alf and bet, or miss batby's tale

by emily de villaincourt

i do not care for the stories you have been telling us, emmeline informed miss batby, the governess, when story hour came round and the fire had been lit. is that so, miss? miss batby replied. and what is it that you do not like about them? there are too nice by half, too milksoppy. so you would like a nasty story instead? if you please. and you, master philip, miss batby asked emmeline’s twin brother, would you like a nasty story? it is all the same to me, philip replied, in his world weary way. very well, then, said miss batby, here is the story of alf and bet. alf and bet were best friends. everybody thought so. they went everywhere together, and were almost never seen apart. alf sincerely loved bet. but bet secretly hated alf. alf had happy dreams every night. bet was in most of them, smiling and singing and dancing. bet had dreams every night, mostly of subjecting alf to slow roasting and other torments. nobody ever suspected this. they went on a trip to the south seas. their boat was capsized by a violent storm. they spent days on a raft with seven other passengers, all of whom perished of hunger. as the other passengers died, their bodies were eaten by the survivors. this was more difficult than it sounds, as they had no tools or any way to make a fire, and they were all civilized people who were unused to relying on such desperate measures for survival. also, some of them, including alf and bet, had weak teeth, and could only manage to chew scraps and leftovers. in spite of this, alf and bet were the last two survivors. finally the raft washed up on a small rocky island. there was water on the island, but no vegetation. and absolutely nothing to eat. alf and bet began eating what little was left of the other passengers. both realized only too well that when the scraps were finished, one of them would have to eat the other. in a final gesture of love, alf decided to swim away during the night, to spare bet the agony of making so heartbreaking a choice. waking in the morning and finding alf gone, bet was consumed by a final paroxysm or rage and hatred at being thus cheated out of a last meal or two, and perished of a burst spleen. so ends the story of the best friends alf and bet, miss batby concluded. was that nasty and unpleasant enough for you, miss? emmeline shrugged. it was all right. i give you e for effort. pooh, said philip, i can tell a nastier story than that, without half trying.