Memoirs of Ali
Chapter 2
It was an overcast day and I was hunting, concealed in the twigs of one of the bushes near the tree roots. I heard a soft krrit and crept softly toward the noise. There in the bush with me was a young brown cricket, cheeping joyously, oblivious to the world.
The kill was easy. He was delicious.
As I savored the crunch of meat and the flow of blood, I felt a glow of pride. I was much, much stronger and bigger now that I was hunting regularly, and my plates were a handsome, vivid green. Soon, I guessed, I would be able to fly; already I was beginning to take very long leaps through the air aided by my developing wings. I cleaned the last bit of salty fluid from my jaws, stretched, and breathed deeply, feeling very conceited and sleepy. Then:
“That was a nice catch.”
It was the loudest voice I had heard in my life and I shook to hear it. I yelped and whirled around. There was the biggest creature I had ever seen; brown and scaly, it held my gaze with yellow eyes, swaying lethally through the air as it did so. It had no legs. Its tongue slithered out and slapped my face; I saw a glimpse of glinting teeth.
“I'm called a snake,” it said, answering my question before I had asked it.
“Please . . .” I breathed. “Don't eat me. I . . . I taste . . . horrible.”
The snake laughed; a high, clicking, deadly noise. I took a step back. Every instinct was telling me to run, but I was frozen to the spot. Something told me that if I dared to try and escape, those glittery teeth would pierce me quickly.
“Ahhhh, you're a funny one,” the snake said. “Actually, you're not. You've got every right to be afraid. I eat bugs for breakfast every day. I suppose you saw what I did to those caterpillars?”
I stared. “You gave me the caterpillars?”
“Didn't I,” said the snake, and I relaxed ever so slightly. It didn't seem that this strange creature was about to eat me, and now I could hear that although its voice was still disconcertingly loud, it had a kind of music about it too, albeit a shrewd, poisonous music.
“But – but why?” I said.
The snake sighed. “Blessed if I know. Normally I bite little bugs like you into mash, not feed them. What's your name?”
Here was a new concept. “Name?” I said.
“Name,” the snake repeated. “It's what other beasts call you, you know, when they see you as a friend or a person and not a slimy bit of meat on a rock. I'm called Aspen. But I guess mantises don't have names. Sorry if I offended you.”
“You didn't,” I said quickly. “I'd love a name.”
“Then I'll give you one,” said Aspen. “Now, what's a name for a puny little mantis kid like you, I wonder?”
I was indignant. “Puny?” I sputtered. “I can catch my own food!”
“Now you can,” said Aspen idly, “but wasn't I feeding you like a baby deer just a few weeks ago? I think you've gotten proud, puny little mantis.”
I glared at her, mortified, but said nothing. Aspen laughed again.
“Don't feel bad. We're all proud when we're young – I was too.” She looked weary for a second, but shook herself and said: “You still need a name. Will Ali work for you?”
I considered this.
“I like it,” I said.
“I”m glad you do, because I'm not thinking of another,” said Aspen. “Now tell me – when are you planning on moving out from under your little root? It's got to be soon.”
I looked at her in surprise. “I – I didn't think it had to be, Aspen,” I said.
“Ah, well, I suppose not. But the time will come when you won't want to be staying in one place anymore, Ali. You'll start smelling the sweet scents.”
“The what?”
“The sweet scents. You'll be finding a female,” she said when I continued to gawk at her. “You can't die before making a couple of kids. Not in this world. Not when you're a vermin. Nothing's more important.”
“You know a lot,” I said, admiring her, and I saw a flicker of pleasure in her yellow eyes.
“It's called aging,” she said. “Hopefully it'll happen to you, too.”
We were quiet for a while. Then I said, “Aspen?”
“Yes, Ali?”
“I – you were really – I mean – thanks for the caterpillars,” I finished lamely.
“Don't mention it,” she said. “It was no trouble. No, none at all. Just don't go telling every snake you meet that I did it, okay? They'd never let me forget it.”
“Do you want to forget it?” I asked her, feeling strangely cheeky.
“Only if you keep asking these stupid questions,” she said, but her voice was kind, and I felt warmth wash over me from the brightness of her eyes, and dared to think that maybe, just maybe, I had managed to find a friend.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Over the next several weeks I began moving further and further away from my home tree, but always returned home at night. I continued testing and honing my wings, and several times was able to flutter with an effort from tree to tree. Many days I met Aspen. I had a suspicion that she often followed me through the forest, watching me, but I did not begrudge her; in fact, the hours I spent talking with her were some of the sweetest in my life.
She had considerable knowledge on all the most interesting subjects: the direction of the wind, the patterns of the stars, and the animals of the forest. It was from her that I first heard of humans, those strange, sensitive, upright creatures who lived in houses bigger than the greatest of trees. But most interesting of all were the things she told me about her own life, things that I first heard from her one day when we were resting together in the heart of the forest, me sitting on a low tree branch, her coiled around the roots.
“You're awfully handsome, you know,” she said, watching me keenly.
Her voice sounded odd to me. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
She looked at me sharply for a moment.
“I never would've thought you'd dare to ask that.”
I shrugged sheepishly. It was true – a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have dared, but we were becoming better friends each day and (to my surprise) I found I was genuinely concerned, something I had not been about another creature before.
“I was just wondering,” I muttered, “but if you don't want –”
“Don't bother,” she said gruffly. “I suppose it's a story you should hear sooner or later. All right, then. I was calling you handsome because you remind me of Skan.”
“Who's Skan?”
“Don't interrupt. Skan was my mate. I met him when I was barely older than you are now. He was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in my life, I'll tell you that now. And when I asked him if he'd mate with me, he said yes right away because normally it's tough for a young male snake to get a female all to himself. We had the nicest batch of eggs you ever saw.”
She was speaking quickly, and her voice was heavy with an emotion I had never heard in her voice before. I leaned forward a bit, the better to listen.
“What happened?”
“Skan ran off,” she said. “He ran off and the little ones followed. He never did like me the way I liked him. I should've seen it sooner, but I was blind.”
“That's normal, though, isn't it?” I said. “I mean, my siblings and I never knew our parents, and we left the nest as soon as we were born, too. And parents never really like each other, do they?”
“Most don't,” said Aspen heavily. “But like I said – I was blind. I thought Skan was different form most creatures. I was wrong.”
“I'm sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “It must be hard for you. But do you know why you felt . . . the way you did?”
“I've heard some creatures call it love,” said Aspen. “But I'm not sure if that's right. Only humans really understand love, they say.”
“The humans understand a lot,” I said.
“They do.”
“Have you ever met one, Aspen?” I said.
“No,” said Aspen quietly. “But I heard that sometimes they come by on the road by the forest. Maybe you'll see one someday.”
“I'll tell you if I do,” I said, and Aspen chuckled.
“You be sure and do that.”
Looking back now, I think I should have treasured those happy hours more, should have committed myself to remembering Aspen's voice a little bit better. For I did not know that very soon, those carefree days would be like no more than a happy, barely-remembered dream.
* * * * * * * * * *
It is a funny thing how, when you keep your emotions inside yourself, they work to make you hard and unfeeling, but when you let them out, they soften you. My long talks with Aspen succeeded in making me the most sentimental mantis in the forest. Emotions that before had been dull and fleeting now welled up inside of me like a great fountain. I could actually feel my insides constricting with happiness one day as I practiced my flight, leaping from bough to bough and beating my wings madly in the hope that I would maybe, just maybe be able to gain a little altitude. I was home, I had a home and a best friend, I was free.
Sunlight hit my face suddenly. It was a second before I realized where I was: on a tree overlooking the rocky path that ran through the woods, the path built by humans. I was both further out and higher up than I had ever gone. Excitement exploded inside of me and I scrambled further up the tree, eager to see as much as I could. All the time I kept my eyes on the path, eager to see a human, but none passed. I was not disappointed. Perhaps the humans took a while to pass by. I would simply have to wait.
So, perched on a far branch and watching the road like a hawk, I waited. It was hard when I was feeling so accomplished and excited, but I entertained myself with fantasies of seeing a human and describing it to Aspen. Perhaps her eyes would turn bright and warm and she would congratulate me, and say that I was like a child to her. I felt proud at the very at thought.
Thump.
I cried out in shock. A heavy weight hit me from above; I smelled a strange, wild scent and an icy voice hissed:
“Guess who?”
I shuddered. I would recognize that voice anywhere. It was my sister, Violet.
I struggled and managed to free myself from her grasp, striking her with my front leg as I stumbled back. For the first time since the Hatching I was able to look at her clearly. She was huge, almost twice as big as me, and her shadowed eyes were filled with cold anger.
“Hello, dear brother.”
“What do you want with me?” I gasped, staggering.
“Don't play games,” Violet said. “You know exactly what I want. I want you – dead, that is.”
“You're insane,” I said shakily. “Haven't you eaten enough of your own kin?”
“I don't care who I eat,” Violet said. “But I know what you've been up to. You've been talking with a snake. You've been watching the stars and feeling the wind and licking the leaves like a mad old fly. And now this!” She gestured fiercely at the road beneath us.
“I was just watching for humans,” I told her in anger.
“Exactly!” Violet spat. “Don't you know that any self-respecting creature has nothing – nothing – to do with humans?”
I stared at her.
“I don't understand.”
“There is an old, old law,” said my sister in a low, quiet voice, “that says that wild animals and humans are to fear and hate each other. The Old Stag in the heart of the forest knows that – I saw him kill a young buck a few weeks ago who ate from a human's hand. I'm here to follow his example. You're a disgrace to my flesh. Now stop wasting my time – come here!”
She lashed at me and I dodged; she began to chase me from branch to branch.
“Come here, little brother, don't you want your sister to hug you? How about I kiss you – on the neck, where it bleeds the most!”
She threw herself bodily at me and this time her aim was true; she hit me with amazing force and we both went tumbling backwards. I heard her cry out, and we both went soaring out into the open – falling.
Goodbye, Aspen, I thought. Perhaps you will say that this was not a very practical thought to think when I was eight feet in midair, but like I said I was still sentimental and a fool, so hopefully you will forgive me for this moment of silliness.
Then something roared; something huge and obscenely loud and foul-smelling and metal was hurtling down the road, and my sister and I both landed, with a jarring thud, in its open belly.
