Memoirs of Ali
Chapter Four
Days passed and turned into weeks. I took up residence quite near Toby's clump of flowers, hidden between the logs of a pile of wood. I cleaned out the splinters, carried in a few strands of grass for decoration, and the end result was quite cozy, if a bit shabby. But I was, as Toby said, “just a little bachelor” – whatever that meant – and he assured me there was no need for cleanliness.
In fact, Toby was keeping annoyingly close to me almost all the time. In spite of all my warnings about my bloodthirsty diet, he remained determined to be a good neighbor and would visit my wood pile almost every day, bringing non-stop conversation and occasionally even a bit of leaf or a bit of potato scrounged from the trash. Toby, I found out, spent a lot of time in the trash can, rummaging for unwanted human food, his passion. Occasionally he would come back from a scrounge coated with some sweet, sticky liquid, dizzy and disoriented and jabbering even more than usual. He never seemed to remember these incidents.
I never saw Violet. Occasionally I would wonder where she had gone, but as the days passed I almost forgot her completely. Life in Cultivated Country wasn't as sweet as it had been back in the forest with Aspen, but it was reasonably comfortable, I had less predators to worry about, and after a while I began to think of Toby as a friend, no matter how odd and scatterbrained a friend. I kept up a steady diet of crickets and flies and rested well at night. It seemed as if life was going to settle down once more. Of course, it was not to be, otherwise I would have no story to tell you. It was all shattered again, and it started with Kamala.
The day I met Kamala, I was woken by Toby's voice echoing through my woodpile house.
“Wake up, Ali!” he yelled in his screechy tenor voice. I, used to these sudden greetings, wearily shook myself awake.
“What?” I said rather nastily, but Toby wasn't put off.
“I got something important to tell ya, Ali!” he said, practically leaping on my head. I thought privately that only our little friendship was keeping me from biting him and swallowing him whole.
“And what might that be?” I said.
At this, Toby immediately began talking so fast he sounded like he was suffocating. His chittering voice grew so high-pitched I was soon struggling to understand it at all.
“ – and she's up in the tall tree over there, Ali, and she's another mantis, and she's a female, and you've gotta go see her, Ali,” he finished at last.
His voice was laden with triumph. I watched his happy countenance fall ever so slightly under my incredulous gaze.
“Are you okay, Ali?”
“You've got to be crazy,” I said. “Another mantis? Here? You're talking about my sister, aren't you?”
“Not at all, Ali,” said Toby with a bow – at least, if a grasshopper could bow, he would have, but the actual attempt was pathetic – “not at all – beg your pardon, but your hussy sister is skinny and hen-pecking, and this is a real girl, you know. Big and strong and beautiful and green all over.”
This certainly didn't sound like Violet. “Where did she come from, though?”
“Well, I'm not entirely sure,” said Toby, “but from what I've heard she came from the park down the street because she couldn't stand her siblings.”
“What's a park?” I said.
“Humans go there,” said Toby. “There's a forest there, but it's smaller than the one you know about, I think, you know, the one you told me about, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Hey, Toby? I think I'm going to go see this for myself.”
“You should!” said Toby with enthusiasm. “She's quite the pretty one!”
Perhaps you think, like so many humans do, that we insects are naturally ugly and that it would be impossible for us to have standards of beauty for each other. You are wrong. Every species has its own definition of beauty. Honeybees, for example, look for brightness in the stripes, while houseflies are attracted to large, red eyes. Spiders and grasshoppers admire , long legs, and beetles look for colorful shells. We mantises, too, have our own standards – and the newcomer lived up to all of them.
I climbed the tall tree quickly and found a small hollow hidden by leaves. Slightly nervous, I hung around the outside. After a while a big green head came out of the hollow, followed by six pairs of long, strong-looking legs, a pair of transparent wings, and a large, blindingly green abdomen. It would like to be able to say that I was dignified, that I was cautious, that I was not immediately smitten. But this would be a lie. I was immediately smitten, and I was pathetic. I walked right up to her.
"Hello!" I asserted. She turned her huge glassy eyes on me; they looked rather menacing, and I regained myself and backed up a few steps.
"Who are you?" she said.
"I'm Ali," I said breathlessly.
"Do you live here?"
"Yeah - down on the ground, in a woodpile."
"That's a shame," she said flatly. "I always thought the most distinguished males lived in trees."
"Really?" I was feeling more mortified by the second. "Do you know any good trees to live in?"
"No trees besides this one," she said, and I noticed for the first time that her voice was friendly. I looked at more closely and saw that she was relaxed, and gazing at me with a certain interest. My hopes lifted.
"What's your name?" I asked.
She looked at me in confusion. "Name?"
She reminded me of myself. I recalled Aspen's words to me, and found myself repeating them: "It's what other beasts call you, when they see you as a person or . . . a friend . . ."
My voice trailed off. I felt the tip of her front leg touch me. I didn't back away. I couldn't if I had wanted to.
"And what is your name, little mantis?" she said.
"Ali," I breathed.
"Mayhaps you could give this humble female a name as well, little mantis?"
With a thrill of wonder I realized what she was asking me. Never before had I named another creature -- it seemed a huge responsibility to me, and for a second I considered declining. But then, I realized, I couldn't possibly deny this female anything. Inspiration took hold of me.
"Would you enjoy the name 'Kamala?'" I said.
"Yes, I would," she said at once. "I would enjoy it very much."
"Okay," I said. "All right." My heart was hammering. "I'll see you around, then . . . Kamala."
"Be sure to come back!" she called after me as I scurried down the tree trunk. I struggled not to loose my grip; I felt lightheaded. As I set my feet down on the grass, I was sure that I had never felt more alive.
* * * * * * *
The next few weeks were bliss to me; an odd, fevered sort of happiness that I had never experienced before. It was not sweet or calm like my time with Aspen had been, but wild, frantic, passionate. I went to see Kamala daily, but we rarely actually talked or did much; our time together was actually quite brief, and it was filled laughter and romps and occasionally fights. Once or twice I discussed mating with her, and once even attempted it, but she assured me that I was still young, and that there was plenty of time.
"But I'm ready now!" I said.
"Not yet," Kamala said gently. "You see, Ali, if you mate with me, the possibility is that you will die."
"Why?"
"I will need meat for my eggs after mating," she said simply. "And as quickly as possible."
This took the edge off of my desire to mate for a while.
Toby was greatly pleased by my relationship with Kamala; however, he became even more clingy and annoying than usual, practically living in my woodpile and even trying to accompany me to visit my girlfriend. Eventually I took a leaf out of Kamala's book and threatened to eat him, which was mellowed him out for a while, much to my relief.
One day, while taking an excursion out in the yard, Kamala and I discovered that we had a shared interest: humans.
"It's so big, isn't it?" she said, referring to the great house that towered over all of us. "Don't you sometimes wonder what's inside?"
"Yeah," I said. "Have you ever seen one? A human?"
"Oh, once or twice," she answered vaguely. "At the park, you know, where I came from. But only at a distance -- I've never seen one's face before."
"I wish I could see one," I said moodily.
"We should come out here more often," she said, "and watch for one, so you can."
"You're crazy."
"Come on, it'll be worth it!" she said. "I promise. They're amazing."
"Oh, all right," I said, "but promise you won't make me kiss its feet or anything if we do see one."
"Don't worry," she laughed. "I'll meet you here tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay." I said it casually, but looking back now, I realize that "tomorrow" was to be the turning point in my existence, as well as the day that would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.
* * * * * * * *
I returned to our spot on the lawn the next day filled with excitement and a vague, happy sort of dread. Kamala was already there, her green body barely visible in the grass. I hurried to greet her.
"Have you see one yet? Did I miss it?"
"No," she said, amused. "I only just got here -- relax."
But I couldn't relax. I think you will understand when I tell you that it is exceedingly hard to relax when you are standing less than a few inches from the female you want to mate more than anything and you also know could eat you if she had any sort of mind to. I reminded myself maddeningly of Toby as I jabbered away about everything from last week's events to the current weather. Kamala watched me with a sort of exasperated patience. When I had finally talked myself into silence, I settled myself down in the grass, staring vaguely up at the sky.
Then I felt it: Kamala poking me and whispering in my ear.
"Ali! Ali, look . . . it's one of them . . ."
I leapt up as if I had recieved an electric shock. For a second, I was too scared to look -- but I did.
A human was striding across the porch, vibrating the ground with its footsteps. It stepped down into the lawn and began walking right towards us.
"It's coming this way!" I gasped, starting to run. Kamala, however, wouldn't move.
"This is your chance!" she breathed. "Look at her, Ali!"
So I looked. I had never seen anything alive this huge -- the sheer size was enough to make me faint. I saw the papery, peach-colored skin, so smooth and unnatural. I saw the brightly colored garments that hung loosely from the human's body. And as she looked down, I saw her face looming above me; round and white, with two enormous, dark-blue eyes that glowed with understanding and depth I knew I could never, ever hope to possess.
"Ali," Kamala said in a strange voice, "it's only a child."
Only a child? Yes, I could see that . . . from the roundness of the cheeks and the innocence in her face. But if a mere human child was this mind-numbingly big, how big could an adult one be? And how much more knowledge could those eyes possibly hold?
I was overwhelmed by wonder. For one wild moment, I actually considered running up to the human and grasping hold of her white skin, embracing her, speaking to her. Then that moment was broken by a scream.
"What --?"
My gut turned cold. Kamala was being lifted into the air by the pudgy hand, lifted by her back legs. She was thrashing and screeching and crying, but I was sure that the great ears of a human being would never be able to hear her pleas. Then the human child made a noise: the loudest, strangest noise I had heard in my life. It was not deep or grating, as I had expected it to be, but nasal, childlike, babbling.
"No!" I tried to scream, but what came out was only a rasp. My legs felt as if they were rooted in the earth like the blades of grass around me as I watched the human girl plod back onto the porch. In that moment, I saw clearly where my love was being taken.
Into the house.
* * * * * * * * *
I ate nothing for the rest of the day. I spent my time hanging around the house, peering into its huge rooms through the windows, desperately triyng to get a glimpse of Kamala. I was numb with shock, my legs ached and I felt ready to faint at any second, but I didn't stop searching, not even after night fell and bathed the world around me in moonlight.
"Kamala?" I cried, calling over and over again the name I had given her. "Kamala . . . please . . ."
I saw her.
The darkness made it easy to see in the window, and I saw her. She was high up on what seemed to be some sort of table, trapped in what looked like a transparent, unyielding bell with a golden lid. The human girl stood close by, watching her closely. Neither of them noticed me, even though I screeched and called Kamala's name louder than ever, and neither could I hear either of them, although it was clear from Kamala's posture that she was shrieking. Again, the human seemed not to hear her.
I didn't move from that spot all that night, or for the rest of the next day. I watched numbly as the human girl tried to tempt Kamala with bits of colorless food. Sometimes she would take off the lid to Kamala's transparent prison and poke her mercilessly, but Kamala didn't stir or move. As night set in again and the girl finally went off to bed, the building moonlight slowly doused me in chill realization. Kamala was dead.
I couldn't bear to watch her anymore. I wrenched my eyes away, threw my head back, and screeched into the night, which is the closest thing I have done, or any mantis has ever done, I think, to weeping.
