A Smile

Where it came from, I had no way of knowing. Perhaps it crawled up from the stream below my house. Or maybe it crossed the roads leading down the hill from the forest reserve above.

What are the chances, I wondered, that someone dropped it off? Someone wishing me good fortune would have been nice. A gesture of support, perhaps. Or of concerning care.

They are known in the mythic world as creatures of great strength. So strong, say people of some cultures, that they can hold up the world. As elephants are to others, they may be plodding, but they move ever forward, overcoming all obstacles in their way.

Maybe someone was wishing me all that strength and power to overcome any obstacle. Some anonymous well-wisher. Yes, how kind of him or her to drop off this gift of good fortune.

I opened the door one day and there it was. Sitting plop in the middle of the welcome mat, large enough to cover the ‘m’ and ‘e.’ Fortunately, I’d looked before stepping out. Who knows what kind of damage I might have done had my foot come down on it? Some, maybe, or maybe a great deal. What a way to go.

“Hi,” I said to it. I think of myself as a descendant of Dr. Doolittle. Talking with animals has always come naturally to me. It is a rare case where I’m unable to converse, at some rudimentary level at least, with any creature I encounter.

Many’s the time I’ve carried on quite extensive conversations with dogs and cats, birds, and fish. You name it. When I tell my friends about this ability, they laugh. I’m used to that. What they don’t know, well, it can’t hurt them.

So I said, “Hi,” to the little guy.

Its head bobbed up and down, and straining to hear, I thought it whispered “Hello.”

“What did you say?” I asked, just to confirm. “Please speak up. I’m an old man and my ears aren’t what they used to be.”

“I said ‘Hello’,” I surmised he said, pushing up the volume a still soft notch or two.

“Ah, that’s better,” I said. “That time I could hear you clearly,” I lied.

Its head bobbed in response.

“Are you all right?” I asked, wondering if he might be whispering because of some illness or injury. “Or is it just that you have a very soft voice to begin with? Is that it?”

Again there was the head bob.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

The head tilted to one side, and I thought I saw a slight smile.

“Do you need water?”

A head bob.

I knelt and picked it up very carefully.

“Let’s get you some water.”

I took it into the kitchen and set it down on side of the sink. Filling it to about an inch, I picked the poor thing up and sat it in the water. After a moment, it dunked its head under and began stroking carefully, motoring around in the water like a little boat.

While it swam, I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a head of lettuce. Tearing off a leaf, I proceeded to tear it further into tiny pieces.

“How about some lettuce,” I said, plucking it from the water and placing it on the counter.

It stared at the lettuce for a while, not moving.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “I thought you guys liked lettuce?”

It looked up at me and then back down at the lettuce.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.

At that prompting, it stepped forward and took a small bite. The lettuce agreed with it. I watched while it consumed the entire leaf.

“Okay,” I said, “now that you’ve had some water and food, let me ask you. Are you on a journey somewhere, or am I the end of the journey you were on? Would you like to stay here and live with me?”

It bobbed its head.

“Geez,” I said, “you are about the least talkative thing I’ve ever met. But maybe you’re shy, huh? What do you think? You think once we get to know each other you’ll have more to say?”

As expected, all it could manage was a headbob.

“And you’re probably tired as well. Who knows how far you’ve traveled to get here? Since you’re not in a talking mood, I guess I’ll have to wait to find out.”

Nod.

“You sit right here, okay? I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

By the way it tilted its head, I guessed it hadn’t heard that idiom before. For all I knew, it might not even know what a lamb was.

I went into my basement and found a nice cardboard box. It seemed deep enough to prevent escape.

Back in the kitchen, I saw that it hadn’t moved. Its eyes were closed now. It was tired. Siesta time after a swim and a meal.

Placing a shallow bowl of water in the box, I gently picked up the new occupant and placed it inside. I’d expected its eyes to open because of this disturbance, but they didn’t.

Now I had to decide where to put it. What if it were injured? Should it be in a warm place? I considered placing the box on top of a heating pad, but then I wondered if that might be hazardous should the water bowl somehow tip over.

Finally, I settled on keeping it in my bedroom. Trying hard not to wake it, I walked slowly to my room. Looking around, I saw the only clear space was on my desk. But if I put it there, what if it did manage to escape the box? Mightn’t it walk off the edge?

The only place I could think of was on the floor, but where? The last thing I wanted was to wake up in the middle of the night to pee and step into the box, maybe crushing the poor thing.

The only place safe enough, I decided, was under the bed. Sliding the box under, I congratulated myself on this idea.

Ideal, I thought. And to make it perfect, tomorrow I can go buy a nicer house at PetCo.

That night, before easing into bed, I carefully slid the box out just to check. Sure enough, it was fast asleep.

I lay down and fell asleep quickly. And then something strange happened.

You know how sometimes you know you’re dreaming? It happens to me frequently. I am dreaming and I know it, and I say to myself, ‘You know this is a dream, right?’

It was one of those. In my dream I was under my bed, lying next to the cardboard box. I was asleep there, but as happens in dreams, I could also see the box. And it was trying to climb out.

The struggle was obvious, but one small clawing step at a time, the little creature managed to boost itself over the top and come to rest on the carpet.

“Hey,” I said in my dream, “be careful. If you crawl around on the floor, I might step on you in the dark. You should stay under the bed.”

It stared for a while at the one me sleeping there, and then it looked up and stared at the other me watching and talking to it.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “Do you understand my warning?”

And then I could see a broad smile sneak across its face. Nodding, it said, “I may be under your bed now, but I’ll be on top of it soon.”

I awoke with a start. But what I saw startled me more. There, sitting on the pillow next to me, the creature sat. And it had a terrifying gleam in its yellow eyes.

“But you’re under my bed,” I said.

It shook its head and smiled a wicked smile.