The big dreams of small.., p.14
The Big Dreams of Small Creatures, page 14
To the queen’s amazement, the female was able to use the stick to re-create the splendid sound that had been coming from the box. After a few notes, the female stopped playing the silver stick and said something to the queen with her mouthpart. The queen was disappointed to realize that she couldn’t understand a word of what the female was saying. She despaired that they would never be able to communicate like she and Eden had. But then the queen remembered the technique she’d used to understand Eden. Sure enough, as soon as she’d closed all five of her eyes and focused on steeping herself in the female’s feelings instead of understanding her words, the queen discovered that the female’s emotions were similar to the ones she’d felt when her babies had been attacked: fear, heartache, and love. It made her wonder if this female was a mother, too.
The female spoke to the queen again, only this time instead of speaking directly through her mouthpart, she piped on her silver stick. “Hello? Can you understand me?”
The queen’s eyes popped open with astonishment. “I can understand you! Can you understand me?” she asked, working hard to make her buzzing sound as much like the ethereal piping as possible.
“I can!” the female said with surprise and delight.
The queen nodded, impressed. This female, like Eden, had somehow intuited that empathy was the key to understanding. And just as it had been between the queen and Eden, it was only moments before she and the female could speak to each other in complex sentences, understanding each other perfectly with the help of the magical pipe that the queen soon learned was called a “flute.”
The male, unfortunately, couldn’t understand a word they were saying, so the female would pause every now and then to explain their conversation to him. The queen watched as his expression changed from disbelief to wonder. After a bit of conversation, the queen had learned that the male was called “Jordan” and the female was called “Miranda,” that they were something called “married,” that Miranda was indeed a mother, and that Eden was her daughter. Strangest of all, the queen learned that instead of having hundreds of babies like she did, Jordan and Miranda only had Eden, which was why they were even more desperate to find her than the queen was.
They pooled the little information they had, quickly realizing how much overlapped. The queen explained that she’d heard rumors about a mythical place where humans and insects were learning to communicate, and the humans explained that they had learned from something called “Eden’s computer” that she was probably on her way to an old, abandoned place called “the Windward.” It seemed unlikely that the thriving laboratory and the deserted mansion were related in any way, but it was all they had to go on. Miranda explained that with the help of the box, which was called a “car,” they could get there fairly quickly. Maybe, she said, they could find Eden if they worked together.
The queen was surprised to find herself considering this far-fetched plan. She’d been taught to think of humans as being only cruel and vicious ever since she was a larva, but now that she was learning that humans cared about their children as much as wasps did about their babies, she’d begun to rethink things. Perhaps she and humans were more alike than she’d thought. After all, they were all looking for Eden, and they all knew how unique and precious she was. The queen’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Miranda’s flute.
“Will you please come help us find Eden, Your Majesty?” Miranda piped.
“It would be my honor,” piped the queen.
The Notebook
Eden spread her fingers and plunged them forward into the darkness, feeling around for a door, a doorknob, anything to get her out of this place. Her eyes hadn’t gotten used to the darkness, and the air felt heavy, as though someone had draped a wet coat over her. Finally, she found the knob and turned it every way she could—jiggling, twisting, tugging—but it wouldn’t budge. She was trapped!
Eden gasped, literally left breathless from the realization that she’d been tricked. She forced herself to slow down and breathe deeply, just like the little ant had reminded her. She had to stay calm if she was going to figure out what was going on. What had just happened? Who was August Rattice, really? Was that even his real name? Why was he lying? And why would anyone at the Institute for Lower Learning, no matter how old they were, want to poison bugs at all?
Eden felt like a dope for trusting a total stranger. She knew better. Her parents had told her a million times: don’t talk to strangers; not everyone is honest; not everyone is who they say they are. Eden took all those warnings very seriously. Her family loved to tell the story about the time when Eden was five and waiting with her mom to meet a new pediatrician, and when the doctor entered the room with a peppy Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Lim, Eden lowered her Cricket magazine, peered over her glasses, and said, Really? Can I see some proof? Her mother and the doctor both thought this was hilarious, and Eden was forced to sit there, listening to them laugh until her face got so hot she was sure she had a fever. Eden was irritated and confused: Was she supposed to trust strangers or not? On the way home, as if the three shots she’d just gotten weren’t painful enough, she had to listen to a lecture from her mom about understanding context.
If I take you to a doctor’s office to see a doctor and someone comes in and says he’s a doctor, there’s a pretty good chance he’s actually a doctor.
Yes, but— Eden had protested, but then their favorite song came on the radio, and she and her mom immediately stopped arguing and sang along so hard their throats burned.
Now, in the dark closet, Eden wished she’d gotten away from the boy as soon as she’d realized he was lying. She’d known something was off from the minute she’d met him, when he’d insisted that he was a grown-up. And yes, he was dressed in a suit, but nothing else about him seemed even remotely adult. His face didn’t have any wrinkles or stubble, and unlike most adults, who had strong facial features like cheekbones and jawlines, the boy had a smooth, round face with big, pudgy cheeks. He was also much more temperamental than most adults. Most of the grown-ups Eden knew were able to manage their feelings; the boy looked like he was on the verge of throwing a tantrum when she’d questioned him in the mildest way. Most adults would say, “Oh, I didn’t know that” when they learned something new, like that ants hear through their feet. Instead, the boy insisted that he already knew, even though he obviously didn’t. Plus, he used way too many words like quite and rather, as if he were using fancy words to prove he was smart, instead of just being smart and talking regular.
But right now, he was the smart one. He’d gotten Eden to hand over an innocent, injured creature. For all Eden knew, he’d already killed the wounded ant. There was so much she didn’t know, but the one thing she knew for sure was that she wouldn’t learn anything new by staying in a locked room.
Eden paced the small space, fretting. At this point, she didn’t even know if there were any other people at the Institute at all, and no one she knew was even aware that she was there. What if she never got out? What if no one ever found her? What if she got hungry, or had to pee? Was it possible she could die in that dark little room and no one would know? Almost as bad was the thought that she was losing valuable time at the Institute when she could be finding allies.
By now, however, her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she was able to make out a pull cord hanging from a bare bulb above her head. She took off her sweatshirt and pressed it along the narrow gap between the bottom of the door and the floor to make sure no light could shine through, just in case Mr. Rattice happened to be walking by, then pulled the cord.
As the room filled with light, Eden was surprised to see that unlike the massive, well-kept rooms she’d already passed through, this one was musty and neglected. The only furniture was a plain wooden desk scattered with pens, and a bookcase with a single book on its dusty shelves. The book was bursting with index cards and sticky notes that had been inserted between almost every page as if someone had just been studying it, but the thick layer of dust that coated its cover indicated that it had been abandoned long ago. Taking the volume from the shelf, Eden realized that it wasn’t a published book but a handwritten journal. On the cover, a title was written in dark green ink: Conversations and Observations, Volume I. Eden knew that she should be trying to escape instead of stopping to read, but the mysterious book was irresistible.
On the first page was a dedication that read “To my mother,” and at the top of the next page in big green letters was the word Fly. As she began to read, Eden noticed that instead of having paragraphs and descriptions like most books she’d read, this book was all dialogue, as though someone had tape-recorded a conversation and then written it all down. It looked like this:
M.W.: Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.
F.: My pleasure. It’s the least I can do, after you saved me from that web.
M.W.: It was nothing.
F.: Not to me it wasn’t. (chuckles, vomits on chair)
M.W.: Before we get started, can I offer you a drink or some food? I have some cantaloupe rind that’s been sitting in the sun for days.
F.: That sounds delicious, but for now just a drink, please.
M.W.: Of course. Tea? Coffee? Sugar water?
F.: Sugar water, please, with two thimblefuls of tea.
M.W.: Wonderful. I’ll be right back.
Eden was astonished. It was a conversation between a human and a fly! It was obvious that F stood for “fly,” but who was M.W.? Eden needed to know, because whoever M.W. was, it was clear that they could talk to flies the same way she could talk to the wasp queen. She skimmed the book and was excited to see that M.W. had conducted many interviews with all different kinds of insects. Some she’d never even heard of, like bombardier beetles and vampire moths. The back of her neck prickled with excitement. She was flabbergasted by how quickly she’d discovered another person who could also speak to insects. M.W. could be the partner she was looking for! Plus, she was yearning to find out how M.W. had learned to speak many different insect languages. If M.W. had learned that many, maybe she could, too.
Eden knew her first priority had to be finding a way out of that room, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to read at least one more chapter. She flipped ahead, stopping at “Silkworms.”
M.W.: Hello—
S.W.: Aah! A human!
M.W.: Please, don't be alarmed. I'm not here to hurt you. I'd just like to interview you.
S.W.: For what? Who sent you?
M.W.: No one. I was hoping we could talk.
S.W.: Nice try, human. You think I believe you're not one of them?
M.W.: Them? Who's—
S.W.: (twisting around to see if anyone is listening) Shh!
M.W.: What’s going on? Are you in some kind of danger?
S.W.: (looks around, whispers) We all are. All the time. They could be anywhere, waiting to grab our cocoons.
M.W.: Who? Who wants your cocoons?
S.W.: The silk makers! You have any idea how they make silk?
M.W.: No. I’ve never thought about it.
S.W.: That’s because they don’t want you to know. That silk tie you’re wearing right now? They raided a thousand of our cocoons to make that thing.
M.W.: What? That’s awful. I had no idea.
S.W.: Barely any humans do. And the ones who know don’t care.
M.W.: I care. Please, join us. Let us be your allies.
S.W.: Who’s us? Who’s we?
M.W.: We— Wait. It probably isn’t safe to talk here.
S.W.: Nowhere’s safe. They’re everywhere!
M.W.: Come with me to the Institute. We’re having a meeting tonight, and some ants will be there whom I think you should meet.
S.W.: What ants? What Institute?
M.W.: If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Will you come with me? Will you trust me?
S.W.: (hesitates, then) . . . All right, I’m in. Can I bring nine thousand friends?
M.W.: Absolutely. As many as you can! The ants and I are planning a march against insecticides. Ants usually go marching one by one, but this time we’re going to march by the hundreds of thousands, so we’re going to need as many insects and humans as we can get. Join us, and we can all help each other stop cruelty, murder, and the destruction of our earth, sea, and sky.
S.W.: Right on! Let’s do this!
Eden’s heart started beating like a drum in a parade. She’d seen that the Institute was beautiful. Now she could see that it was also a place where radical ideas were born, that there were people who wanted to protect insects like the silkworms from the humans who wanted to hurt them and steal their babies. Eden wanted to join them. She came from a family that had marched and protested against injustice for generations. Eden, her parents, her grandparents, and their parents before them had spoken out for human rights, civil rights, women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and the rights of the planet itself. But what had happened to the big plans of the humans and insects of the Institute? Had their march ever happened? Why was a book that recorded the beginning of a revolution now covered in dust? Eden skipped to the back and saw there were dozens of blank pages. She examined the cover again, running her fingers over the words Volume I. She wondered if there were other volumes or, if this was the only one, why M.W. and the insects would’ve abandoned their mission. They probably had no idea there was an enemy plotting against them right now. She had to find M.W. and the insects. She had to stop the wicked boy.
Her best chance of escaping, she realized, was to take the door off its hinges. Unlike throwing herself against it or trying to smash through it, taking it off its hinges was something she could accomplish quietly without calling any attention to herself. She’d helped her parents put together enough IKEA furniture to be pretty confident she could manage it. Eden wished she still had her backpack. She always kept a mini tool kit in there, just in case. But maybe there was something in the room that could double as a screwdriver. She scanned the array of pens on the table, hoping to find an old-fashioned one that had a metal nib.
Eden had put the book back on the shelf and turned to examine the pens when she heard a clicking sound behind her. She turned and was stunned to see that the book was now rotating clockwise, as if it were a key in a lock. Suddenly, the whole bookcase was turning, opening like a door. And although the room it opened onto was cavernous and dark, Eden felt a refreshing breeze sweep across her face. Worried she’d never see the precious notebook again if she didn’t take it with her, she snatched it off the shelf.
Eden didn’t feel great about taking it. She hated stealing and any kind of dishonesty so much that she’d get upset at her dad for sampling too many grapes at the farmers market. He’d laugh and tell her to look around, and Eden would be scandalized to see that nearly every shopper was plucking grapes and cherry tomatoes off their stems and popping them into their mouths before they paid for them. The vendors either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care.
Besides, Eden was planning to return the book as soon as she was done with it. And she was taking it for a good reason, wasn’t she? Getting the tools to communicate with insects was the whole purpose of the Institute. Having convinced herself that she was doing the right thing, Eden stepped into the dark room. And unlike the last time, when the darkness seemed dangerous and forbidding, this time it seemed to promise something wonderful, and she felt as light and optimistic as if she were stepping outdoors into fresh air.
The Key
“This was Milton’s operating room,” Tillie explained as she led August to a wide double door. “He had a remarkable gift for healing. I once watched him perform surgery on a stick insect. Someone had mistaken him for an actual stick and jammed a marshmallow onto his head. It required nine head and neck procedures.”
August had no idea bugs could be mistaken for sticks. He made a mental note never to pick up a stick again.
“No one’s used this room since Milton passed away,” Tillie said. “But I’d like you to have that honor.”
“I am honored indeed, Tillie,” he said, bowing his head in fake respect for the long-dead weirdo. “I can think of no better place to perform a lifesaving surgery on dear little Dot.”
“Then let’s not waste a moment,” Tillie said as she unlocked and opened the door to reveal a pristine operating room. “I think you’ll find everything you need.”
A microscope stood atop a table at the center of the room, and alongside the table was a small stand. The stand was set like a beautiful dining room table, only it had rows of tiny surgical instruments instead of silverware. August, however, barely noticed the exquisite craftsmanship of the room. He was much more interested in the ring of keys that dangled from Tillie’s fingers.
“Thank you,” August said. “I’ll update you on her recovery as soon as I’ve completed the procedure. Though obviously it’s going to go perfectly, since I’m highly trained and remarkably gifted.”
