The Experiment by Audra Garcia
Inspired by Mark Twain
The New Experiment arrived yesterday, and with it, the ache in my right side. A persistent and gnarled sensation. I do not care for it, and as the New Experiment has appeared alongside it, I have decided that this is a bad omen.
The creature is as tall as I am with a mane that reaches its knees. The first time I saw it, it chased me up a tree—most inconvenient for the ache in my side—and sat by the roots for several hours, mewling and rubbing water away from its eyes. The New Experiment will fail if it continues in this way; water is for drinking, not for shedding.
They have not seemed to acknowledge the New Experiment’s arrival. They, I say, because I do not know what else there is to call Them by. There are four that I have seen, but I am sure there are more. They tower even over mountains, and one of Their steps is a hundred of mine. It is from Them that I first heard the word ‘experiment’. The day I arrived—the day-before-yesterday, as I cannot recall a time prior—I stepped onto a river, and yelped when I discovered that water is not firm footing.
One of Them said, “The Experiment has a displeasing voice.”
Another said, “It has a name.”
Their speech issued a vibration that made my teeth rattle, and this made me aware of my mouth, my tongue and lips. Experiment. I tasted the sound of it. Ex-per-i-ment. I moved deeper inland, repeating this over and over. Experiment. Experiment. I liked this word. A good word, I think, and possibly the best for a first word.
When I saw something that pleased me—it was red and delicate and on a bushel of green—I reached out to touch it, and was greeted with an unpleasant sting. More red oozed from my thumb, and I made an incoherent, embarrassing sound of pain. Three of Them appeared. Appeared, yes. One moment They were not there, the next moment They were, and the tree tops were in a flux of yellow, blue and silver; They shed color like the New Experiment sheds water. In any case, the moment They appeared, the red from my thumb was gone.
The Blue One said, “That is a thorn. You should not touch it, lest it prick you.”
I had heard Them speak before, but never thought to commune with Them; the inclination was a novelty, a confidence.
I raised my hand. “Therefore, your Experiment rejects the prickly thorn!”
Two made deep sounds that rolled and rumbled like thunder. I believe They were amused by my declaration, but I think it was quite good for someone as young as I, and if I am as They say—an experiment—then my insights should be useful to Them.
The New Experiment is strange. I came upon it last eve when it was sitting and straining for the sky, fingers clutching at the air and tugging on nothing. This Experiment will fail, I thought, because it is delusional. But I decided I ought to be more charitable; I too had been confused to learn the sky was so far away.
It was some time before the New Experiment noticed I was watching. It turned its head to me, and said, “I want some of these for my hair,” like that was enough explanation.
I blinked. I did not understand. But it did not seem bothered. In fact, the New Experiment turned its head away, and once again began to strain and flex its fingers to the gloaming. I did not bother inquiring more since it had dismissed me. If it wanted to be vague, so be it.
The New Experiment is a nuisance. It follows me everywhere, disrupting the tranquil quiet with the most random of announcements. It talks and talks and talks without respite, without a need for air. “That is a fowl. That is a frog. That is a daffodil.” On and on. Nothing—not even They—make as much noise as the New Experiment does.
Today, when it pointed at something, and declared it a blueberry, I asked, “How do you know that what you say it is, is what it is?”
The New Experiment tilted its head, and said, “I know because it looks like a blueberry.”
“That is nonsense,” I answered. “I do not know what you are or appear to be.”
The New Experiment’s rebuttal was that it is a she. Again, I asked how it knew this. It said it saw itself in the river and declared that it looks like a she.
I shook my head. "I have seen myself," I said, "and don’t know what I look like."
That is when it—she, it—the New Experiment touched me. A long finger traced the firm line below my neck, then tapered down. "He," it said. "You look like a he."
I ran. I ran and did not stop until I was clinging to tree limbs several feet above the ground. How was I supposed to react? It had never done this before.
So, the New Experiment has touched me. I am not sure how I feel about it. I may sleep in this tree and remain here tomorrow, as it seems that it cannot follow me up here.
Tree, I say. But how did I ever know a tree is what it is? I suppose it looks like a tree.
Where did this logic come from? I fear the New Experiment has affected me. I am not sure how I feel about this either, but I am certain that my life will no longer be simple.
The New Experiment is bizarre. It made the same mistake I did, walking onto water and expecting it to hold; I overheard the plunge and the squeal. I expected it to break free at any moment, but it did not. So I followed the noise until I came upon it—she—thrashing in the lazy current. “Stand up,” I said.
The New Experiment paused, then let its arms drop to its sides. On its face I could see the process of understanding; that there was never any danger to begin with. Its eyes widened and its mouth moved into an enlightened ‘o’.
They came; They always arrive at the sound of distress. The Silver One was absent, but the largest was among Them. The light it sheds is red, and it carries a massive stick that glimmers. That is how I deduced the fourth, the Red One, is the most exalted. I do not know the stick’s purpose, but I have seen the Red One incline the keen-edge towards another for emphasis. The others seem to fall back then.
It was the Red One that caught me when I leapt from the cliffside. I had seen the eagle, and wanted to follow it. So I climbed a bluff and leapt into the air, expecting the wind to carry me. Suffice to say, it did not, and I would have bashed my head against the rocks if I’d not been caught. “Your Experiment rejects the air,” I said, once the hand placed me on the ground.
The New Experiment looked up, mouth still shaped as a small ‘o’. I believe this was the first time it had seen Them gathered together. “Oh,” it crooned. “You may eat me, if you like.”
The Yellow One made a light chuffing sound that made my ears buzz. A chuckle, mayhap; that is, if They are capable of something light as a chuckle.
I placed my hands in the water, and took a moment to enjoy the refreshment. My first day, I discovered I could bring it to my mouth if I cupped my hands just right. It was a great lesson, and especially good for one a mere day old, if I do say so myself.
The New Experiment watched me do it. I did not mind; that it might learn something useful from me was a satisfying prospect. But instead, it inhaled, and submerged its entire face and neck into the water. When it resurfaced, the long mane flipped backward, and slapped against its back like a beaver’s tail against wood. It smiled. “It is faster this way.”
Even worse, it mistook my apparent astonishment for an invitation, and crawled over the river rocks on all fours. I scurried back, feet sliding and splashing, but I did not evade the pink tongue that shot out of its mouth, that tasted my cheek in a long, wet stroke.
Unlike the fingertip, I was absolutely sure I did not care for this. I cried out, twisting away; the New Experiment’s eyes popped; I took the opportunity to carry myself several paces downstream, whereupon I threw water on my body—my face, my shoulders and limbs—to wash anywhere it might have touched me. When I was at last satisfied, I sat back on my heels, glowering at its curious face with my arms wrapped around my shins.
A chorus of rumbles issued from above; the water trembled, the redwoods swayed, and I nearly lost my wits at it all. Their purpose was to remove what gave me distress, was it not? But none had deigned to intercede at the New Experiment attempting to swallow me whole. No, They laughed instead! Is it because They prefer it to me?
I cannot say for certain, but I foresee trouble and will take precautions.
The New Experiment made an effort to make amends. She—as it refers to me as he, I will endeavor to remember that it is she—plucked several apples and left them for me outside of the tiger den. (I took refuge there after the river incident, thinking their long teeth and claws might dissuade her—I think ‘her’ is correct—from approaching, but I suppose she knows as well as I do that they only care for berries. Odd that they should have features that suggest otherwise, but I digress.)
I ate the apples outside of the den, and waited, thinking that she would come to see if her effort had been rewarded. But she did not, so I passed the time entertaining the cubs, scratching their bellies and pretending to bite their paws. It was a small happiness to observe their romp, their tumbling and chewing on each other's ears.
I did not see the New Experiment at all that day. I thought to myself that I should have been pleased, but strangely enough, I was not. It occurred to me that perhaps They had done away with her in lieu of her tasting me, but I doubted it was so; in the distance, I saw two of Them—the Blue and the Yellow—together, and nothing of Their demeanor suggested agitation. True, the Red One was absent, and it seemed feasible that it might have been giving a lecture to the New Experiment on conduct; the Red One is the most strict of all.
I would prefer a lecture over Them doing away with her entirely, I think.
What am I doing? Now I am calling on the New Experiment to stay and bombard me with prattle. Indeed, I’ve been warped; this is evidence enough.
The New Experiment is more clever than I thought. When I woke today, there was only a lone pitaya next to my face. I’d decided to sleep on a hilltop, and so at first, I thought the trek was too steep for her to carry more than one. But as soon as I reached for it, she was there, snatching it and moving down the hill. I righted myself quickly to follow, and called out, "That is mine!" But she did not slow. She carried herself until the land impeded her.
There is a place at the far edge of the woodland where the willow and oak become too dense to carry on. This is where she led us. Here, I thought: I have cornered her. I cleared my throat and stretched my hand out, expectant. But when she turned, she was smiling. She brought the fruit to her cheek and said, “This is how I’ll get you to follow me everywhere.”
Abruptly, my skin felt too warm, and I sputtered a bit. “No. What is a pitaya, anyway? I prefer pears. Or oranges. Or apples. Even plums.”
“Then I’ll take all the pears, oranges, apples, and plums.”
“I’ll have strawberries.”
“I’ve already begun collecting the strawberries.”
I made a short and desperate noise, and this delighted her. I've found she is quite easy to delight; she’s enamored with every rock, every tuft of grass, and anything that creeps, crawls, slithers or walks. That is not to say I’m not, but I do not weep over it all as she does. Indeed, she weeps when she’s pleased, and she weeps when she’s displeased. For instance, she said, “Did you notice that the moon disappeared last eve? It is a tragedy and it hurts. I wept about it. I hope we get another, or many more. I think if we gained a hundred, that would be lovely; the night would be so beautiful, so enchanting. I think I would weep over it and never sleep again.”
She also said that she wept the day she arrived and I went into the tree; that this made her chest sore and her eyes leak water.
“Sore.” I repeated the word. This pleased her. She liked when I talked. I know because she said this over and over. “Sore,” I said. “My side was sore the day you came.”
She shook her head. “Not that kind. Something different. Melancholy.”
We examined each other. It was a new word, one neither of us had used before.
The New Experiment is determined. Today, she saw the Red One amidst the others, and declared that she would like to tame it—as we have tamed an elephant, a horse, and a wolf—but I cautioned her, “Of all of Them,” I said, “we ought to give the widest berth to the Red One.”
She turned her nose up at me, of course. “I would like to ride on it.”
With that, she set off towards the Red One. I followed, beside myself; that was new, the apprehensive swell in my belly.
It compelled me to say, “You really mustn’t. Not even the rest of Them test it.”
But she continued on, and declared, “That is precisely why I must!”
I paused while she moved forward, closer and closer, until she arrived at the tapered end of the golden stick. Her head moved from side to side, assessing the situation. Meanwhile, the Red One stood as if unawares, and yet I think it knew what she was doing. How could it not?
She jumped once, no success. She jumped again, some success. But as expected, the Red One would not have it. It shook her off with as much patience as it could muster, and she fell to the ground with a thud and a squeak. On instinct, I made a sound much like a bark, then another, then another at the bewildered look on her face. I was a bipedal hyena, holding my sides, thinking: she will not dismiss me so easily after this!
The Red One turned. Color shed in our direction, and she was on her feet in an instant. She moved quickly to where I was, and stood behind me. My barking ceased, then.
The Red One spoke; the words were for us both, I think. "You will stay on the land of the Estate,” it said, “and that is all."
She does not go so quickly to defeat, and I admire her for it. But there was something in particular about this answer she did not like; her chest was sore. I knew it when I turned my head, and saw her mouth curved downwards.
The Yellow One pitied her, I think. It lent its hand down to her, as if to lift her up. But the Red One interceded, and placed its golden stick across the Yellow One’s arm.
We retreated back to the falls. So there would be no height; we could swim instead. But this did not lift the New Experiment’s frown. Her chest remained sore; I knew it for certain by the way she ignored the happy chirps from a pod of alligator hatchlings.
We retreated back to the falls. So there would be no height; we could swim instead. But this did not lift the New Experiment’s frown. Her chest remained sore; I knew it for certain by the way she ignored the happy chirps from a pod of alligator hatchlings.
“It always comes down,” I said. “Why do you suppose that is?”
The New Experiment looked up from the ground. “I do not know,” she said, “but it is the same with feathers. So why do the animals fly? They are heavier than feathers.”
I shrugged. In truth, I did not care about the answer; I only cared that she was restored. But I suppose I should endeavor to care more about answers, as that is what she cares about. In a way, I already do. I wonder why a rock sinks in water whereas a dry leaf lays upon it, but I never quite thought about it with the same intensity as I do now.
The New Experiment is beautiful. She is shapely, lithe and graceful. I would be content—if she could stay still for more than a few seconds—to simply stare at her, glowing in the rays of the sun. But she will not do it. She says, “Rest is so taxing! I miss what will happen if I rest.”
But there are times that she does rest, and that is when I have decided to sleep. At first, I did not like that she tried to sleep next to me; that she was an intrusion. Now, if she does not, my sleep is spoiled with thoughts of where she might be and why she does not wish to find me, and when I begin to think this way there is a heaviness in my chest similar to the day I waited for her to come back and she did not. A soreness of my heart.
Heart is a new word, one of many I’ve discovered since her arrival. There is a profound tenderness to the heart; thus, the severity of the sting is no longer a wonder to me when I feel a wound to it. The vulnerability of the heart is on account of pure significance, I think, or else our nature. Perhaps both. I look to the New Experiment to guide me to the answer, that I might learn my heart, and hers as well.
The New Experiment is doomed. I knew it the instant I saw the lionesses spring upon the gazelle, and the hyenas tear into a horse. I called out for them to stop, which prompted the tigers, who had once welcomed me into their lodgings, to turn on me; I was forced to sprint the fastest I have ever run to escape, and when I looked back, I saw they had turned on one another in my absence.
Death—a word used by Them, once faraway and inconceivable—had entered the world. I knew because it looked like death; mortality, the gluttonous devourer.
I found my way into a tree and wept. I had no choice; the heaviness in my heart was full to overflowing. One of Them should have warned me of her, as They’d done for the thorn; that I should not go near her unless I desire injury. Oh, grief! Terrible grief! It found me the moment the New Experiment entered the world.
Then, amidst my sniffling, I said, “No, that is not correct.”
Rather, my small depressions arose in the time I spent apart from her. Grief congealed around me in the absence of the New Experiment. So I wept and held my eyes, fearing she would be gone soon; that They would remove her, forever; that I would be absent of her, forever, and because she made the world more remarkable when she was in it, I did not wish to return to that time without her. I could not. I would not return to the time where she did not talk and talk and weep because the moon was so beautiful.
So I chose to be doomed with her.
I raised my hand to the sky, and said, “The woman gave it to me, and I ate.”
It may sound unchivalrous, but it is the truth; she is a woman, the exquisite and strange New Experiment I would rather face the unknown with than be without in the embrace of wild beasts. It is the truth that I found her with the half-eaten fruit in her palm, held my hand out, and a moment later, a leftover was on my tongue.
And it is the truth that when it was finished, I spoke my name, and she smiled.
"Adam," she said, "is the most splendid companion of sounds I have ever heard."