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Description

When the comet Eros passes, all her creatures forget themselves and share her light.

When she leaves, they remember, for a time.

There was an orphaned rat named Sam, who lived burrowless along the banks of the White River. She was still a child, and had never seen Eros, but she knew the time of Eros's visit was coming, because prey and predator alike walked, swam and flew with an agitated preposession, as if they were each the only creature in the world.

Sam had heard the stories about Eros, about how on the night of the comet all the happiness that lizards had enjoyed for the past ten years passed to the rats, in exchange for the misery the rats had suffered. But she didn't believe a word of them. If they were true, the lizards wouldn't keep tearing up burrows and eating people's parents and brothers, but they did, and that was life.

On the night Eros came, Sam had not eaten in many days, and her fur fell about her bones and her joints shook from hunger like a rat ten times her age. Perhaps that was what gave her the audacity to steal an egg from a raptor's nest.

She did not imagine she would get away with such a bold trespass for long. But she did not need to stay and eat the whole egg. Just a few sips of the yolk would give her the strength to survive the night, or so she told herself.

There was no yolk inside, however. When she broke the shell, a living face met hers. And at that precise moment, the clouds broke, and Eros greeted the world with her molecules.

All at once, Sam understood the stories her parents had told her. There was no transferrence of pain or pleasure, no reparation of injustice. There was only acceptance. What Eros brought was love, nothing more. And somehow, that was everything. Sam looked at the scaly face of the baby raptor, and she loved her. And just as miraculously, the raptor loved her too.

As the molecules settled in the raptor's body, the baby learned to understand the language that all creatures speak, the language of Eros. And she struggled for something to say, to greet the world and her fellow child, and settled on laughter. Then Sam laughed, and they laughed together.

There is no sense lingering on the night the two rogues spent together, because away from Eros's light their games must appear as silly trifles, unworthy of the fierce devotion which woke with them in the morning. Such is the mystery of Eros, best misremembered, hidden under stormy myths.

It is enough to say that when the sun rose, they were the dearest friends in the world.

The baby grew quickly, as raptors do. Within a few days Sam could ride on her back, and gallop across the hills. She was sure no rat had ever flown so fast or high.

One time they saw a pack of raptors hunting, and the raptor asked, “who are they? They look like me.”

“They are like you,” said Sam. “They are raptors. But they don't have names. You have a name.”

“What's my name?” the raptor asked.

“Dolly,” said Sam.

When Dolly met the other raptors, they chased her out of their territory, and teased her for carrying a rat on her back.

“Get out of here, kid,” they shouted. “Go find some clothes. Don't you know rats are food?”

“They're just jealous,” Sam assured her. “Because they don't have names.”

“Are rats food?” Dolly asked, after a while.

It was almost night and they were both hungry.

“Most rats,” said Sam, who loved Dolly more than any rat, and who had accepted her people's place on the food chain. “But not me. You can never eat me, because I gave you your name, alright?”

“Alright,” said Dolly.

As a hatchling, Dolly had scavenged with Sam, eating bugs and skinks, but the more she grew the less they satisfied her.

That night, they found a burrow. Sam taught Dolly where to find the entrances, so she could block all routes of escape.

There were seven rats in all. Dolly slurped each down with a happy shiver.

The last two were very small, and Dolly gave one to Sam, saying “food” with her mouth full of the other.

Sam had eaten rats before, or their carcasses at any rate, and her belly was empty, so she accepted.

The rat did not cry or beg. Sam had not cried or begged, when she was that small. She had not let herself be eaten with a vacant shocked expression like that, either. She had hidden, and survived. This rat should have hidden.

Sam ate her, and felt her kick for a while until her stomach settled. It was a good feeling.

She lay down with Dolly, both of them almost too full to move, and slept soundly for the first time in her life, knowing that her days of near starvation were forever behind her.

This was Dolly and Sam's routine, and they soon became famous up and down the valley- a source of terror and disgust for the rats, mirth for the raptors and curiosity for everyone else.

It served them well, and both grew tremendously plump off the business. Sam was, she was sure, the plumpest rat who had ever lived, which was not saying a lot, since most rats resembled skeletons with whiskers, but it made her wriggle with joy to think about.

She and Dolly often tickled and teased each other's jiggly areas, pretending to tut about the other's gluttonous habits.

Sometimes Sam would dream that she was a skeleton again, and that thousands of tiny rats were swarming over her, gnawing the life out of her, squealing their contempt. Once or twice, she found the strength to stand up despite them and turn to Dolly, who was always there, always beside her, a great warm protective wall of flesh, and she would fall on Dolly, only to sink into the wall and find that it was made of millions more rats, who closed in over her until at last she woke up choking.

Each time, she ran to hug Dolly for real, and Dolly would hold her against her body, the supple sea of warm scales, and the fury of the rats would seem comical in the sunlight, for after all who were the dead to judge her, when she was fat and alive and still in love after all these years?

The years between Eros's visits stretched on.

One morning, Sam found Dolly in a pensive mood.

“I was just an egg when you found me, wasn't I?” Dolly asked.

“You were,” said Sam

“Were you planning on eating me?”

Sam hesitated. “Yes.”

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if my mother had caught you?”

“No,” said Sam. “I suppose she would have eaten me first. She might have eaten you as well. Raptors do that, you know.”

“I can imagine.”

The conversation unsettled Sam, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

Dolly stared down the valley to the horizon.

“I sometimes wonder how I'd be as a mother,” she said.

“You'd be a wonderful mother,” Sam teased. “You'd gobble up your eggs the moment they fell out your fat bum.”

“I don't know,” Dolly laughed. “I reckon I could become a matriarch pretty easily. That raptor with the dodgy eye manages it, how hard could it be?”

Sam laughed along, but there was something hollow in her laughter.

A moment later she realised what it was.

“I sometimes think about what my life would be like if we weren't friends,” Dolly mused, wistfully.

Frantically, Sam reached for the memories, the sacred memories.

They were still there. But she had to reach. They were buried deep, and ever deeper, ever dustier. How deep must they have sunk in Dolly's mind?

Dolly noticed Sam's discomfort, and grinned.

“I bet you think about it too, don't you? If we met as strangers.”

She stroked her stomach.

“You know what it's like to swallow a rat. I bet you've wondered what it's like to be swallowed. Yeah, look at your face, you've thought about it. Joining the rest of them. Wouldn't they all be pleased to see you?”

She burped for dramatic effect.

Sam said nothing.

“Ah, I'm just razzing you,” Dolly said. “We've got a good thing going. Come on, let's go rustle up some breakfast.”

“Alright, Dolly,” said Sam.

She had not called Dolly by her name in a long time.

She could have sworn the raptor flinched.

Description

When the comet Eros passes, all her creatures forget themselves and share her light.

When she leaves, they remember, for a time.

There was an orphaned rat named Sam, who lived burrowless along the banks of the White River. She was still a child, and had never seen Eros, but she knew the time of Eros's visit was coming, because prey and predator alike walked, swam and flew with an agitated preposession, as if they were each the only creature in the world.

Sam had heard the stories about Eros, about how on the night of the comet all the happiness that lizards had enjoyed for the past ten years passed to the rats, in exchange for the misery the rats had suffered. But she didn't believe a word of them. If they were true, the lizards wouldn't keep tearing up burrows and eating people's parents and brothers, but they did, and that was life.

On the night Eros came, Sam had not eaten in many days, and her fur fell about her bones and her joints shook from hunger like a rat ten times her age. Perhaps that was what gave her the audacity to steal an egg from a raptor's nest.

She did not imagine she would get away with such a bold trespass for long. But she did not need to stay and eat the whole egg. Just a few sips of the yolk would give her the strength to survive the night, or so she told herself.

There was no yolk inside, however. When she broke the shell, a living face met hers. And at that precise moment, the clouds broke, and Eros greeted the world with her molecules.

All at once, Sam understood the stories her parents had told her. There was no transferrence of pain or pleasure, no reparation of injustice. There was only acceptance. What Eros brought was love, nothing more. And somehow, that was everything. Sam looked at the scaly face of the baby raptor, and she loved her. And just as miraculously, the raptor loved her too.

As the molecules settled in the raptor's body, the baby learned to understand the language that all creatures speak, the language of Eros. And she struggled for something to say, to greet the world and her fellow child, and settled on laughter. Then Sam laughed, and they laughed together.

There is no sense lingering on the night the two rogues spent together, because away from Eros's light their games must appear as silly trifles, unworthy of the fierce devotion which woke with them in the morning. Such is the mystery of Eros, best misremembered, hidden under stormy myths.

It is enough to say that when the sun rose, they were the dearest friends in the world.

The baby grew quickly, as raptors do. Within a few days Sam could ride on her back, and gallop across the hills. She was sure no rat had ever flown so fast or high.

One time they saw a pack of raptors hunting, and the raptor asked, “who are they? They look like me.”

“They are like you,” said Sam. “They are raptors. But they don't have names. You have a name.”

“What's my name?” the raptor asked.

“Dolly,” said Sam.

When Dolly met the other raptors, they chased her out of their territory, and teased her for carrying a rat on her back.

“Get out of here, kid,” they shouted. “Go find some clothes. Don't you know rats are food?”

“They're just jealous,” Sam assured her. “Because they don't have names.”

“Are rats food?” Dolly asked, after a while.

It was almost night and they were both hungry.

“Most rats,” said Sam, who loved Dolly more than any rat, and who had accepted her people's place on the food chain. “But not me. You can never eat me, because I gave you your name, alright?”

“Alright,” said Dolly.

As a hatchling, Dolly had scavenged with Sam, eating bugs and skinks, but the more she grew the less they satisfied her.

That night, they found a burrow. Sam taught Dolly where to find the entrances, so she could block all routes of escape.

There were seven rats in all. Dolly slurped each down with a happy shiver.

The last two were very small, and Dolly gave one to Sam, saying “food” with her mouth full of the other.

Sam had eaten rats before, or their carcasses at any rate, and her belly was empty, so she accepted.

The rat did not cry or beg. Sam had not cried or begged, when she was that small. She had not let herself be eaten with a vacant shocked expression like that, either. She had hidden, and survived. This rat should have hidden.

Sam ate her, and felt her kick for a while until her stomach settled. It was a good feeling.

She lay down with Dolly, both of them almost too full to move, and slept soundly for the first time in her life, knowing that her days of near starvation were forever behind her.

This was Dolly and Sam's routine, and they soon became famous up and down the valley- a source of terror and disgust for the rats, mirth for the raptors and curiosity for everyone else.

It served them well, and both grew tremendously plump off the business. Sam was, she was sure, the plumpest rat who had ever lived, which was not saying a lot, since most rats resembled skeletons with whiskers, but it made her wriggle with joy to think about.

She and Dolly often tickled and teased each other's jiggly areas, pretending to tut about the other's gluttonous habits.

Sometimes Sam would dream that she was a skeleton again, and that thousands of tiny rats were swarming over her, gnawing the life out of her, squealing their contempt. Once or twice, she found the strength to stand up despite them and turn to Dolly, who was always there, always beside her, a great warm protective wall of flesh, and she would fall on Dolly, only to sink into the wall and find that it was made of millions more rats, who closed in over her until at last she woke up choking.

Each time, she ran to hug Dolly for real, and Dolly would hold her against her body, the supple sea of warm scales, and the fury of the rats would seem comical in the sunlight, for after all who were the dead to judge her, when she was fat and alive and still in love after all these years?

The years between Eros's visits stretched on.

One morning, Sam found Dolly in a pensive mood.

“I was just an egg when you found me, wasn't I?” Dolly asked.

“You were,” said Sam

“Were you planning on eating me?”

Sam hesitated. “Yes.”

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if my mother had caught you?”

“No,” said Sam. “I suppose she would have eaten me first. She might have eaten you as well. Raptors do that, you know.”

“I can imagine.”

The conversation unsettled Sam, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

Dolly stared down the valley to the horizon.

“I sometimes wonder how I'd be as a mother,” she said.

“You'd be a wonderful mother,” Sam teased. “You'd gobble up your eggs the moment they fell out your fat bum.”

“I don't know,” Dolly laughed. “I reckon I could become a matriarch pretty easily. That raptor with the dodgy eye manages it, how hard could it be?”

Sam laughed along, but there was something hollow in her laughter.

A moment later she realised what it was.

“I sometimes think about what my life would be like if we weren't friends,” Dolly mused, wistfully.

Frantically, Sam reached for the memories, the sacred memories.

They were still there. But she had to reach. They were buried deep, and ever deeper, ever dustier. How deep must they have sunk in Dolly's mind?

Dolly noticed Sam's discomfort, and grinned.

“I bet you think about it too, don't you? If we met as strangers.”

She stroked her stomach.

“You know what it's like to swallow a rat. I bet you've wondered what it's like to be swallowed. Yeah, look at your face, you've thought about it. Joining the rest of them. Wouldn't they all be pleased to see you?”

She burped for dramatic effect.

Sam said nothing.

“Ah, I'm just razzing you,” Dolly said. “We've got a good thing going. Come on, let's go rustle up some breakfast.”

“Alright, Dolly,” said Sam.

She had not called Dolly by her name in a long time.

She could have sworn the raptor flinched.