whom he called the session crawlers.
Rehearsals began in the strawberry patch, with a yellow toy submarine from the paddling pool serving as the tour bus.
Unfortunately, the beetles showed little interest in following instructions.
"Your first priority", Reza explained, herding them with a blade of grass, "is to please Mrs Higgins. But first, you must please, please me."
The beetles wandered off.
One disappeared beneath a leaf. Another climbed a flowerpot. The woodlouse rolled away altogether.
Tiger watched them go.
"They're not really listening, Reza."
"That is organic growth", Reza replied. "The bugs do all the work."
Ginger Tom chuckled. "This is going to be a hard day's night."
"Precisely. Our competitors will work eight days a week trying to catch up."
Penelope gave him a tired look.
Chapter Two: A Magical Mystery Concert
That afternoon, the sun came out, and Mrs Higgins took her tea into the garden. She carried a plate of jam sandwiches outside, then returned indoors to fetch her record player.
"I think I'll put this beside the open window", she said. "A little Beatles music drifting into the garden. Perfect."
She placed a record on the turntable and lowered the needle.
A familiar guitar melody floated across the lawn.
Reza, inspecting his stage, stopped dead.
"Brilliant timing! The market has aligned with our launch window. Begin!"
Tiger waved a little flag beside the toy submarine. The stage was a strawberry leaf propped on two pebbles, and a sign announced WELCOME, BEETLE CEO!
Everything was ready.
Except the beetles.
They had spotted the jam sandwiches.
What followed was a beetle stampede: a shimmering, scuttling river of tiny creatures racing across the lawn towards Mrs Higgins's plate.
"STOP!" cried Reza. "That's not in the setlist!"
He flung himself into their path, waving his blade of grass.
"Left! No, right!"
The beetles swerved around his legs, tangled themselves in his tail and scattered in every direction.
One crawled straight up his nose-fluff.
Reza sneezed.
It was a magnificent sneeze, the sort that might have disturbed a small government.
He stumbled backwards into the fairy lights, which wrapped around him like a glittery cocoon. His flailing tail knocked a sandwich off the table. It landed jam-side down on his head just as he toppled into the strawberry patch.
There was a soft FLUMP.
Jam went everywhere.
Ginger Tom rolled onto his back, laughing.
"You look like a strawberry pudding, Reza!"
Before Reza could reply, the beetles marched across his jam-covered body towards the fallen sandwich. The woodlouse paused on his forehead, surveyed the view, and hurried after them.
Mrs Higgins put down her tea.
"Oh, you poor darling!"
She hurried over, untangled the fairy lights and rescued the fallen sandwich before the beetles could reach it.
"Reza, you silly sausage. Whatever possessed you?"
"The concert", he said stiffly, "was proceeding according to plan."
Mrs Higgins looked puzzled. Then she understood.
"Oh, Reza. Is this about the Beatles? You know they weren't beetles, don't you, my darling boy?"
Reza's ears twitched.
"The Beatles were a band — four young men from Liverpool, with guitars and drums and the most wonderful songs. I've loved their music since I was a little girl. I've never once hugged an actual beetle."
A long silence followed.
The stag beetle, perched beside Reza's paw, raised one twig in what might have been a sympathetic salute.
"I knew that", Reza declared at last. "The beetles were merely a tribute act. An immersive experience exploring an adjacent market. Art, Mrs Higgins. You wouldn't understand."
"Of course not, dear", she said, wiping the last of the jam from his whiskers.
Chapter Three: Let It Be
That evening, Mrs Higgins found a small matchbox and lined it with a soft leaf. She gently gathered the beetles and the woodlouse, making sure they had room to move.
"Come along, little ones. Home you go."
She carried the open box to the big flowerpot by the fence and tipped it towards the cool earth. The creatures scuttled out and disappeared beneath their familiar shelter.
"Beetles belong in flowerbeds", she said, brushing her hands together.
Then she returned indoors, settled into her armchair and invited Reza onto her lap.
He accepted with the air of a senior executive granting an audience.
The records played while the moon rose over Catford. When "Here Comes the Sun" began, Mrs Higgins noticed Reza's tail tapping gently against her knee.
"Enjoying the Beatles now, are we?" she asked.
Reza opened one eye.
"I am demonstrating executive appreciation for cultural research purposes."
"Mm-hmm", said Mrs Higgins, who heard only a contented meow.
Outside, the yellow toy submarine remained parked beside the strawberry patch, awaiting its next deployment.
Inside, the music continued. As the final record of the evening played, Reza purred quietly on Mrs Higgins's lap.
"All you need is love", he murmured sleepily. "And, in exceptional circumstances... a little jam."
Soon he was fast asleep, thoroughly satisfied with his day's work.
A very important message from Mrs Higgins:
Words that sound alike can mean very different things. The Beatles were a band, while beetles are little garden creatures. If you're ever unsure what someone means, it's always fine to ask.
And remember to be gentle with the tiny creatures in your garden. They have important work to do among the flowers.
Night night. Sleep tight.