The Oarsman

by Zubin Mathai

This was the first time on this adventure that the worker was not excited by seeing a pink petal. The petal tempted, it dipped and swayed on the breeze, even dropped completely to the ground to tumble for a while, but still the worker did not give chase. Eventually the petal gave up and flew away, and the worker lay her head down in the dirt, happy that the tall grass kept beautiful things like the sun and blue sky hidden.

  When the soldier stroked the worker’s head with a leg and asked if she was okay, the worker only spat out anger. “You held me back!” she yelled. “I could have saved the beetle. I could have bargained with that spider.”

  The soldier was going to say she was only trying to help, but she saw the look of betrayal thickly painted on her friend’s face, so she kept quiet. As the sun heated up and the sky went from rich to pale, the soldier kept guard. She even became a worker for a moment, running to a nearby bush to rip off a leaf for some shade for her friend.

  The worker ignored the kindness, and her friend, and continued to sulk.

  By mid-afternoon, nature had had enough.

  When a breeze came exploring, the worker did not care, and she did not even look up to see if a petal was on its back. Waiting for the breeze to pass, she kept her head down and kicked away the leaf her friend had tenderly placed nearby. The breeze was persistent, however, making the effort to find the ant through the grass, but when it had no effect, the breeze did what it sometimes did for those with special hearts, it whispered.

  We are sorry that your friend is gone, said the breeze, and the whisper brought something special to the worker. Even with her head down in the dirt, she felt it. Folded into the breeze was the wisdom of the beetle, his affection floating through like a cloud, and even memories of the worker’s colony, of feeling safe and at home.

  We know you have been chasing our cousin, the wind, and that it has whispered to you of home. We are smaller, less forceful in our ways, and so please know that us speaking is very special. But, we would like to ask you a favor.

  The worker perked up at these words. She looked over to the soldier, wondering if she heard them, but the confused look on her face indicated she heard something not as clear. Since the start of this adventure, the worker had been following the migration of petals, of splashes of pink in this washed-out land, and she ached for where those petals would lead. She ached for the secret of the wind that whispered, and she was so used to be always seeking, always hoping to be given something, that she did not even consider that the wind itself might have wants too.

  “How can I help?” asked the worker, and the soldier looked over at her, wondering who she was talking to.

  The breeze picked up, increasing in intensity, but not quite turning into a wind, and it parted the grasses just enough to make a path. The worker began marching, and she knew the soldier was marching behind too. The breeze led the ants from the grasses to the dustiness of open fields, where it kissed the high points of rocks. It brought them through scrubland and circled round trees, apologizing for the distraction, saying it was just doing what breezes did.

  As the breeze led them, it whispered some more to the worker. The river that flowed through here dried up a year ago before the drought. Many animals left a few months later, and so did so many insects. But do you know what the first thing to leave was? The wind.

  Without it, we tried our best, exciting aromas for bees to find flowers, or cooling rocks so that lizards would stay a bit longer. But, we are breezes, here to just play with dust or bring smiles; we are not as experienced as our bigger cousin.

  Through a sparse forest of ten trees the ants and breeze went, and the soldier started to feel that familiar, dull ache in her abdomen. When the soldier began rubbing her tummy, the breeze noticed and caressed her body, taking her mind off the poison which festered inside.

  The breeze eventually brought the ants to the edge of a sandy field, where a group of large boulders defined one edge. There, at the base of the boulders, the worker saw a horror of horrors.

  Even though they still held the faintest of colors, most were dried and turned to wrinkled brown, as if they had stared too long at the medusa sun. The worker ran forward, needing to see this up close, and she picked up one of the petals, but it crumbled to dust in her jaw.

  This could not be it, she thought. This could not be where all the petals she had glimpsed had ended up. This could not be their fate, the end of their journey, and by extension, the end of hers.

  We tried, said the breezes, but we are getting weaker each month. Just like we whisper to you, the trees whisper to us, the clouds them, and the sun to all. Nature told us that this area is our responsibility, that we must take the petals from the edge of the desert and then on to the great canyon that borders this land. Elder breezes know of that canyon, but we youngsters have never reached it. These petals have an important destination, but we have never gotten them past this line of boulders.

  The petals started shaking as the breeze stepped forward to caress them. Some petals cracked and crumbled, some shifted out of the way, and there at the bottom was one petal that had been shielded from the harshness by its kin. It still had the vibrancy of life veining it, and it greeted the breeze with a sweetly thankful smell.

  Coursing around the worker’s head, like a warm hand gently stroking her, the breezes whispered an implore, Can you help us, little ant?

  The worker held the petal in her jaws, as delicately as she could, for this was the most precious cargo she had ever been given: a daydream come to life to hold. She climbed to the top of one boulder, with the soldier following, and the breezes rose as high as they could.

  The trees told of us a friend further east, said the breezes. If you can find him, perhaps he can lead you to the canyon where we hear the wind still plays. You and your friend-

  “I am not sure we are still friends,” cut in the worker, looking away from the soldier and towards a clumping of bushes and trees that lay far ahead.

  The soldier looked down, rubbing her tummy, and was saddened that the breezes could not reach this high to soothe her. By this time, she had figured out that those breezes were what the worker had been talking to. “I am still this worker’s friend,” said the soldier, “and whether she cares or not, whether she ever smiles at me again or not, I will follow her wherever she goes.”

  As the ants climbed down from the boulder and ventured beyond, the worker held fast to the petal in her jaws. Pink filled up most of her field of vision, and a softness, a caress from life itself, was touching her lone antenna. Even without fully seeing, the worker was able to walk a perfectly straight line.

  They soon reached the clump of bushes and trees the worker had seen from the boulder, and they could see that it was the edge of a sparse forest. These were hardy trees, eucalyptuses, ironwoods and desert willows, holding fast to the dry and cracked ground. With the worker leading, still holding fast to the precious petal, the ants trudged on, and soon came to a field amidst the trees. Dry grasses, cracked dirt, and a few fallen leaves filled the space, and the trees surrounding it were leaning over curious of a timid occupant at its center.

  A deer nibbled on the grass and sought out the fallen leaves, and the faded white spots peppering its coat showed that it was still a youngster. It’s large black eyes glistened with moisture, reflecting the dryness around as an amber glow. Even with that glow, however, something was lacking from those eyes, and the worker and soldier could see something was wrong with this creature.

  The deer moved slowly. Too slowly. After it had finished chewing on a leaf in the most cautious of manners, it raised a leg and inched it through the air as if it were underwater. It places its hoof down as if it were in a minefield, and took ten times as long as needed to get to the next leaf. The poor deer did not even wiggle its ears, something that all fun-filled young ones would normally do at any chance.

  The soldier reached out to tap the worker on her shoulder, and then pointed to the tree-line at the opposite end of the field. Even though well ca
mouflaged, with its coat the same rippling browns of the land, another animal was visible. Life could easily spot life, and the worker first saw its eyes, then its nose, and then its mouth filled with fangs. A mountain lion was crouching in the grass and staring with predator-focus at the young deer.

  Seeing this lion, and out of habit, the worker inched over to stand behind her bigger friend. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped and moved over to the other side, to instead stand behind a thick piece of grass.

  An odd scene was playing out, for from the deer’s actions it must have known it was being watched, yet it did not run. One of its eyes kept fixed on the lion, and it continued in its odd sequence of slow-motions as it sought out more leaves and grass. Somehow the worker knew, that this strangely-acting deer was the friend the breezes had whispered of.

  Even with the lion right there, the worker found courage. Perhaps it was the sweet taste of the petal in her mouth, as it sat there in front of one eye tinting everything pink, but the worker knew she needed to approach the deer. Even as the soldier reached out for her, yelling at her to stop, the worker walked forward.

  When the ants got closer, the deer stopped its nibbling to watch their approach, and they could see its eyes grow larger and larger. Barely moving its lips, the deer whispered out with a terror in its voice. “Strangers,” the deer said, “please slow down. Please don’t move so fast. Please don’t excite the winds. If you do, that lion will come eat me.”

  By this time the lion was standing up, staring curiously at these two little bugs, one with a vibrant petal in its mouth, approaching the deer. The worker got close to the deer, almost right under its nose, and began pleading her case. She spoke of her mission, to find a new home, and of how petals had been leading her. When she spoke of the breezes that whispered, the deer jerked its head back half an inch, but then froze. And when the worker mentioned the canyon she had heard of, the one still filled with winds, the deer panicked and jumped back.

  Immediately the lion pounced, propelling itself forward ten feet, baring its teeth and letting out a roar, but oddly, as soon as the deer froze again, the lion froze too. It squinted enough to see the ants and, in addition to the deer, now stared at the newcomers with a ferocious focus, then retreated to the edge of the field to lay down.

  “I know of the canyon you speak of,” whispered the deer faintly, “I used to play there as a toddler. But I cannot go back there. I cannot feel the winds on my face. I cannot run ever again, for the moment I do, I will die.”

  The soldier leaned over and whispered into her friend’s ear that perhaps they should leave, for this deer and situation did not feel right, but the worker was curious. She brought the petal from her jaw into her front legs, so that she could see the deer more clearly, and then asked the deer what it meant. The deer inched its head down, so that its nose touched the ground in front of the worker, and began speaking.

  “One of my earliest memories was of being a tiny fawn with my mother near the canyon you speak off. The land was different then, more life and more water, and plenty of winds. I was happy and playful, and so I ran and felt the air rushing across my face. I begged my mother to come play too, and after a moment she joined in. She ran and laughed, and I could see her enjoying the wind like me. Then, through images that are seared into me, I saw this lion pounce from its hiding spot and kill my mother. It ate her right there in front of me. I know if I feel wind across my face again, if I ever run or laugh or play, it will be my last moment.”

  As the deer spoke, water collected and fell from its eyes, and the worker knew that feeling. Those tears bound the deer in kinship to the worker, for while ants did not know the motherly bond that many animals felt, they did know the feeling of home.

  The worker lifted the petal and leaned it tenderly against the deer’s nose. The deer perked up at this, his ears wiggled, and the lion took one bounding step forward. Managing to calm down, freezing the lion back to stillness, the deer only angled its eyes to stare cross-eyed at the vibrancy of pink touching its nose.

  “This petal wants to feel the wind,” said the worker. “You do not have to run if you don’t want to, but can you not lead us to the canyon, so that this poor petal can dance and play, can do all the things you no longer do?”

  Blurring her eyes, quite unconsciously, a daydream came to the ant to show what the deer was thinking. She saw it run and play with the petal, as its pink flew upwards to be taken on by the freedom of winds. She saw the deer laugh and bleat, running alongside the floating petal, as if its movements were painting outlines of a mother onto the air. Returning her eyes to normal, the ant saw the deer smile faintly and nod its head half a degree.

  As the deer stood and slowly walked away with the ants, the lion stood, with its focused and piercing eyes never wavering, and began following just as slowly.

  Beyond the forest the sun was waiting, and it laid down a stifling blanket over everything. Trees turned to grasses and then empty plains of dry dirt. Little oases of vegetation broke up the landscape, with huddling bushes, lone trees, even a moss-covered stone, all unaware or unaccepting that they were in the midst of a drought.

  The deer continued its slow-motion walk, fixing it head level towards the horizon, as if it its neck were concrete, and its legs arced up and down as if time was a tenth of normal. The worker held on tight to the petal, and looked back regularly to see the lion keeping pace, staring at the deer with the most unblinking of amber eyes.

  Knowing the mountain lion was not a threat to the worker, for lions had no interest in bugs, the soldier was more relaxed. She walked in front of both the deer and worker, keeping her eyes scanning ahead. Now on mission, on point, she felt the pain of poison in her belly only if she dwelled on it.

  Do you know where our kinfolk are, said the air above, in a whisper heard plainly by the worker. She looked up and saw nothing, and the whisper came again, this time accompanied by a little orphaned breeze. The breeze saw the petal in the ant’s jaws and tried to grab it, ruffling it and pulling on it with all its might.

  When the petal broke free and tumbled, at first along the ground and then into the air, the worker was horrified. The petal seemed to be heading back, seemed to be going west instead of east. She ran after it, even as the soldier yelled and tried to stop her. Her lone antenna froze, collecting all her focus and energy to stay straight and true.

  When the ant saw the petal heading straight for the lion, she stopped dead. She yelled out after the petal, as if it were a best friend turning its back, and begged desperately for it to return. She saw the petal go right past the jaws of the beast, and she saw the lion reach out with a giant paw to grab it.

  That was too much for her to bear. A pointer home was about to be destroyed, all her hope to feel safe and secure in a new colony, even to be just a worker cog in a wheel for the rest of her life, was about to be obliterated. She ran straight towards the lion, and her normal timidity and fear were nowhere to be felt. The fading breeze took the petal higher, right over the top of the lion and then over its back, and the worker ran between legs the size of saplings. She felt the air warmer from the lion, felt the vibrations of its panting through her churning legs.

  She finally caught up to the petal and jumped atop, and the lost breeze took both the petal and ant higher up into the sky.

  “Please stop,” said the worker to the breeze.

  We must take this petal to its destination, answered the breeze, and then it began circling, exciting little eddies of dust, before becoming trapped in a little depression in the dirt. There, it circled more and more, getting weaker with each revolution.

  “You are lost and confused,” said he worker. “I know you don’t have the strength you normally do and are fading each day, but your kin further back said your mission was to take petals east, to the canyon.”

  The breeze may have whispered again, but it was too faint to hear; the worker only felt the petal and herself float slowly to the ground. Remnants of the bre
eze brush passed to the west, as if reaching out with one last dying breath to kinfolk so far away, and then the breeze was gone.

  Immediately, the worker checked on the petal, making sure it was intact, no tears or folds, and even began brushing the dust from it, for she knew bright pink was its deserved shade.

  When she picked up the petal and turned around, ready to get back to the soldier and deer, there blocking the way, towering over her like a fiery mountain, was the lion. It brought its head down to sniff the petal, and that created little hints of wind that the petal giggled over.

  At first, curiously, the lion did not seem aggressive, and so the worker held her breath, and held tightly to the petal, and began walking around the lion. The lion looked back behind it, towards the deer, and when it saw that the ant was heading back there, was when it erupted. It drew itself up to its full height, eclipsing the sun, and then slammed one paw into the dirt. It raised its other paw and slammed it down, trying to crush the ant over and over again.

  The worker ran left and right, as giant paws parted the air and kicked up clouds of dust. One hit and she’d be dead, but still she did not drop the petal. She held on tight and zig-zagged, running as fast as she could between the lion’s legs, through some shielding grass, and then towards the soldier and deer.

  She could feel the earth wake up. Vibrations shook and cracked the dirt around her, and she knew the lion was beginning to chase. She could feel it getting closer, and so she ran faster and faster, feeling the air on her face and the petal flapping, and then she dug down and ran even faster.

  Up ahead, she saw something strange. The deer, still keeping its slowest of motions, began inching towards her, like a giant snail. And when the ant passed, the deer floated its head down to protect her. When the lion saw the deer’s movement, it skidded to a stop. The deer froze, and so did the lion, a mere five feet apart. The deer held its breath, and the worker held the petal, backing up slowly towards the soldier.

  Eyes like molten lava pierced the empty air between predator and prey, and the lion was the first to act. As a surprise to the deer and its new friends, the lion slowly backed up fifteen feet, back to its normal separation, and lay down on the dirt to stare at the deer.

  Afternoon shifted to evening, heat clocked out for coolness to take its place, and yet still the lion and deer stayed frozen, staring at each other. It was only when the stars came out to chaperone that the deer calmed, turning like molasses to the ants, and then slowly lying down in some dried grass to rest.

  “My mother and I used to play here,” whispered the deer in the middle of the night when he could not sleep. The worker woke up, and she felt the petal beneath her head and smiled.

  “I thought the wind was my friend back then,” said the deer. “Whenever I was happy I would run, and so I thought wind was a reward, a friend, a blanket of love come to wrap from nature. But I would still give up all the play in the world, if I could just have my mother back. I miss her.”

  When the deer began sobbing, the worker walked over to run her tiny leg against the side of its head to try and soothe. “I miss my sisters,” said the worker, and she brought the petal up to the nose of the deer, so the deer could smell its sweetness. “I miss my home. You may not know it as the same, but to me it is.”

  The deer nodded, and cautiously moved a leg forward to tenderly brush up against the worker. Both the deer and worker looked to the soldier, for she was up and listening. They waited for her to share, to say anything, but she only stood proud, turning back to resume her watch. They did not know that she wanted to say she missed the princess, and that she missed her friend, the worker.

  They had resumed their slow journey the next day, as the sun rose to paint amber across sleepy shadows. At one point of their march, at mid-morning, they came to a moss-covered hill. This must have been where a pond or water collected after rains, for the moss was still stubbornly springy, defiant to the parched surroundings.

  A need to play suddenly came to the worker, the first time in so long on this adventure, and it was perhaps because she felt the precious petal in her jaw. She ran forward and hopped and twirled, bouncing off the moss like a giant trampoline. With the petal acting like a sail, she got incredible height, summersaulting at top and then drifting down to land and bounce back up. She giggled, and the laughs vibrated to petal so that it laughed too, and its color may have even brightened a shade.

  The deer stopped on a boulder, looking down the hill at the bounding ant. The pink caught the deer’s eyes and she was mesmerized as it went up and down as if dancing with unfelt winds. The deer got so caught up in the moment that it wanted to jump. It wanted to fly through the air and land in the moss to bound around in bliss. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and readied to give in.

  A roar cut through the air, like a dagger slicing joy, and the deer turned slowly to see the lion a mere five feet behind. Its claws were out, digging into the dirt, and a fierceness painted its face exactly like that day, a year ago, that day the young deer would never forget. The deer backed up an inch from the edge of the boulder, wiped intentions for play from its mind, and the lion stepped backwards and lay down.

  “Can you feel that?” asked the deer, as they were walking later on that afternoon. “I think we are close.”

  The worker had been feeling it for the last little while, for the petal in her mouth had been twirling delicately. Winds were nearby, and their faint echoes were reaching the deer, the two ants, and the lion still following behind.

  Soon the landscape changed. Dirt and sand changed to rocks and boulders, the ground went from amber to reds, and up ahead they could see the destination sought: the canyon. It cut through the ground, a jagged line running north-south, blocking the way further east. As they neared its edge, the winds intensified, for here they were trapped by steep rocky walls tens of feet high.

  This was the first time the deer had returned to this spot, the spot of its mother’s death, in over a year. It was also the first time it had felt wind on its face in just as long, and it was feeling it without even running or prancing. It closed its eyes, and enjoyed it for a while, feeling the little hairs around its nose and eyes wriggle and writhe. Then it shot its eyes open. Wind, it thought. Danger, it thought.

  It turned to see the lion running towards it, claws and fangs bared, thumping into the ground with giant paws primed to attack. It launched itself into the air, jumping with impossibly powerful hind legs, and flew straight towards the deer. This is it, the deer thought, the end. Perhaps it would be quick and painless, or perhaps it should be welcomed, for at least missing his mother would end.

  But the lion flew straight over it, landing a few feet beyond, and it faced away from the deer, growling with the full strength of its powerful throat. A huge coyote was facing the lion, with hackled fur and a snarling, fang-filled mouth dripping saliva. The coyote took a step forward and the lion tensed its muscles and opened its mouth wide to fully expose its giant teeth.

  A stare down froze time for seconds, but the coyote knew it was no match. It backed up, not letting up its snarling and growling, and the lion did the same. Finally, the coyote turned and ran, and the lion took its time to calm. When it did, it turned around to face the deer, and flopped down to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  “What… why did you save the deer…”

  The lion looked down, waiting for the dust to resettle, and there next to its paw was the little ant with the pink petal. The lion was startled and jerked its head back, for it swore it heard the ant speak.

  Bringing its head closer, the worker could feel hot breath kicking up more dust and exciting the petal. She backed up a few steps and moved the petal behind her, just as the soldier reached her and tried to pull her back.

  “You speak the language of lions?” said the lion to the worker.

  “I can hear and understand you,” said the worker.

  The lion looked up to the deer, as it stood frozen and staring, and could see the
wind coming up from the canyon to playfully ripple the deer’s fur.

  “And you speak to deer too?” asked the lion.

  When the worker nodded, the lion dropped its head to the ground, and the worker thought she heard a few faint sobs. When the lion looked up again, tears were running from its once-fierce eyes.

  “I’ve never seen an insect that could, not only speak like animals, but speak the languages of different species.”

  The lion stood to step closer to the deer, but when the deer slowly backed up, terrified, the lion stopped and lay down again.

  “Can you please tell the deer something for me?” said the lion.

  The worker remained silent, and so the lion continued.

  “A year ago, in this very spot, I saw a fawn and its mother here. When I saw the mother run, instinct took over and I pounced and ate. It is what lions do. I could not help it. But when I saw the little fawn collapse to the ground, cry out for its mother, I was shattered. I felt so guilty.”

  The lion looked to the deer and could not stop the tears flowing from its eyes.

  “I retreated to those distant rocks and watched that fawn lie here day and night, next to its dead mother, and cry hour after hour, until all its tears had been used up. I had never seen so much pain and longing, and it touched something inside me.”

  “I followed the fawn that day,” said the lion, looking down to the tiny worker and the petal she held. “I kept watch over the years, trying to keep him safe, but he stayed so still no other predator ever came for him. Whenever he was in danger, or afraid, I tried to run forward to comfort him. When the petal you were carrying startled him back in that field, or when he was about to jump from that boulder into the moss and hurt himself, I just wanted to run forward and keep him safe.”

  By now the tiger’s own tears had been exhausted, and its amber eyes were red and raw. “I have been watching this poor deer for over a year, just waiting and hoping he would play and run, kick up his legs and laugh, like that day with his mother. If I ever saw him happy again, I would be happy too, and could leave knowing he was okay.”

  The worker continued to stay silent, taking in the lion’s story to her heart. The petal brushed up against her cheek, and its color and softness brought wisdom. As the worker thought, and finally spoke, she did not know that it was the beetle’s wisdom coming through her, as imparted by the magic of nature, through the petal, and by speaking that, the petal was helping her let go of her friend.

  “I could repeat everything you have said to the deer,” said the worker, “but that would serve nothing.”

  “What?” yelled out the lion. “I need to see the deer understand that I am so sorry.”

  “If you want to see the deer happy, if you want to see him laugh and play, then just leave. Go far away and stop worrying, stop looking over him. Your presence is stopping him from joy, and the string tying you two together is stopping the winds in this place.”

  For a few seconds the lion argued and pleaded, but the worker would not back down. The petal spoke to her by its presence, and she spoke from a place inside that she never knew she had. She eventually convinced the lion to leave, and it looked around, wanting nothing more of this place, and so it began climbing down into the canyon.

  It got to the canyon floor and walked towards its center. When it saw a collection of boulders, it chose the tallest one to climb atop and lay across. The lion’s eyesight was the best of these lands, and it knew that while it could see the deer, the deer could no longer see it. A different kind of tears now came to the lion’s eyes as it watched the deer. It saw the deer feel the winds from the canyon and then run and play, kick up his legs, as if he was as light as the air, as light as happiness itself.

  The deer ran and laughed through the afternoon. The worker, with the petal in her mouth, felt the energy of winds and deer-play amplified a hundred fold. She could not keep up with the deer, but she ran and laughed too, and her laughter vibrated the petal in her jaws into a song. The worker stopped to rest, and the deer finally came over and lay down, thanking the worker for asking him to come on this journey. Then it asked the worker why she had not yet let the winds have the petal.

  “Because,” said the worker, staring into the canyon stretching before them, “the winds in the canyon seem to be heading south, and I know that this petal is not meant for that direction. I can see across the canyon, and I can see — from the dust dancing on that side — that the winds I want are over there.”

  As the deer and worker continued to talk, the soldier stood off to the side and stared up into the sky. Her eyes were not as sharp as the worker’s, but still she could make out a smudge of color that seemed to be hovering on the winds. What she lacked in sight, she made up for with her role, with the soldier’s instinct that coursed through and warned of danger. That smudge, with its hints of black and yellow, seemed to be in the shape of a wasp.

  fourteen

  Water