THE VISIONARY ANT

THE VISIONARY ANT



A short story by Charles E.J. Moulton





         “Ridiculous,” Eulalia said, spitting her consonants almost over to the other side of the road. “We’ll never get over there. What makes you think we would?”

         Fred looked at her, triumphantly. His knowing look was a brave and daring one.

         “My cousin Barnaby works in an anthill overthere,” Fred said. “He often comes over and visits me. Besides, your anger sends your voice pretty far.”

         “Fred, my voice carries far. My body can only walk so far. Barnaby comes to you once in a while,” the sceptic, female ant responded. “Now, think of this road. It will take us four hours to cross it. Day and night, the cars are criss-crossing this thing. We will die trying. Crossing is suicide.”

         Eulalia waved one of her six legs around, fluttering wisely with her tentacles.

         “You know, just because Barnaby does something like this doesn’t mean you have to.”

         “I do it, because I want to.”

         “You’ll have to think of another way, my love.”

         Fred sighed, shaking his head and looking down. “I guess I was hoping for too much.”

         He walked back toward the anthill, morose with guilt and shame. What was he going to tell the queen now? The road to other side had been a phoney? Those great sticks and needles they could use to build their anthill were lost forever? On that last meeting, she expressed her concern. The construction simply went faster with those kind of sticks and fir needles. His legs seemed to be made of clay. His heart was sinking. No way to impress the queen, after all. He would remain anonymous.

         Eulalia still stood by the roadside and looked across the road. No way. There was no way in Queen Antalya’s Antworld that any ant could cross this. But Fred was sad. Somehow, she had to cheer her boyfriend up. Sadly, she turned her head around his way.

Head down, he walked back toward the anthill. He was depressed, knowing he would have to face the queen.

         He promised the queen too much. The nice queen would understand. She knew him. He always endevoured to find a new trick in order to impress her. But what he actually wanted was to become the queen’s assistant. A career as a court aide-de-camp. The right stuff was in him. All he needed was a chance to prove it.

         Was he dreaming? No, he knew he was good enough.

         Everyone thought he was silly.

         How could he prove them wrong?

         His girl turned around and set off on a faster pace to catch up with him.

         When she arrived next to him, she gave him a pat on the shoulder.

         “Hey, Antsie? Don’t look so sad.”

         Fred pused his lips and looked at her from the side.

         “Don’t ya see, babe. Barnaby and I were in the same class in ant school. He is now the greatest man in his anthill. Next to the queen there, he is the big cheese.”

         “That’s big honey in our language, Fred,” she whispered, shamefully.

         “Whatever,” he answered. “The thing is: I’m a failure.”

         Fred cried, tears rolling down his ant cheeks.

“A failure.”

         Her heart really went out to him. What could she do? She had to do something. She couldn’t just walk around the forest and see her boyfriend go to pieces, like when the bees attacked them. A month ago, he promised the queen to scare away all the bees by piling up sweets by the road a mile away. That, he said, would drive them away toward the sweets and not to the hill. However, they did not account for the storm. It blew all the food back to the anthill. And who had to clean it all up? Fred. Poor Fred.

         Looking at Fred walk just a step away was like seeing a shadow of a former lover turn into dust. Hope prevailed. There was a way. Eulalia thought hard. She dug down into the deepest part of her existance. What had her mama always sung? That old song she heard the humans sing. “When I find myself in times of trouble, other anties care for me. Speaking words of wisdom, set me free.” Something like that, at least.

         Eulalia looked up. The Lord was there. Eulalia knew that. Maybe by looking up, she would find an answer. Looking up proved an elegant solution. Fred stopped walking. He grazed, he ate, he cried, he slept.

         And so, she looked up, just as her mum had said she should. What did she see? A bird criss-crossing the forest, flying over the hill over to the other side of the road. Now, as her boyfriend fell asleep in his own puddle of tears, his girlfriend watched the bird fly back and forth to the other side. She collected worms, built a nest, got food, visited cousins. Cousins?

         The realization came over her as a revelation. She knew that Barnaby was just hot air. He spoke like a master, but never had he thought of actually using his talents to cross over. He came only to talk. How did he come? On a bird. That way, he could boast.

         “What about using the bird to bring the sticks and needles over?”

         She looked around for a piece of metal. Something to attract the bird with. Obviously, Eulalia’s voice was too thin for the bird to hear. She needed to catapult the sun in the direction of the flying bird. What could she use?  An old cigarette butt? No. Too dangerous. Forest fires. An old tin can? Nah. Wait. Yes. Of course.

         There was a patch of sun, a meter away. There, the sun would hit the can and flash into the bird’s eye. The ant pushed it. Too strenuous. 





She looked around for something to pull it with.

Straws? Yes, good.

Fastening the straws on the can went well. Pulling it didn’t. She worked so hard that she broke into fits of anger. The bird flew back and forth, forth and back. A dry wall hammer just hit her with the force of a speed train. Insecurity spread from her bowels onto her chest. The eager little bird named fear hit the walls of her ribcage and screamed for her to let it out.

“There is a way to attract the attention of that bird,” she whispered to herself. “There just has to be.”

She pulled and pulled, so hard that her eyes almost popped out from her sockets. The bird was gone again. He would be back in a minute. Come on, girl, pull this thing. Just another inch. The sun is over there. Were those footsteps? Yes, oh dear. She heard footsteps.

No. Not the can. Run, Eulalia, Run. A giant. He is coming nearer. He is approaching. He is stepping on us. No. Oh, thank God, neither Fred, she nor the can had been damaged. God back. Take the straw into your hand, fasten it. That a girl. Now pull.

The bird flew in, landed on a branch, looked around.

Now was the time to act. The can was in place.

         The can now lay right in the sun. Now, of course, no sight of the bird. Fred? Still sleeping. Frustrated, Eulalia cried. It saw the can, skydived down and landed, picking at it.

         Eulalia’s moment arrived.

         She spoke.

         “Do you know an ant named Barnaby?”

         The bird raised his eyebrows. Seeing a bird raise his eyebrows came as a surprise. She never knew that birds even had eyebrows. The bird nodded.

         “Yes, I fly him over the highway all the time. He boasts about his position as the queen’s personal assistant.”

         “Can you do me a favour?”

         “What?”

         The bird looked at her, sceptically.

         “You see that ant over there? The one that is sleeping?”

         The bird gave her a bored look. “Yeah, so?”

         “He is trying to impress the queen, but he has hit a snag.”

         She pointed toward the highway.

         “There is no way of crossing it.”

         The bird looked in the direction of the highway. “Not for an ant, no. But a bird can.”

         “That is my point. You see, my friend,” the ant said, alluringly, “the queen uttered a wish to pick some of the excellent fir needles across the road. Fred believes in himself, but lacks the strength to put it into practice. You fly Barnaby back and forth, right?”

         The sparrow nodded. “Yes, but all he does is boast. He never ever thinks of these things. I’ll help you, lady, but you got to give me something. If I fly you and the sticks across the highway, you got to give me worms.”

         The ant froze still. Obviously, the bird had been jarred by her own movement of freezing still. So she moved, turning her head to the side.

         “Worms? You mean, like, slithery things?”

         “I know there are great worms deeper down, under the anthill. I will fly you over as many times as you wish. But only if you give me some of the food that usually is reserved for the moles and the rodents.”

         “Birdie?”

         “Yes, lady?”

         “If you do this, you will be able to feed the entire forest.”

         The bird smiled. Seeing a bird smile came as a surprise.

         Eulalia ran up to Fred.

         “We have a way to transport the sticks and needles across the highway,” she said.

         At once, Fred opened his eyes, wide. Disbelief glittered in there, like the sun inside the waves of a lake on a hot summer day.

         “How?”

Fred was now unstoppable. He designed bags made of leaves for the sparrow to carry. For every highway crossing, the bird brought at least thirty ant worths of material.

More and more, the other ants realized what was happening. Fred found a way to transport the working material. The higher the hill became, the louder did the cheers of his fellow ants rang across the forest. After ten crossings, Fred’s triumphal march became olympic. This called the attention of the beautiful queen, who disturbed her well-earned manicure and slid down to common ant level just to see what was going on.

She saw two ants riding on a bird and bringing bag after bag of construction goods, laughing their tentacles off. The queen first displayed flawless white fangs and then broke into fits of bellowing laughter. This made the entire community of ants to join in the laughter. Oh, how they all knew how Fred had wanted this success. He fought and fought all his life just to achieve success. Now, success arrived with splendour.

“That’s what my mum always said,” the bird chirped. “Ants are crazy.”

Fred, the successful ant, jumped off the bird’s back, pointed at him and exclaimed:

“But, as we all know, geniuses are always crazy.”

Fred made a funny face, a cross-eyed grimace.

“Like me.”

With that, the bird, too, began laughing. He just couldn’t help himself.

The queen, whose laughter echoed the strongest among the trees of the forest, exclaimed: “And I introduce to you: my new personal assistant Fred the Crazy Ant!”

At that moment, Fred saw Barnaby. He witnessed the whole rescue. Now, he applauded, smiling and calling out: “You are my hero, Fred!”

“Barnaby,” Fred cried, running toward his cousin. “I’m so glad you are here to witness my promotion.”

Barnaby smiled. “I’ve never told you this, but I’ve always envied you.”

“Why?”

Barnaby smiled, shrugging. “I guess, you always seemed to be kind of a lucky guy.”

And with that, the crazy ants went dancing into the half-finished anthill.