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• 1 2021-04-23T15:23:11+00:00 Broken Food Chains: A Short Story 67 Object 3 Submission plain 2021-05-13T15:04:13+00:00

  By Christopher Chiasera

  Two pairs of tiny webbed feet imprint on fertile soil at the bank of the river, flicking backwards on the balls of their little ankles, propelling a narrow, brown body into the nearby forest of grass. Beams of summer sunlight beat on the dirt. Stirs and buzzes, the whining of cicadas and rustling of reeds, animate the air, injecting into it their liveliness; everything moves with choreographed asynchrony. A pink tongue flutters against dewdrops as they roll from the tall, green spires stretching skyward all around, and indulges in their wetness before driving forward. Delicate, marble eyes mount themselves on a blunt, reptilian snout, which sniffs for beetles. White feathers rustle in the not-so-far-off distance.

  The webbed feet pause in the dirt to give themselves a moment of rest, letting the body they carry idle in the shade; all the morning and into the oppressive heat of late afternoon, it has sought out bugs to eat, unsuccessful yet undeterred. The little brown gecko settles its fingers and wiggles its tail as tiredness momentarily subdues its hunger, allowing itself leisure, enjoying the coolness of the grassy canopy in its secluded spot amidst the brush. The tongue hangs out slightly from the jaw of the moist head. Streaks of light are dulled by the chlorophyll ceiling and cast faint glows across the damp earth, while a blazing sun scorches dry terrain just beyond. The brown gecko pushes its stomach deeper into the cool, soft cushion of loam.

  Then, just ahead, a subtle writhing of the ground disrupts the quiescence. Six stickly legs emerge from the dirt and lift a glistening exoskeleton upward, as two antennae feel sluggishly around; the unsuspecting, frilled-shelled beetle pokes its head into the air, having woken from a long slumber, and begins grudgingly to stagger into the damp jungle. The gecko, stupefied, relaxed, does not take immediate notice of this - until it does. Both crescent eyes widen, exposing their whole black orbs. The muscles of all four legs contract and then release like springs, and the gecko soars abruptly through the thin curtain of grass, sending ripples from the bases of their stalks to their upmost tips, to pounce upon its prey. The beetle is not nearly quick enough. It finds itself nestled between the warm fleshy folds of the gecko’s mouth and is promptly crushed to death.

  Before the little brown gecko can dine upon its newfound meal, the sun overhead is eclipsed, and the lizard left to darkness; it has even less time to react than did the beetle. Thick, vegetative walls are torn asunder, and the unhampered heat of the world beyond the grassy jungle pours in. White wings flap at the sides of a looming mass of feathers, as a long, pointed beak pierces the ground like a harpoon: a white heron, looking for lizards to eat at the bank of the river, noticed stirring in the brush and spotted food. Massive talons disrupt the settled soil and kick through the tall grass, and circular eyes on each side of a flailing head look wildly about, as the gecko is lifted into the air, caught in the heron’s bill by its tail.

  Everything slows as the little brown gecko is flung from its refuge amongst the weeds and into the sky; the crushed corpse of the dead beetle drops from its mouth and lands in the soil far below. For the first time in its short life, the lizard sees the world from above: in one direction stretches a vast plain of green grass and bristly undergrowth that yields some miles down to a steady tree line; in the other, a shallow river runs along the hillside, bordered by thick tufts of reed. The sun bears down at equidistance from the eastern and western horizons, assertive and bold at the heart of the cloudless blue canvas overhead. Dry, hot air caresses the gecko’s stout face. Warmth spreads across the scaly skin. Life teems every which way; the black-marble eyes, for a moment, reflect the whole of the universe.

  At the peak of its journey heavenbound, the brown lizard presses its hind legs against the heron’s narrow beak and urges its body forward with all its strength. The forcefulness of the struggle and momentum of its mass converge on a single point at the base of the tailbone, and, finally, the gecko detaches from its snagged appendage, falling through the air and crashing through the roof of grass and shoots to land in the dirt with a thud. It swiftly kicks itself up on its hind legs, mouth still agape, eyes still starlike and ablaze, and charges through the thick curtain of grass in the direction of the winding river. The beating of its long, webbed feet on the dry soil adds to the cacophony of noise from the plain, as the hungry heron swoops its neck and pursues from close behind. The tailless gecko scurries down the silty shore, to the fine border between water and land, and pauses before the sunlit stream of pulsing whiteness, as broad, feathered wings enclose. The weight of the bulbous avian body shakes the ground as it bounds forward. The little brown gecko acts on little more than instinct: it closes its eyes, and jumps in.
  
  
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  There was something about John James Audubon’s “White Heron” that drew me in: perhaps the vividness of the illustration, as looming and large as intricately detailed; or the elegance of the great white bird, poised on two long legs, its head stooped to the ground with the graceful bend of a strong, powerful neck; or even the spotted reptilian form tucked beneath, small and unsuspecting, subject to the scrutiny of eager, avian eyes. Whatever the appeal might have been, it prompted a process of creation which would extend far beyond the literal parameters of the work, and would constitute the scenic context for "Broken Food Chains," a short story about the pains of growth.

  John James Audubon was an American ornithologist, painter, and natural historian of the late-seventeenth and early-eighteenth centuries, who rose to prominence in the scientific and artistic communities following the publication of his The Birds of America. At the age of thirty-five, Audubon declared his intention to document one of every species of bird indigenous to the North American continent by drawing them, and to compile such drawings in an illustrative book. This effort spanned the length of seven years, from 1820 to 1827; furnishment and distribution of the book continued until 1838, largely under the supervision of engravers Robert Havell Jr. and William Lizars. Original copies of The Birds of America consist of 435 hand-colored prints, each drafted on two-by-four-feet “double elephant folio” sheets printed by copperplate etching. Only 120 original copies are purported to remain in existence, and one of them is currently housed in Trinity College’s Watkinson Library. On December 6, 2010, a complete copy of its first edition sold at Sotheby’s Auction House for £7,321,250 (or approximately $11.5 million), and, that same month, The Economist found five out of the ten most expensive books to ever sell to have been reproductions of this one.

  I stumbled upon The Birds of America’s “White Heron” on Trinity College’s Watkinson Library website, and was immediately struck by its artistic detail and capacity for motion; the whole painting felt immersive and alive, although, truly, unmoving and unanimated. Disparate images and ideas seemed naturally to cohere and relate a narrative: the lofty, assertive poise of the heron juxtaposed with the stagnancy and sluggish disposition of the lizard suggested a showdown between predator and prey. The cloudless blue sky alluded to summer, and thick blades of grass situated the portrait’s subjects amongst the plains. I could envision the subtle depression of the earth meeting with fervent white water as gravel and dirt turned to silt. The many features of the work each assumed a critical role in the structuring of my story, and recommended directions in which I might take it. "Broken Food Chains" is the synthesis of my own artistic ingenuities with inspiration from elsewhere; if my writing were its arteries, then Audubon and his artwork would be its heart. I would consider this short story to be as much accredited to him as it is to me.

  Bibliography

  "Audubon at Pitt". University Library System, University of Pittsburgh. 2008. Retrieved 22 August 2011.
  "Book value". The Economist. 8 December 2010.
  
  "Central Park's Winged Tenants, By Audubon". The New York Times. 26 December 2003.
  
  "Original Audubon Prints - Antique Natural History Prints - Books - Havell - Bien - Imperial Folio - Bird and Animal Prints". minniesland.com. Archived from the original on 19 June 2010.
  
  Oxford illustrated encyclopedia. Judge, Harry George., Toyne, Anthony. Oxford [England]: Oxford University Press. 1985–1993. p. 26. ISBN 0-19-869129-7. OCLC 11814265.
  
  Reyburn, Scott (7 December 2010). "'Birds of America' Book Fetches Record $11.5 Million". Bloomberg.
  
  Sheely, Kate. “The Watkinson Library: Bringing Rare Books and Special Collections to Life.” Trinity College, www.trincoll.edu/the-watkinson-library/.