Orphaned

by Eliot Schrefer

  Orphan stops and stares at Snub,

  a pleading look on her face.

  Their wills tug at each other.

  Wind whistles through the trunks,

  casting up eddies of willowy insects

  and caterpillar-laced leaves.

  Then the wind dies.

  Beneath it Snub hears what Orphan has heard,

  what has made Orphan so urgent.

  In the distance

  a gorilla is making hooting sounds.

  A gorilla is in distress.

  When Orphan starts out again,

  Snub follows willingly,

  Breath tight on her back.

  Though Orphan is fleet in the open spaces,

  slinking ahead easily on her two legs,

  it is Snub who manages better

  once the overgrowth closes in,

  taking to the trees to cross a ravine

  that Orphan must ford.

  The gorilla cries are ever louder.

  Snub feels

  acha,

  but she struggles to remember what gorilla this is,

  why this voice would make her feel this way.

  Snub loses her balance.

  Breath makes outraged grunts

  as he tumbles free onto all fours.

  He rips up a single nettle,

  charges Snub with it.

  But Snub pretends not to notice.

  A gorilla should not travel along a ravine.

  Soggy dead plants are at the bottom,

  coated in pond muck.

  Snub’s hands and feet squish into it,

  making sounds that fill her with disgust.

  Snakes scatter before her,

  hiding away in matted reeds.

  Snub sneaks by them nervously.

  Orphan continues to flit forward

  as if she has lived her life in ravines,

  as if she has never been afraid of a snake.

  Breath lumbers to Orphan,

  unaware of a bright green praying mantis

  that has climbed onto him.

  It clutches his ear for balance.

  When Breath reaches Orphan,

  he stares where Orphan stares,

  mouth open.

  As Snub reaches them,

  the sounds of the distressed gorilla

  broaden and echo,

  as if this upset gorilla

  were a creature made of rocks.

  A cave entrance,

  large enough to fit two gorillas shoulder to shoulder.

  The sunlight survives only a few lengths into the space

  before dying, leaving the rest of the interior dark.

  Orphan steps in and then steps out with a shriek,

  looking to Snub for comfort.

  On all fours, Snub stares hard into the black,

  as if staring hard means seeing better.

  She risks making a call, briefly getting up on two legs

  so she can give her chest a pap pap with no

  wragh

  in it.

  Who are you?

  The gorilla inside the cave stops its cries.

  Snub makes another pap pap.

  The distant gorilla makes a surprised, strangled noise.

  Snub hears scrabbling,

  the sound of a rock falling,

  something heavy and soft

  hitting the ground and tumbling.

  She hoots tentatively.

  She is hearing a gorilla

  that she once knew very well.

  There is silence, then the cave gorilla makes a sound of

  acha.

  Snub surges into the darkness,

  stones clattering away under her hands and feet,

  thinking only of heading toward the

  acha

  of the gorilla

  that she thought she’d never hear again.

  The cave’s darkness hides its slickness,

  and she’s slipping.

  Breath is on her back,

  scrambling and sliding with her.

  Snub can hear Orphan tumbling

  somewhere behind her,

  clattering to the ground

  before lurching up,

  clattering to the ground again,

  sending soft silvery rocks

  tinkling into the blackness.

  Between grunts and calls of

  acha

  the cave gorilla makes click sounds,

  like she is suckering her tongue

  from the roof of her mouth

  again and again.

  As Snub scrambles forward,

  bashing into unseen rocks,

  she sees outlines,

  enough that she can start to avoid them,

  until the cavern becomes light enough

  that she can see color,

  like the cave up ahead has its own small sun.

  The walls around her

  are made of the same glossy black stone

  that formed the motionless black slug

  on the side of the mountain.

  Snub realizes that she is now inside the mountain.

  Silvery flecks deep within the vaulting stone walls

  glitter when they catch the light.

  Cave roaches skitter, each as big as Snub’s foot.

  There are bats on the ceiling, too,

  volleys of them flapping at Snub’s face,

  Breath reaching out but failing to catch them.

  Snub realizes she has been hooting in fear

  only when she switches to sounds of confused

  amrcha.

  A gorilla that Snub thought

  was gone forever

  has been returned.

  Getting her back makes Snub

  feel the rage of losing her

  all over again.

  At the bottom of the pit of sunlight,

  cowering and pale,

  surrounded by the pearlescent wings of old roaches,

  is Mother.

  Mother wags her head vaguely in Snub’s direction,

  makes a whimper filled with

  acha,

  staggering to all fours before sitting back down,

  holding out her arms

  to hold Snub,

  to be held by Snub.

  How matted Mother’s hair is,

  how scarred and milky her eyes,

  what stink on her skin and in her breath.

  Snub clutches Mother tight to her,

  feels the sharp bones of Mother’s back,

  the ribs of her.

  There is no feeling

  better than this.

  A cramp in her leg finally forces Snub to pull away.

  She catches sight of the source of the cavern’s light,

  a hole in the roof where the rock has crumbled.

  Light streams through,

  motes and flecks of black

  suspended

  in the column of yellow sunshine.

  Above, Snub can see leaves and sky.

  Down here are whispery shufflings:

  cave roaches and fluttering bats.

  Snub can understand why Mother would return home,

  even if she can’t fathom how.

  But why would Mother choose to live down here?

  Snub shifts into the column of light

  so it fully catches Mother’s face.

  One eye is gone,

  and the other is surrounded by scars,

  like a fractured stone.

  In the center of the scar web,

  where an eye should be,

  is something that looks like

  a smooth shell instead.

  Snub tugs Mother toward the exit.

  Maybe in the sunlight

  that gray orb will take back its color.

  Maybe in the sunlight

  Mother will see again.

  Mother pulls away and makes

  clicking sounds with her tongue,

  cocking her head and liste
ning after each one.

  Mother makes a click,

  pauses,

  then clicks again.

  Somehow she senses

  Orphan and Breath,

  hovering and uncertain

  at the edge of the light.

  Mother takes a step toward them.

  Orphan’s eyes glimmer with curiosity

  as she stares at Mother.

  Breath is undone.

  He looks at Mother like he is looking at something

  that used to be part of his body.

  His attention is on her even as his legs

  work him backward

  into the dark of the cave.

  His foot skitters a loose stone

  and he squeaks in surprise,

  glaring at the ground.

  At the sound of his voice,

  Mother works her way to him,

  moving half like a gorilla,

  half like a river crab,

  easily keeping clear

  of the rocky cavern walls.

  Bats volley before her,

  buffeting Breath’s face,

  setting him squealing.

  He runs down the cavern,

  disappearing into the darkness.

  Mother stops where she is,

  head cocked to one side.

  She clicks her tongue

  but doesn’t seem to understand

  the sounds echoing back to her.

  Mother starts toward Breath,

  easily navigating the dark cave,

  clicking and pausing,

  leading Snub between obstacles

  that she never sees,

  massive bulks passing in the quiet dark.

  Snub keeps close to Mother’s back.

  Orphan keeps close to Snub’s back.

  Mother halts at the exit.

  She makes her clicking sounds

  but doesn’t seem satisfied

  with whatever she gets back.

  Snub presses her whole body against Mother,

  letting her know that she is beside her.

  Mother lets Snub lead her into the sunshine.

  Breath startles and runs

  farther off,

  then stops himself.

  For long moments they are all motionless.

  Mother’s chest is craggy and rough

  where the wounds of the not-gorillas’

  attack have scarred her.

  One of her fingers

  and two of her toes

  have broken and re-formed

  at tilted angles.

  The skin Snub can see wherever

  Mother’s thinning hair parts

  is moon white.

  Mother is in each of Snub’s memories of home,

  even the earliest ones.

  She was here long before Snub.

  Even blinded, her link to this place drew her here,

  surviving by fingers and nose and ears,

  so great was her will to come back.

  Here is home returned,

  fragile and soft and small.

  Here is Mother returned,

  fragile and soft and small.

  Step by cautious step,

  Breath approaches her,

  making sounds of

  amrcha

  that gradually shift to

  acha

  as he sees her up close.

  He waits for Mother to come pick him up

  like she once did.

  But Mother is looking the wrong direction,

  head swiveling uselessly,

  her clicks telling her little about her world.

  Her focus trains on Orphan, and Snub wonders:

  Without sight, does Mother know what Orphan is?

  Does she think Orphan is a gorilla?

  Breath lifts a hand to poke Mother in the neck.

  She whirls on him, teeth bared.

  Breath recoils, cowering,

  but he returns his finger to her,

  this time laying it

  on her frail and balding neck,

  as if to hold in the pulse of her veins.

  Mother startles again,

  then lowers her head.

  Breath reaches his other hand to her neck,

  peering into Mother’s ravaged face.

  He tries to climb onto Mother.

  She gasps at the strain on her body

  and he slips from her.

  Mother wraps her arms around

  her own rickety frame

  and rocks.

  Breath cries like he hasn’t cried

  since he was the pink worm.

  Snub grooms him.

  While she does, she sees

  Orphan hover near Mother.

  Mother points her face in Orphan’s direction

  for only a moment

  before training it back on the ground.

  Snub makes soft hoots of warning

  as Orphan eases closer, then closer.

  Trembling, Orphan lays her hand

  on Mother’s frail shoulder.

  Mother sighs.

  Mother has not been touched in a long time.

  Orphan places another hand on Mother’s back,

  gentler than Breath.

  Mother sighs deeper.

  Orphan wraps her long skinny body

  around Mother,

  holds Mother,

  her cheek resting on the crown of Mother’s head.

  Water forms in the corners of Orphan’s eyes

  and tumbles into Mother’s matted hair.

  Snub and Breath hold each other

  while they watch

  Orphan hold Mother,

  doing something no gorilla would do,

  comforting a stranger.

  Orphan holds Mother

  until Mother stops rocking herself,

  until Mother falls asleep.

  Does Mother know that Orphan is not a gorilla?

  Does Mother know that Breath is her son,

  now twice as big as when he was last beside her?

  Snub cannot know what Mother knows.

  but she knows the

  hoo

  of having Mother and Breath and Orphan with her.

  Snub watches Breath

  scrambling around the family:

  pulling hair,

  whacking with sticks,

  running off,

  grunting with joy,

  tenderly tucking in at night

  in the midst of them all,

  hands and feet on

  Snub and Orphan and Mother

  so that he is touching

  them all at once.

  When Mother wakes she gets to all fours,

  puts her nose in Orphan’s direction,

  face wagging until Orphan gets up.

  Mother is bad at grooming herself.

  She will leave the husk of a dead worm

  smooshed into her back,

  attracting a stream of ants.

  It is up to Orphan to groom it out,

  delicately unsticking the corpse.

  It confuses Snub

  that Orphan could come from the not-gorillas,

  beasts violent as crocodiles,

  yet show such

  acha

  to Mother.

  Breath wanders farther each day,

  but it is never hard to find him.

  He can’t go too long without making noise,

  shrieking with excitement

  when he comes across a fallen junglesop fruit,

  or causing a ruckus of breaking branches

  when he chases an antelope baby into its den.

  Sometimes he’s quiet, letting Mother take

  one of his little feet in her hand,

  holding it to her face like

  a flower she’s afraid to crumple.

  The magpie with the curled leg

  is making a fuss on its branch,

  hopping around

  and pecking at somethin
g out of view.

  The other magpie soars out and soon returns,

  a blade of grass in its mouth.

  The magpie with the curled leg seizes it,

  while its mate zooms off to pick another.

  Backgrounded by the clear blue skies,

  swaying green trees,

  life is as it once was and always will be.

  The magpies are building a nest.

  Orphan is eating a piglet.

  Snub does not know where she found it,

  but Orphan is splitting its corpse like a ripe fruit,

  digging dirt-crusted thumbnails into the

  piglet’s torso and parting it.

  The rib cage splits,

  exposing red and purple and gray inside.

  Orphan runs each organ beneath her nostrils,

  like buds.

  She offers every morsel to Snub first,

  held out in gory fingers.

  Each time Snub turns her head away and grunts.

  Orphan smacks the piglet down happily,

  eventually giving up on Snub,

  offering bits to Mother instead.

  Mother is even less interested,

  snorting and turning her head away

  each time Orphan brings a bloody bit to her nose.

  Finally Orphan gives up on them both,

  cracking the small bones,

  sucking the insides of each one

  before throwing it in the grass.

  Like that, there is no more piglet.

  Soon there will be no memory of piglet

  either.

  The rummaging magpie with the curled leg

  notices the bones.

  It flits down to land right on Mother.

  She raises her hands,

  as if stroking the air surrounding the bird.