|
Wanna read the latest
from Clever Magazine? |
|
|
Igor, the vampire bat by Terri Coffman |
 |
|
Growing up in the jungle, there were two words my parents would not tolerate being spoken by any of us kids, “I’m bored.” If those words were ever spoken, they would make sure the bored child was saved by having him help with gardening, washing, hauling water, shucking corn, whatever was needed over and beyond regular chores. We kids learned at an early age to keep our complaints of boredom to ourselves, and either make or find our own entertainment whenever or however we could. We found out that lightning bugs could decorate your hair or clothing, if you carefully pinned them with bobby pins. At night, their illumination could be seen as far as three feet away. When in flight, their brightness could light up the ground like a miniature spotlight. When we tired of them, we simply unpinned them and watched them fly away. We never to intentionally hurt any of our live toys – we may want to play with them again sometime. We were constantly chasing the green iguanas that would come looking for a meal in our vegetable garden. Pretending the large lizards were fire-breathing dragons, we would often chase them with pretend swords made out of bamboo, sometimes teaming up to try to keep them away from the trees because once they scurried up into the canopy, they would be gone and so was our fun. We never actually ever came close to catching one. We knew enough to stay away from their long whip-like tails which they would use like a bullwhip and could slice a person’s leg down to the bone In my own personal quest for self-entertainment, I would catch one of our hens and force her to bear the indignity of being dressed up in doll clothes; try to put a noose around our nanny goat’s nose and ride her like a pony; or bring home a litter of newborn baby bush rats to which I would try to be a surrogate mother. I was constantly trying to “save” some poor creature who would have been much better off without my help. It was around this time that my family met Igor. We noticed him early one evening hanging upside down from one of the bamboo rafters over my parent’s bed. He had obviously come in one of the open, unscreened windows earlier in the day. The whole family gathered around him and as quietly as we could, we watched the phenomenon which became the beginning of a year-long, mutually satisfying relationship. Igor, as we named him, was a perfect house guest. He was quiet, didn’t take up much room, didn’t require any kind of attention, and always let himself out at night and back in again the next morning. He was small; only about four inches long. His black fur glistened as he wrapped his wings around him like a velvety blanket as he slept. Igor was a bat – a vampire bat. At dusk, just before the windows were closed for the night, Igor would fly out in search of his nightly meal. In the morning, when the windows were reopened, he would repeat the same routine: fly back in to roost, always landing at the exact same spot each time. He would hold himself upside by his toes, fold his little wings around him, and fall into a peaceful sleep. This was odd behavior for a bat because bats are not solitary creatures. They live in communes sometimes numbering hundreds or even thousands, in some cases. They usually make their homes in caves where it is dark and damp. They certainly don’t hang around in bright daylight in a house amongst people! That right there, told us Igor was different. Once we got past the fact of what vampire bats ate (or, in this case, drank), and understood that he would not bother us if we didn’t bother him, we just included him as part of our jungle family. For a year, Igor lived with us, providing us and our friends hours of endless observations and countless scary vampire stories. No one could believe we allowed a vampire bat to live with us! But we were proud, proud that, for whatever reason, Igor chose us as his adoptive family. Then, one morning when the windows were opened, Igor didn’t come home. Nor did he come home the next day, or the next. We never saw him again. That fact led to other endless speculations. “Maybe he found a girlfriend and started a family!” “Maybe he wasn’t a he but a she and had babies,” and so on. (Nobody was willing to consider that something bad could have happened to our little friend.) At first, it was really lonely without him. We would pass by the bedroom and look up at his rafter, expecting to see his tiny black form hanging there. But, Igor never came back to us. We could only wish him well, wherever he was. |
|
|
Home
| Contributors
to Clever Magazine | Writers' Guidelines © No portion of Clever Magazine may be copied or reprinted without express consent of the editor. |
|