Novel: "Touch" chapter 10
"Oh my God!" Amy's eyes jerked away from the photo on Trudy's computer. "That's awful!"
"It's a butterfly. That's what they look like."
"That's not a butterfly, it's some horrible bug."
"No, look." Trudy clicked on the thumbnail for another photo, a yellow swallowtail, taken from the side, dappled wings folded together so only one was visible. "See? Look at the face." Amy leaned in closer. "The other picture is just where I cropped out the rest of her so you could see the face better."
"Igh! Why would you do that?" She clicked back to the close-up picture, not looking away this time. "It's just creepy."
"Yeah, but... it's the truth. That's what their faces look like. They are bugs, you know. Insects. They're related to ants and beetles and cockroaches and flies."
Amy shuddered, still looking at the bulging eyes. "I liked it better when I didn't know."
"Well, tough crap. There's a lot of stuff you didn't know that you aren't going to want to know."
"And what is that, that thing sticking out of her, is it a nose or a tongue or what?"
"It's kind of a tongue. She sticks it in the flower to get the nectar, like, especially if it's a long, thin flower. Like a chimp sticking a stick in a termite mound to get termites."
"What?? Why would he want termites?"
"Protein."
"They eat termites?"
"Uh, yeah. You know, people eat bugs, too."
"Why??"
Trudy shrugged. "Protein."
"God. I hate you."
"It's not my fault the world is gross. People gotta eat. And one thing they eat is locusts, which, the locusts descend, this hoard of them, and they eat all the crops, I mean everything, so the people literally don't have anything to eat, all the stuff they farmed all year is gone, and all that's left is like, a carpet of locusts over the whole village."
"Gah!" She closed her eyes, and when she opened them was looking at the sky out the window.
"So the people scoop them up and roast them in a pan over the fire. They'd starve, otherwise."
"I think I'd rather starve."
"Well, you might change your mind if you hadn't eaten in a week and weren't going to eat for another month. People will do about anything to keep living. Most people."
"Have you eaten bugs?"
"No. But I'm not starving." Trudy poked her finger against the computer screen. "Look, though, there's something else." Amy turned her gaze back to the close-up of the butterfly head. "See the little flecks on his nose thing?" Amy nodded. "That's pollen. It's plant..."
"Sperm?"
Trudy nodded, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. "Yeah, pretty much. It's weird the things your brain knows to associate with a word. Anyway, the butterfly - or bees, too - go from flower to flower looking for nectar, because it's what they eat. And the butterfly doesn't care that it gets some pollen stuck to it, but it carries it from one flower to the next, and it reaches in the next flower to get nectar, and the pollen brushes off on that flower's pistil, which is the, well, the girl part, and it, well, fertilizes it, which means it, it's really like the flower gets pregnant, I guess - " Amy snorted a laugh, and Trudy laughed, too. "Well, it is. I mean, seeds are baby plants, so... but anyway, if the butterflies and bees and stuff didn't do there thing, then it's not like the plants can go walk over to each other and rub their flowers together - " She partly succeeded in quelling a fit of giggles; Amy was already lost in her own fit. "But seriously, there'd be no new plants, there'd be no fruit, because the fruit only forms when there's a seed. So no apples, or tomatoes, or peppers, or berries. No plants that have flowers at all."
Their laughter subsided, and Amy gazed at the photo. When she spoke, there was no revulsion in her voice, only something akin to reverence. "So all because of... I'd never even known they were eating; I just thought they thought the flowers were pretty. It's, it's astounding. It's so cool." Her gaze shifted away for a second, but then back. "It isn't even gross anymore. It's just cool."
"You're welcome."
Amy laughed, more of a cackle than Trudy could remember hearing from her. Before she could respond, though, Susan tapped on the door. "Okay, guys, I'm outta here." Amy and Trudy quickly shifted so that their only point of contact was the knees of their lotus'd legs. Susan opened the door and pantomimed to Amy as she spoke. "I'm leaving; you're staying here. You two stay here, together."
Amy nodded. Trudy said, "Yeah, like I'm gonna go for a walk alone."
"I wouldn't really be surprised." The archness in her voice didn't match her expression; there was something soft in her eyes, almost pleased. Proud. Trudy jerked her head away, which did no good, of course; she was trapped in Susan's gaze as long as Amy chose to look. "And frankly, you'd probably be fine. But it's not like you have a watch, so I can't tell you to be back by five. Besides, there's weeding!" She pantomimed again, her fingers curled ruthlessly around an imaginary stalk and yanking it.
"I'm guessing that's more a job for Amy, since, well..."
"You've got homework; take your laptop and sit outside for a change. Or stay inside and clean the bathroom; your choice. Anyway, as I said, I'm outta here." She left the door ajar and walked down the hall and out the front door.
Trudy rubbed her hands together like a movie villain. "We've got run of the house, with no prying eyes."
"So?"
"So, I never get to see the living room, or barely the kitchen, or the bathroom, for that matter. And you said she has books."
"Yeah, there's whole shelves in the, the office."
"I haven't read a book in months. Come on."
Amy pulled back against Trudy's hand. "We were going to weed."
"I don't recall either of us agreeing to that." Amy didn't say anything, but Trudy could feel her expression without seeing it. "Fine. If we both weed half the afternoon, it'll be like you weeding all afternoon. You understand the math?"
"Yeah." There was an edge to Amy's voice.
"So weed an hour, read an hour. It even rhymes; it's meant to be."
After a pause, it was Amy who pulled Trudy toward out the door and into the office, where Trudy looked over the first bookcase. "Well, I could teach you calculus." She thumbed through the textbook. "Except this looks like college stuff." She put it back, reached toward and then past a copy of Stephen King's It that for some reason was between the math book and a psychology textbook, and knelt down. Amy joined her to look at the lower shelves. "Virginia Woolf; weirdo. Oh, God, Ethan Frome, yeah, if you want to want to kill yourself after you read it. Gatsby, rich assholes with nothing to do. Catcher in the Rye, another whiny rich guy." She reached up toward Itagain, Amy's gaze reflexively following, and then something caught Trudy's attention on the shelf in between. "Yeah!" She pulled out Watership Down and held it gently between her hands.
"Is it about God?"
"Uh, no."
"Why are your hands like in church?" Amy was right; her fingers were together and fingertips pointed up to the sky. Trudy moved to hold it by the spine and flipped the pages.
"It's an epic. About bunnies." She paused. "See, you're supposed to snicker, because bunnies aren't... it'd be like an epic about cows. Like, dairy cows, not Texas Longhorns. It's ridiculous, see, because rabbits don't have adventures, they just eat clover and have sex and... eat more clover. It's just ludicrous."
"So you don't want to read that, either?"
"No! I mean, I do, you've got to read it, it's amazing!"
"But, "ridiculous" isn't a, a good thing. Isn't a compliment."
"Well, no, but, okay, it seems ridiculous when you say it, and people look at you like a, a freak, but the thing is, it seems completely, when you're reading it everything just unfolds and you don't stop to think that it makes no sense, because it makes sense. Look, just trust me, you'll like it." She held the book out, and Amy hesitated.
"What?"
"I just, I've never read a book. What if it's, what if it's disappointing?"
"Then I'll wash dishes for a week."
"Susan'll suspect something." Trudy didn't have an answer. Amy took a breath, then took the book. "No, I want to see. Let's go."
"Go where?"
"To the back yard." Amy said it like it was obvious. "If Susan comes home and we're sitting on the couch with a book..."
"Yeah. God, I'm dense." Trudy shook her head quickly. "And you are devious."
"That's not usually a compliment, either."
"Well, it is today."
Originally posted at http://violetcheetah.dreamwidth.org/65847.html. Feel free to comment there
comments
"It's a butterfly. That's what they look like."
"That's not a butterfly, it's some horrible bug."
"No, look." Trudy clicked on the thumbnail for another photo, a yellow swallowtail, taken from the side, dappled wings folded together so only one was visible. "See? Look at the face." Amy leaned in closer. "The other picture is just where I cropped out the rest of her so you could see the face better."
"Igh! Why would you do that?" She clicked back to the close-up picture, not looking away this time. "It's just creepy."
"Yeah, but... it's the truth. That's what their faces look like. They are bugs, you know. Insects. They're related to ants and beetles and cockroaches and flies."
Amy shuddered, still looking at the bulging eyes. "I liked it better when I didn't know."
"Well, tough crap. There's a lot of stuff you didn't know that you aren't going to want to know."
"And what is that, that thing sticking out of her, is it a nose or a tongue or what?"
"It's kind of a tongue. She sticks it in the flower to get the nectar, like, especially if it's a long, thin flower. Like a chimp sticking a stick in a termite mound to get termites."
"What?? Why would he want termites?"
"Protein."
"They eat termites?"
"Uh, yeah. You know, people eat bugs, too."
"Why??"
Trudy shrugged. "Protein."
"God. I hate you."
"It's not my fault the world is gross. People gotta eat. And one thing they eat is locusts, which, the locusts descend, this hoard of them, and they eat all the crops, I mean everything, so the people literally don't have anything to eat, all the stuff they farmed all year is gone, and all that's left is like, a carpet of locusts over the whole village."
"Gah!" She closed her eyes, and when she opened them was looking at the sky out the window.
"So the people scoop them up and roast them in a pan over the fire. They'd starve, otherwise."
"I think I'd rather starve."
"Well, you might change your mind if you hadn't eaten in a week and weren't going to eat for another month. People will do about anything to keep living. Most people."
"Have you eaten bugs?"
"No. But I'm not starving." Trudy poked her finger against the computer screen. "Look, though, there's something else." Amy turned her gaze back to the close-up of the butterfly head. "See the little flecks on his nose thing?" Amy nodded. "That's pollen. It's plant..."
"Sperm?"
Trudy nodded, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. "Yeah, pretty much. It's weird the things your brain knows to associate with a word. Anyway, the butterfly - or bees, too - go from flower to flower looking for nectar, because it's what they eat. And the butterfly doesn't care that it gets some pollen stuck to it, but it carries it from one flower to the next, and it reaches in the next flower to get nectar, and the pollen brushes off on that flower's pistil, which is the, well, the girl part, and it, well, fertilizes it, which means it, it's really like the flower gets pregnant, I guess - " Amy snorted a laugh, and Trudy laughed, too. "Well, it is. I mean, seeds are baby plants, so... but anyway, if the butterflies and bees and stuff didn't do there thing, then it's not like the plants can go walk over to each other and rub their flowers together - " She partly succeeded in quelling a fit of giggles; Amy was already lost in her own fit. "But seriously, there'd be no new plants, there'd be no fruit, because the fruit only forms when there's a seed. So no apples, or tomatoes, or peppers, or berries. No plants that have flowers at all."
Their laughter subsided, and Amy gazed at the photo. When she spoke, there was no revulsion in her voice, only something akin to reverence. "So all because of... I'd never even known they were eating; I just thought they thought the flowers were pretty. It's, it's astounding. It's so cool." Her gaze shifted away for a second, but then back. "It isn't even gross anymore. It's just cool."
"You're welcome."
Amy laughed, more of a cackle than Trudy could remember hearing from her. Before she could respond, though, Susan tapped on the door. "Okay, guys, I'm outta here." Amy and Trudy quickly shifted so that their only point of contact was the knees of their lotus'd legs. Susan opened the door and pantomimed to Amy as she spoke. "I'm leaving; you're staying here. You two stay here, together."
Amy nodded. Trudy said, "Yeah, like I'm gonna go for a walk alone."
"I wouldn't really be surprised." The archness in her voice didn't match her expression; there was something soft in her eyes, almost pleased. Proud. Trudy jerked her head away, which did no good, of course; she was trapped in Susan's gaze as long as Amy chose to look. "And frankly, you'd probably be fine. But it's not like you have a watch, so I can't tell you to be back by five. Besides, there's weeding!" She pantomimed again, her fingers curled ruthlessly around an imaginary stalk and yanking it.
"I'm guessing that's more a job for Amy, since, well..."
"You've got homework; take your laptop and sit outside for a change. Or stay inside and clean the bathroom; your choice. Anyway, as I said, I'm outta here." She left the door ajar and walked down the hall and out the front door.
Trudy rubbed her hands together like a movie villain. "We've got run of the house, with no prying eyes."
"So?"
"So, I never get to see the living room, or barely the kitchen, or the bathroom, for that matter. And you said she has books."
"Yeah, there's whole shelves in the, the office."
"I haven't read a book in months. Come on."
Amy pulled back against Trudy's hand. "We were going to weed."
"I don't recall either of us agreeing to that." Amy didn't say anything, but Trudy could feel her expression without seeing it. "Fine. If we both weed half the afternoon, it'll be like you weeding all afternoon. You understand the math?"
"Yeah." There was an edge to Amy's voice.
"So weed an hour, read an hour. It even rhymes; it's meant to be."
After a pause, it was Amy who pulled Trudy toward out the door and into the office, where Trudy looked over the first bookcase. "Well, I could teach you calculus." She thumbed through the textbook. "Except this looks like college stuff." She put it back, reached toward and then past a copy of Stephen King's It that for some reason was between the math book and a psychology textbook, and knelt down. Amy joined her to look at the lower shelves. "Virginia Woolf; weirdo. Oh, God, Ethan Frome, yeah, if you want to want to kill yourself after you read it. Gatsby, rich assholes with nothing to do. Catcher in the Rye, another whiny rich guy." She reached up toward Itagain, Amy's gaze reflexively following, and then something caught Trudy's attention on the shelf in between. "Yeah!" She pulled out Watership Down and held it gently between her hands.
"Is it about God?"
"Uh, no."
"Why are your hands like in church?" Amy was right; her fingers were together and fingertips pointed up to the sky. Trudy moved to hold it by the spine and flipped the pages.
"It's an epic. About bunnies." She paused. "See, you're supposed to snicker, because bunnies aren't... it'd be like an epic about cows. Like, dairy cows, not Texas Longhorns. It's ridiculous, see, because rabbits don't have adventures, they just eat clover and have sex and... eat more clover. It's just ludicrous."
"So you don't want to read that, either?"
"No! I mean, I do, you've got to read it, it's amazing!"
"But, "ridiculous" isn't a, a good thing. Isn't a compliment."
"Well, no, but, okay, it seems ridiculous when you say it, and people look at you like a, a freak, but the thing is, it seems completely, when you're reading it everything just unfolds and you don't stop to think that it makes no sense, because it makes sense. Look, just trust me, you'll like it." She held the book out, and Amy hesitated.
"What?"
"I just, I've never read a book. What if it's, what if it's disappointing?"
"Then I'll wash dishes for a week."
"Susan'll suspect something." Trudy didn't have an answer. Amy took a breath, then took the book. "No, I want to see. Let's go."
"Go where?"
"To the back yard." Amy said it like it was obvious. "If Susan comes home and we're sitting on the couch with a book..."
"Yeah. God, I'm dense." Trudy shook her head quickly. "And you are devious."
"That's not usually a compliment, either."
"Well, it is today."
Originally posted at http://violetcheetah.dreamwidth.org/65847.html. Feel free to comment there
comments