The Reincarnation

Thomas Price and his wife, Elizabeth, were an older couple who lived in their country home and had enjoyed the fondest of memories for the more than forty years of their married life. They had met when they were young and had fallen in love and were married as most young couples of that time, and had never looked back on their decision to be together. They seemed to be meant for each other; in deed they had no desires to be anywhere else. What they called married life might have seemed to some a bore, but not to the Prices.  Life was tranquil and they liked it that way. 

Of course they argued, but who doesn’t? However their disputes were rarely extreme and never went on long before being forgiven and forgotten. They had always clung to each other since the day they left their parents’ homes and were wedded. They had always depended on each other exclusively. 

Their dwelling was a modest abode, but accommodated sufficiently to their needs. It was a two story house with two guest rooms upstairs and a master bedroom downstairs. They had a small kitchen that was situated next door to a separate dining room. They had a moderate and unpretentious living room that was decorated, not lavishly, but with taste, in which they entertained their few friends from time to time. Their house was smaller than that of many of their acquaintances in the district, but suited them, for they were unpretentious people. 

The house was something they always took pride in. Tom had spent a year building it during the period of their lives that they waited with excitement for the day when they would be wed and have a house of their own. Yet, though not exactly living in luxury, they in no wise lived in filth. Elizabeth would not tolerate it. In fact, she likely kept the cleanest house in the entire countryside. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” she would always say. Elizabeth had always taken her duties as housekeeper and homemaker very seriously. Nothing more could have been expected.  

One morning found Tom sitting at the breakfast table eating and talking to his wife, who drifted in and out of the room. He frequently read his morning paper and then discussed his points of interest with her, which she listened to with mild curiosity, perhaps even feigned. Glancing down, he noticed dark, tiny little specks in his cereal. He scratched his head over it for a few moments and then realized that he was looking at insect droppings.

Roaches, or as they were commonly called in that region, wood bugs, for they sometimes live in decayed wood, were a common occurrence, but to find them in one’s food would make the sturdiest of stomachs turn, so not surprisingly Tom’s, who is so affected by them. He released a curse which echoed to every room of the house. Elizabeth came running in to see what the matter was, and upon surmising the scenario, snatched up the cereal jar and exclaimed, “Oh, Tom, Really,” as a mother would with her child who is behaving like a fool. 

“Act like a baby over nothing!” 

“It isn’t nothing,” he shouted. “It is disgusting, that’s what it is. I can’t be having my food poisoned. That is all there is to it!” 

“The pests are only looking for food, the same as you are; that’s all,” she said. They had gone through this scenario a thousand times, though its recurrences were no less disturbing to Elizabeth. Tom had never been a physical man by any means, and violence was not in his nature, but there was this one exception. Whenever the creatures he called wood bugs came scurrying across the floor, he would exact a wrath upon them that could make most people cringe.  

He stood, having lost his appetite and retreated to his study, which now occupied one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor. Elizabeth set about cleaning the table, shaking her head at her husband’s behavior. He had always felt the sincerest dislike for the insects as a child. Whenever he would see one crawling up his bedroom wall, he would stab it with his carving knife and leave it pinned to the wall as some sort of trophy. His mother had finally taken a switch to him. 

As time went on he had formed a greater and more passionate hatred for the disgusting creatures. By the time he had reached adulthood, everyone knew of how they got under his skin, both figuratively and literally, for one night he had emerged from sleep with an awful ringing in his ear and a monstrous headache. He gave everyone a fright by the way he flailed about in pain. 

When they took him to the doctor, they learned that a small cockroach had crawled into his inner ear and had become lodged there. The physician was forced to remove it piece by piece. Thomas had always felt violated by that and never liked to discuss it. It had, nevertheless, become a fashionable story to tell, and got around.  

As the years passed, his hatred grew until it became his only prejudice and blocked all else out. His two passions in life were his beloved wife and the bugs, like polar opposites, one representing all that was good and beautiful in the world, the other, all that was foul. He frequently said that he wished that the bugs did not exist, to which Elizabeth would always respond that they are an integral part of nature and, like all creatures, to remove them would throw everything out of balance. Tom would sneer at that. The balance of nature could use being thrown off a bit as far as he was concerned.  

He could not even imagine a more disgusting creature. It must have been his bad karma that had placed him in an area where the insects were everywhere. He recalled with a shudder all the times that he had opened a container of food to find them feasting or laying eggs. It always caused him to convulse or even vomit to think of them mingling with his food. He thought of the old question of what is worse than biting in to an apple to find a worm, to which the answer is, half a worm.  But worms did not bother Thomas nearly as much as this species of insectus disgustingus, as he had so named them in one of his more creative moods.

Encounters with the bugs were a regular occurrence. He often opened the pantry to find them scurrying across the floor or placed his foot in his shoe to find them hiding there. He would always crush them if he could catch them, and continue to slap them with his shoe until there was little left and then disinfect the entire area quite excessively. This was a constant bother to Elizabeth and upset her greatly. She saw his prejudice as childish and silly. They were insects as any other after all, and have as much right to God’s green earth as they did (if not in the house, that is). She hated to see him get so angry and it scared her to see him lose control the way he did. As far as she was concerned, it was a sickness, but he would hear nothing in the way of reason. Though she could never get him to admit he was wrong, she occasionally threw at him the comment that he could be reincarnated as a roach, intending to give him something to think about, but it would only irritate him, for he despised the thought of associating himself with them. Besides that, he did not believe in reincarnation. 

Elizabeth sat in the garden one day, holding one of her doves that she kept as pets. She loved the beautiful animals.  She ran her finger down its back and chirped to it softly. She looked at the little bird perched on her finger. She loved its whiteness, its purity. It seemed to be looking back at her in the same manner. Perhaps it was at that moment thinking the same of her. They seemed to have a connection. She thought perhaps she was meant to be a dove instead. She always felt a spiritual connection with them. They understood each other.  

Tom came and sat next to her. He moved in close and put his arms around her. “I love these birds,” she said.  

“You are my dove,” he said. She smiled. They sat there together drinking in the view of the countryside.  

“I think I will return to earth as one of these,” she said, lifting the bird to her eye level. “I can feel it.” 

“I know you will,” said Tom. Though he had no faith in an afterlife, he felt it was the right thing to say. 

“I hope you do also,” she said. “I want us to be together.” She was serious. 

“We will.” It was a beautiful idea, whether true or not. “I cannot imagine being without you.” There were a few moments of silence. “If I die first,” he began again, “I will return as one of these to watch over you and wait for you to join me.” 

“Promise?” she asked. 

“I swear it.” 

“And I will do the same,” she said. They leaned into each other and held each other tight. The bird moved its little head around and looked about. Elizabeth continued petting it gently. Without warning, a cockroach flew down from a nearby tree and landed in Elizabeth’s hair. Tom jumped up suddenly, swatting at the awful thing. He smacked it against the siding and it landed on the porch in a daze. Tom stomped on it.  

Startled, the bird leapt from Elizabeth’s hands and flew off into the evening sky. Elizabeth, who loved her doves dearly, looked as if about to cry, as though one of her own children had run away. 

Tom finished destroying the culprit insect and looked up to see the expression on her face. “I am sorry, Elizabeth,” he told her in a gentle voice, staring deeply into her saddened eyes. “We’ll get you another.” 

“No,” she said, “I am alright. I promise. I just love the little things,” he ran his finger along her cheek. They sat back down and Tom suddenly got angry. 

“Those cursed insects!” he shouted. 

“Stop Tom,” she told him, hoping to keep it from going any further. “I don’t want to hear you go on about the bugs anymore. They are God’s little creatures too,” he sighed heavily, and was about to speak when Elizabeth got up and went back into the house. Tom was left with himself, slightly irritated that he should feel guilty for not wanting filthy insects crawling around his house. 

Jacob’s store was empty as usual when Tom entered. He ventured down several isles before he found the varnish and carried it up to the counter. 

“How are you doing, Tom?” asked Jacob, emerging from the back room. 

“Just fine,” Tom said, placing the bucket of varnish next to the cash register. 

“That's all for you, Tom?” 

“What do you have that kills household pests?” he asked, almost sheepishly. 

“What do you mean, for rats?” 

“No,” said Tom. “I mean for the woodbugs. Is there something that can kill all of them in the house?” 

“I think I have just the thing.” Jacob said. “I have been spraying it in the storage shed outside, and haven’t seen any bugs around.” 

“That’s great,” he said. Jacob walked into the back and returned a moment later with a gallon jug of liquid. “Just spray this stuff around the house and it will cut down on your bug problem.” He paused.  

“You don’t have any pets, do you?” 

“No,” said Tom. 

“Good. Someone told me that it is not good for your pets.” 

Tom paid the man and started for the door.  “You shouldn’t have any more problems with bugs in your ears now,” Jacob shot at him from behind the counter just as Tom reached the door. 

Tom grit his teeth. “That’s funny Jacob,” he said with sarcasm, and pushed open the door. Tom could hardly wait to get home. Now he felt as though he was armed and would rid himself of the bug population once and for all. He made short work of the container, spraying it heavily around doors and windows and in the hallways inside the house. As he discarded the empty canister in his waste bin, he gave himself a chuckle, satisfied that he had finally won his private war. 

Tom stepped into the dining room with this tool belt on and a bucket of varnish in his hand, when he came face to face with the largest specimen of insectus disgustingus he had ever seen. The thing was very large and had antlers and was sitting on the floor as casually as you please, looking up at Tom. The room was empty; the table and chairs had been removed to refinish the floor. There was only the door by which Tom had entered and no closets, no escape. Tom slowly closed the door behind him and removed his wooden mallet from his tool belt. He slowly approached the creature and as he did, a slight grin crept across his face. 

“Now… it is either you or me,” he said, “But one of us is not leaving this room alive.” The insect slowly backed up a step. The two were about four feet from each other. Tom began to sidestep in order to move around behind his prey. The insect in response did likewise and they began circling each other, eyes locked.  

“There is nowhere to go,” said Tom. The large creature with antlers seemed to chirp his response as they continued circling. When it was closest to the door, the creature made a dash for the space beneath the door, which Tom had overlooked. Tom realizing its escape route bolted toward it, bringing his mallet straight at it like a missile homing in on its target. The creature had just about reached the safety of the door when the mallet came down hard upon its abdomen, sending the head and thorax sliding under the door and across the hallway. “I got him!” shouted Tom, staring at the guts that covered the floor in front of the door. “No bugger is a match for me,” he shouted with glee. The satisfaction of the hunter after the kill filled him as he scooped up the remains of his vanquished foe. 

For the next few days, Tom waited patiently for his poison to take effect. He did not find as many dead insects as he hoped, and to his dismay, there were just as many of them crawling about. With each day he grew more frustrated that his remedy was not working. After a week, he decided that he would march back down to the shop and force Jacob to give him back his money. 

Tom entered the bedroom and saw his wife. Elizabeth looked horribly pale and her features were grim. He rushed to her bedside and asked her how she felt, knowing that her condition was serious. She could hardly mumble a response.  Her hand tried to make its way to his, but her strength failed her and it dropped back to the bed. He touched her hand and held it in his. It was clammy and cold. He lifted her and carried her to the car. On the way to the doctor, she spoke a few incoherent words about doves. 

When he returned to the house, he was alone. For the first time in this house where he had lived so long, he was really alone. The silence was deafening. He sat down in his chair and slumped to one side. He searched for any reason to live and could not come up with any. He sought his soul diligently for any emotion, but there found only hatred.  The doctor had told him what had killed his wife. It had been an allergic reaction to something, but he did not know what. But Tom knew. “It was those damned insects,” he had said. “They carry disease.” 

“We don’t know exactly what it was,” the doctor had said, but Tom had ceased listening. He drove home in a daze, leaving his poor wife at the doctor’s house, which also served for a viewing house before burial. He could not believe it. Nothing made sense. It was too ironic that his hatred for the insect had preceded this. His detestation for the bugs had foreshadowed tragedy from the day he was born, it almost seemed. He listened to his heart beating in his chest and wondered if that too was infected with their vile disease. He sat in his living room chair feeling empty. The house was empty. For him, the world was empty.  And as if to mock him, a roach watched from the corner of the room. It just sat there staring him down, as if gloating.  

He bit his finger until blood was drawn. He recalled how often Elizabeth had defended the vermin insects. “God’s little creatures,” he said with contempt. They had taken from him everything that he had ever had that was of importance, the very meaning from his life. His daily attempts at genocide could hardly make up for his loss and what they had done to him. “It is all your fault!” he shouted at the dark specter in the corner.

As he watched the little devil, he realized something. For the first time he realized that they were aware, intelligent; that they knew him and watched him, and that they hated him as much or more than he hated them. His mind’s eye opened and beheld a terrible secret that had hidden itself from men since the beginning of time. He knew. He knew. He knew at last that their attacks on him were intentional. He recalled the roach that had dive bombed him and his wife in the garden. He was aware now that it was sent to torture them. He knew how the one that had lodged itself in his ear did so under orders. To them it was an acceptable loss for the great blow that they had struck upon their common enemy. This was psychological warfare, and Thomas was their target. He was there staring at the creature in the corner which still watched him intently. Perhaps it was waiting for him to go to sleep so that it could infect him with the same illness that had claimed his beloved wife. He pondered on this new and terrible secret. It all fit now. It was clear. The one that he had killed with the antlers must have been some sort of general, he decided, so they had struck back into the very heart of their enemy: his wife. And truly, they had won.  

But he knew, finally. He knew what he had hated all of his life. The others were wrong about his hatred being foolish.  The roaches were sent by the devil. God would not make such a creature. They hate us with the passion of the devil. Truly they were sent to torture and destroy us.  They cannot win! He could not let them win. He knew not what to swear by or if there was in fact any god listening, but he swore nevertheless that they would pay. They who lived in his very house, his home, would surely pay. They stole his wife, but he would claim their colony. He had to. There was no question of what had to be done. All must be sacrificed to avenge his dear wife. He began to shake with fury and his face took on a look that nothing could describe, but where madness dwelt. “Yes, they will pay,” he cried. “Elizabeth.” He stood up so abruptly that the chair in which he had sat fell over. The roach in the corner startled, but did not move. It still watched him.  

“Oh, don’t worry. I am not going after you.” His eyes could not seem to focus on any one object. They twitched in his sockets in a horrific manner. “No more do I kill just one. You must all die!” 

He looked about the room anxiously. His wandering eyes sought something, but he did not know what. Not finding it, he continued out of the room. Room by room, he frantically searched the entire house. As he came to the garage, it entered his mind what he was looking for. By the evil smile that came across his face, it was quite clear that he was mad. 

He snatched up the gas canister and fled back into the house and up the stairs. He left a trail of gasoline wherever he went and this as he cackled out loud. 

“They are in the walls,” he cried as he splashed the gasoline along the wall. “They are in the cabinets,” he yelled as he flooded the place that they kept the bowls and the good dishes. “They are in the food,” he screamed as he splashed the flammable liquid around the pantry, covering himself in the process. He did not seem to notice or care. “They are everywhere…” he choked, his eyes and veins bulging in his head, “so everywhere must burn!” His eyes had a flame behind them. 

Finally, he made his way back into the room in which he had been sitting. The little woodbug was still in the corner where it was before and yet watched his every move. He wrested with a book of matches. It burst open; the sticks, like rain, fell scattering on the floor. He picked one up and held it high above his head, preparing to strike it. “For you, Elizabeth!” he screamed. 

“Tom!” came a scream, high pitched, but not unrecognizable. He looked around, but saw no one. “What are you doing?” it was a horrified voice. There was pain there.

“Elizabeth?” he said, looking madly about him in the room, but finding himself alone. Saliva had started to creep over his bottom lip, his appearance making it apparent that his mind had gone.

“Oh, Tom!” came the voice. “Why? How could you?” The high pitched voice was broken by obvious weeping.  

“Elizabeth, I hear you,” he said. “I am coming, my darling. We will be together,” he cried. “I love you.” 

“Tom… I told you I would come back for you,” came the reply. It was full of tenderness and compassion. “Why did you not believe me? Why have you done this?” He could now place a fix on the location of the voice. He looked to the corner of the room and spied the little roach. It had begun to cross the distance of the room and approach him.  “Yes,” it said, “It is me. I was not going to come to you like this, but I cannot let you do this!” cried Elizabeth the insect.  Through the insect’s high pitched whine, he could definitely make out Elizabeth’s distinct voice. 

“Elizabeth,” he said in horror. His eyes flashed and a dark cloud seemed to gather about him in the room. “Elizabeth, is that you? It… it is not possible.” 

“It is,” came the reply. 

“You… one of them?” he cried, his body convulsing, “One of the enemy!” 

“The bugs are not after you,” she said. “They are not your enemy. It is all in your mind.” She was heartbroken. He knelt down and she crawled on to his hand. He lifted her up to eye level. “They are not devils, Tom. You are sick. You need help. It is the only way that you can overcome this and get on with your life.” they looked at each other, eye to eye.  

Tom paused for a moment. He now spoke in a calm, contemplative voice, “This is true. This is real… or I am mad.” 

“Tell me you believe me,” she said. “You must. Then you will have hope.” 

“I believe you,” he said. 

“Then everything will be alright now,” she said.  

“Yes,” he said, “It will.” He dropped her to the ground and stepped on her, and struck the match. 

Dec. 21, 1998 

For Dale E. Nix

The Vegetable Spider 

“I am so tired of the killing!” he yelled, making his way down the silvery strands of his web. “I have had enough; I’m leaving. I have eaten my last insect.” The Other Spider looked at him curiously from his own web, not far from his in the upper left corner of the porch where they lived. They often conversed, as even asocial animals love company when they can get it, but they would never venture too close to the other’s web, lest the instinct take over and they find a sudden end to their adaquate and convenient acquaintanceship.  

“What are you talking about?” the Other Spider called. “You cannot quit eating.” 

“I just cannot do this anymore,” he replied, “It is just not right. I cannot believe we were meant to do this.” He started climbing down the wall and away from his web. The Other Spider was so startled by this sudden outburst and obviously confused mental state that his curiosity compelled him to forgo his thought of personal safety and venture out of the web, which they rarely did. He began to follow the spider with the notion of finding out what this was all about.  

“Where are you going?” the Other Spider cried out to him. “It is dangerous out here; there are birds.” By this time, they had made their way to the porch floor. The Other Spider was smaller and therefore had had a difficult time keeping up and in his attempt to compensate, failed to notice how closely he was following. He repeated, “I said, where are you going to?” The spider reared and was then in front of him with his long forelegs in the air in a quite threatening manner. The Other Spider was seized with panic and could not move. 

“See!” the spider yelled, “I could eat you, but I am not going to. Just because we are spiders does not mean that we must be murderers!” He reared again and continued on his way. The Other Spider was quite shaken and knew not what to think. He had never come so close to his fate before. Still bewildered, he began tracing the spider’s path again, this time at a considerable distance. 

“What do you mean by all that?” he called to him. “Where are you going?” Without looking back or diminishing his stride, the spider said, “I am going to look for food.” He reached the first step, attached his web to the ledge, and began his descent, repelling against the brick. The Other Spider peered over the ledge after him. 

“What are you going to eat for food?” The Other Spider called to him. “I thought you said that you were not going to kill anything.” 

“I am not,” he replied. “I am going to find some vegetables. From now on, I am a Vegetable Spider.” 

“What is a Vegetable Spider?” asked The Other Spider. “A spider that eats vegetables,” came the reply.  

“But you are a spider,” said The Other Spider, “Spiders eat insects.” 

“Not me,” said the Vegetable Spider, “I eat vegetables.” 

They got down to the ground where the sea of grass spread out before them and a host of crickets and other insects lay hidden.  

“Are you going to find vegetables in here?” asked The Other Spider. “Can you even live off of just vegetables?” 

“I am sure that you can,” replied the vegetable Spider. “I am sure that if you maintain a healthy diet, you can do nicely on a variety of different kinds of vegetables. I will just have to see which is most appetizing and which seem healthy.” 

“How will you know?” The Other Spider inquired.  

“Well, I will know if it is really good for me if it tastes really bad,” said the Vegetable Spider. 

“But why would you want to do something like that?” The Other Spider continued. “What is wrong with living on insects like we always did?” 

“Why? Because I see this killing as wrong and I want to stop it. I am tired of seeing the look of horror on the face of my dinner as I prepare to satisfy myself on his misery and torture.” 

“I never think about it,” said The Other Spider, “Dinner is dinner. I just eat it.” They were walking side by side on the dirt path between clumps of grass. 

“See, that is the problem. We take no notice of how we affect others. Those insects had lives the same as we. I hate being afraid of being eaten. I just want to be out of the food chain.” 

“But does that make me bad?” The Other Spider said. “I think that I am just doing what I am supposed to do. I have never had a problem with it.” 

“How do you know that that is what you are supposed to do?” the Vegetable Spider asked. “Because I am a spider; that is what spider’s do,” the Other Spider said.

“But how do you know?” 

“Because they just do,” he said, not knowing what else to.

“Do you see what I mean?” said the Vegetable Spider, “You have been made to believe that. You grew up thinking that and that is the way you think right now, but that is not the way it has to be. I am not going to be a part of it any more.” 

They continued around the winding little path amidst the leaves and such. 

“I do not think that I quite believe that,” said the Other Spider. “We do what we were meant to. We are not intended to break the cycle.” 

“Perhaps breaking the cycle is exactly what we are intended to do. You, yourself, are breaking your instinct already; you followed me rather than staying safely tucked away in your web, waiting out the rest of your days in an ignorant display of a spider’s natural evil.” 

The Other Spider pondered hard over these strange ideas. Though intrigued, he was more than a little alarmed at this outlandish way of thinking. The Vegetable Spider may have something, but as of yet, the Other Spider did not see it and could not understand what was so bad about eating insects. 

“Alright,” he said at last, “This I am sure - we are meant to fill the measure of our creation, whatever that may be. If we are born to be spiders, then we must be spiders – and good spiders – and if we are born to eat other animals, then we should eat other animals. That is what we are made for.” 

The Vegetable Spider made no pause in replying, “We are not merely to fill the measure of our creation, but to magnify it, indeed, to surpass it. If we are born with instincts that are imperfect, then we must become better by denying them. ‘Put off the natural spider’.” 

He definitely had a point. The other spider was now uncertain what to think. He had not had time to really develop these new concepts in his brain, but hoped he would gain a little better grasp on things after they had time to sink in a little. Then he would know if the Vegetable Spider was advanced beyond genius or a crazed heretic. Either way, for the moment he was decidedly neutral. The best way to find if he is right is to wait it out and see what becomes of the Vegetable Spider. If he can actually live without taking another life, then perhaps that would be the best thing to do. If perhaps he starves to death, why, then the old fashioned concoctions of cricket cuisine will be back on the menu. Either way, The Other Spider had little to lose, provided that The Vegetable Spider kept his distance and did not suddenly get too hungry for his convictions. 

They continued over mounds of dirt and around stumps, looking for something for the Vegetable Spider to eat.  They came across a row of ants, carrying bits of plants and other morsels to their colony for their food storage. They were on about their busy work so intently that they scarcely noticed the two spiders silently observing them.  

“Look,” said the Vegetable Spider, “see how they carry bits of vegetation and stuff to their dwelling. They do not need to kill other animals or least of all each other for food. And they are not that much different from us, physically. They have legs, abdomen, torso, exoskeleton. If they can live off of that, then so can we. We have no need to take life.” About this time, he looked back at the Other Spider, who sat listening intently as he gnawed on a few ants. “What are you doing?” he asked in dismay. 

“What?” said The Other Spider, quite puzzled. 

“Were you listening to what I just said?” 

“Yes of course,” said The Other Spider. Then, noticing that the seeming objection was directed at the remaining bit of ant that he was munching, he offered the explanation, “well, I was getting a little hungry. But what you said made some sense though.” 

“Ugh,” he sighed and stormed off. The Other Spider rejoined him after a few moments, still cleaning his chops.  “Full?” asked the Vegetable Spider. 

“Oh yes, thank you,” the Other Spider replied. 

“Butcher,” said the Vegetable Spider accusingly in a low voice.  

“Now wait a minute,” said the Other Spider, “I never said that I was ready to get on board with this plan of yours. I am going to see how it goes first and see if we find some decent vegetation, but in the mean time, I am hungry now.” 

They continued on until they came upon a vine with large green leaves that was the first non-grass item that they had seen. The Vegetable Spider crawled up to it and tapped the base of it with his leg. He looked at it for a few moments and The Other Spider wondered what he was thinking.  

“Well,” The Other Spider said, “are you going to eat it or crawl up it?” 

The Vegetable Spider tapped it again and looked at it some more. “Well,” he finally said, “I am hungry; I guess I will eat it. Here goes.” He moved toward it and attempted to sink his fangs into the thick stem. The substance might as well have been wood for he could not make a dent in it. He tried again, harder, and the crackling sound of the surface breaking could be heard. Then he tried to pull his fangs out again and encountered considerably more difficulty. He positioned his forelegs to allow for the most leverage and finally he was released with a recoil that nearly send him to the ground. He looked over at the Other Spider for a moment, who had a moment ago thought to laugh, now suddenly feared that the Vegetable Spider had changed his mind. But then the Vegetable Spider, not the least bit disheartened, said, “Well, let us move on the softer stuff.” 

He climbed up the stalk to the first stem and it bowed as he made his way over to the leaf. He tried to detect a scent and then began to nibble on the edge. “Well,” said the Other Spider, “What do you think?” 

“It is definitely good for me,” said the Vegetable Spider.  “Let’s find something else.” He let himself down on a strand of silk and proceeded farther away from his home.  

They continued for several hours across the yard toward a large object looming up ahead. When they finally arrived at the structure, which was an abandoned cinder block, they came across another spider sitting in his web. They began conversing with the small black arachnid. The Other Spider told how The Vegetable Spider had given up killing and was seeking Vegetables to eat and how they had spent all this time together and how neither had felt inclined to make a meal of the other.  The Black Arachnid assured them that they were mad. 

“What in the world are you talking about?” He said.  “Did you fellas catch a gluttonous dung beetle in your webs or what? What has you talking like this?” 

The Other Spider advocated that The Vegetable Spider was seeking by example to set some wrong things right and that there was nothing wrong with that. He vouched that, though he is not forcing anyone to do anything, The Vegetable Spider would show that it is possible for all the insects to not take life and live as he does. 

“Granted that what is good for the ant is good for the anthill,” said the Black Arachnid, “but what you are talking about is just senseless. Even if you can go without eating flies or other spiders does not assure that other spiders would do the same. Just stay out of my web; that is all I have to say.” 

“I am not completely sure that it is possible,” said the Other Spider, “but, if it were, do you not think that it would be worth trying?” 

“Certainly not,” he said. “You may think that it is worth trying for, but it is certainly not worth dying for, and if you stay buddy-buddy with him too close, that philosophy is going to get you.” He was eyeing the Vegetable Spider suspiciously as he spoke. “There is just something wrong here.” 

“I know enough to know that he would not eat me,” said the Other Spider. “If he had that in mind, he would have done it by now.” 

The Black Arachnid laughed at that. “Oh, you will find out. All that jazz is really swell now, but wait until the drive sets in.” 

“Drive?” asked the Other Spider. “Yeah man,” he said, “The instinct. There is nothing more powerful than the instinct. You cannot fight it.” 

“Now who has been eating the dung beetles?” commented the Vegetable Spider. The arachnid had The Other Spider’s complete attention. 

“The killer instinct is the strongest in spiders. They have to kill; it is in their blood. You might think that you can go without it for a short time, but after a while it takes over without your control and does it for you. It’s nature, my spider.  There is nothing stronger… well, almost.” He seemed to grin slightly. 

“What else?” asked the Other Spider. “Oh, you will find out sometime,” he said. “The most powerful drives in nature, that and survival. There is nothing stronger.” 

“Oh, well I conquered that one already,” The Other Spider said. 

“Oh?” said the Black Arachnid. 

“Oh, yes. He and I have been together for a while now and nature has not forced us to eat each other. At first I was afraid, but I am not any longer. I am sure he is right, that these instincts can be conquered.” 

“I should warn, lest they conquer you,” he said, and turned back to the recesses of the structure. 

“Some will close their mind to anything,” said the Vegetable Spider. “He will not trust anyone because he cannot be trusted himself.” 

“Well, he made no effort to hide that,” said The Other Spider. “At least he can be trusted on that point.” 

They continued for some time until they could not go on any longer without rest. The stomach of the Vegetable Spider was empty and he was beginning to become very weary, nevertheless, his convictions stayed strong and he would never take another life as long as he lived. They found a stool in the yard under which to make a web. The vegetable Spider began in the corner to attach a piece of webbing. The Other Spider came up along side him and began to do the same.  

“What are you doing?” asked the Vegetable Spider.  “Making some web to sleep on,” replied the Other Spider. 

“Oh no,” he said, “Not so close to me. You have not proven yourself to be that trustworthy yet. You are still carnivorous.” 

“But I would never want to eat you,” The Other Spider said. “And I am really starting to think that you may be right about this. I rather enjoy company rather than aloneness. If we could only refrain from eating each other, we could find relative tranquility together.” 

“Yes, it is a spider eat spider world. I hope to change that, but let’s not run before we can walk, shall we?” He pointed over to another corner. “I would prefer you over there.” 

After spending quite some time building a shelter, the Vegetable Spider sat in the middle of his web, pondering. Before long, the Other Spider had fallen asleep. The Vegetable Spider stared at him, rubbing his empty belly. He could not know how the Vegetable Spider hungered; the Vegetable Spider did not want him to know. He might not trust him. The Vegetable Spider had not suffered doubt in his ideals; he was convinced that he was right. His mind was firm, but his stomach ached. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping that when he awoke he would quickly find food.  

The Vegetable Spider awoke suddenly, as he was being shaken around, which nearly startled him senseless. When his eyes focused, they rested on a large June bug caught in the web. It writhed and struggled, but only succeeded in getting itself further entangled. Its mesmerizing movements and the vibrations in the web stirred something inside the Vegetable Spider. The aching in his stomach lured him a little closer to that which waited helpless. For a moment, he forgot who he was and let habit govern his actions. He slowly moved closer and closer and his mouth salivated with the thought of sinking in his fangs. 

“It is a June bug!” cried The Other Spider. “I am quite fond of them. What are you going to do with him?” Suddenly, his senses returned and he pondered on what lay before him. His stomach ached and he longed to taste food again. However, he knew that if habit was to be broken that it must start now. He wanted it so badly, though. He moved a little closer to it and saw how helpless it was there. He struggled with himself up to the last moment and then with one motion, cut it free of the web. It fell to the ground and began to make its escape, followed by dragging strands of silk.  The Other Spider crawled onto the web and approached him. 

“See, I do not know if I could have done it,” he said. The Vegetable Spider just stared at him. After a moment, he said to the Other Spider simply that he was hungry and that it was time to move on. They started again. Several hours went by and he became more and more grudging at the Other Spider’s every word. The Other Spider continued on and on, completely oblivious to the agony that pierced The Vegetable Spider. He attempted to keep reminding himself that it was all to test his revolutionary and wonderful revelation.  He was glad that he did not kill the June bug, but he was shocked at how tempting it was. But the important thing was that he beat it. Yet constantly he had to defeat the desire to devour the Other Spider, which thought nagged him, if only to shut him up. He had enjoyed his company so much and now, with this new burden that he felt he would face better alone, he wished with all his might that the Other Spider was not there.  

There was not much vegetation at all. At one point, he attempted to eat grass, but that was not any more edible than the vine leaf had been. The idea was looking like a failure, but he still felt the drive to stand by his conviction over the instinct to survive. 

Finally, they came upon an almost luminous plant there in a garden bed. It seemed to bear the most colorful fruit that the Vegetable Spider had ever seen. He approached it and spent a moment looking at it in hopeful doubt. He wanted to bask in the fancy that it might prove edible for a moment longer, before the nasty reality of it would sour his mouth once again. He settled that if this was to be as the last, that he would have no resort but to eat the Other Spider. He just had to.  

As he yet lingered on the thought, the Other Spider climbed upon one of the fruit bulbs and sank his fangs into it. He filled with excitement as he gorged himself and invited the Vegetable Spider to partake of his dream. His hopeful doubt became doubtful hope and he rushed toward it and drank from the luscious orb. The juice was both filling and delicious. He felt overjoyed and knew that everything was about to change. No spider could take life for food after experiencing this. His desire for flesh had diminished to nothing and his days of killing were over. His instincts were replaced by bodily subjection to consciousness and he was satisfied.  

The Other Spider approached him and gleamed. “No one has ever been more right than you. I will never kill again.” The Vegetable Spider was brought down by the thoughts that he had had of eating his friend and the June bug.  He could hardly conceive that if he had failed to hold out, that he would have missed this and would have been miserable all the days of his life. “When I got hungry, I was very tempted to give in,” he said, looking at his friend solemnly.  

“I am so glad that you did not,” came a voice from nearby. They turned and beheld the most beautiful spider that they had ever seen. She lay in her web in the midst of the garden paradise with fruit seeds piled beneath her. “I almost did too. You had the same vision too, didn’t you? You had the same unexplainable drive. I just knew that there was more than killing in the world. There is life.” 

“I agree,” said the Vegetable Spider, “How did you find this place?” “Same as you,” she said. “My mate and I came looking for a place where we could be safe and could live without taking life. Like you, we sought to conquer natural instincts and cling to morality and a spiritual code. We cannot kill other insects; we are all brothers and sisters; we all spring from the same Mother Earth, the same fountain of life.” 

“Yes, you are right,” said the Other Spider. “He and I are brothers. We did not want to eat each other. It is not necessary to take life when we can avoid it. This place is like a dream come true. We have to go tell others about this place.” 

“No,” she said, “you should not leave. I sent my children to tell others and they never came back. I fear the worst for them. They tried to take idealism that they learned here and spread it to an undeserving world. They are just not ready for such a place. Who knows what would happen if someone is introduced to this place that is not willing to live by the order of it. Those who are, find it, like you and me. The others will slowly come, one at a time. The first step is to lose the instinct and desire to kill. It should be totally banished from your hearts. Is it?” 

“Yes,” they chimed in unison. “And next?” asked the Vegetable Spider. 

“The next is the principle of self-sacrifice, the placing of another’s need above one’s own.” She looked saddened. “My mate learned this all too well.” She brightened for a moment as she recalled, “He always put me first. He had not a selfish hair on his body. He loved me so much.” 

“What happened to him?” asked The Other Spider.  

“I really do not like to recall the details, but there was another spider whose instincts were not so much subdued. He wanted to protect me. It is the way love should be, even though I miss him. As long as I live, though, his sacrifice has meaning.  He was so wonderful! He found this place first. It was his vision, this Garden of Peace. No one knows what we were planning. We were going to make this our paradise and raise our offspring here. For a long time, I thought that it would never happen, but now that you are here I think it may.” 

“Me?” The Other Spider asked. 

“You,” she said looking at the Vegetable Spider. “You are the one who sought this place aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

“I am not ashamed to admit that I was getting lonely. It is not good for us to be alone. Do you like me?  

“Of course,” he said, his heart beating even more so now than when he first knew this place was real, when he bit into the fruit. 

“I think that you are a lot like me. I thought… that is… if you wanted you could replace him. This garden and I are yours.” 

“What of me?” asked the Other Spider. “This place is wonderful, but is there a mate here for me?” 

“I am sorry,” she said, “I am the only one, and I loved the devotion I felt with my companion so much that I could only ever have one mate at one time. I do not think he would object to you,” she said turning back to the Vegetable Spider. “He would never want me to be lonely.” She looked down at The Vegetable Spider for a moment as if she thought he might reject her. 

He stood there thinking and realized that being alone, her social abilities may leave her without a certain sense of tact, but she seemed sincere. He recognized how she had a need for him. He felt sorry for the Other Spider, but reasoned that he could always go find a mate and convert her and bring her back. 

Her web was woven in the traditional bridal web, obviously in anticipation of the coming of a long held desire. He began to feel some of the self-sacrifice as he realized that the most pleasant thing was not the way that she looked, although she was enticing enough to attract any male spider, but that he had the opportunity to make her happy and to create offspring to enjoy paradise. This was the same as though he had gone and converted a hundred spiders to lowering their fangs in peace toward each other. 

His full purpose filled, and his full happiness brought about, he climbed up with her and held her. The Other Spider made his attempts to banish his hurt feelings, but they rose in one final objection. “What about the other instinct? I am sure that it has to do with mating? Is that not what that Arachnid was talking about?” 

“I think so,” answered The Vegetable Spider 

“Do we not bring that into submission too?” he asked 

“We do when we convert our instinct to mate into genuine love,” she replied. “That is when we have conquered all of our instincts.” The Other Spider sat and watched the way they looked at each other and managed to feel glad for his friend. As he started to walk away to leave them alone, he looked back one last time to retain a vision of what he may have to look forward to at some time to come. He saw her place her arms around The Vegetable Spider and his around her, and then he turned away.  

Having gained and lost paradise in a single moment, he began walking, considering now that after he had left all to follow the Vegetable Spider he was still alone. He looked around him at the colorful fruit that grew plentifully on the vines. The beauty of it all was astounding, but now this paradise seemed to have a shade of darkness surrounding it. 

To survive, to eat and to mate are the three most powerful instincts, and the greatest is to mate. He stopped in the clearing, still having difficulty making sense of it all. And we are supposed to rise above our nature and conquer our instincts. We are to modify the desire to eat and curb our desire to kill. And we are to convert our desire to mate into a genuine love. Am I only jealous, he thought.  

Truly the Vegetable Spider was a prophet and revolutionary. He had led the Other Spider so far from his instincts and his comfort zone, but to leave him like this so unprepared for the world, so unable, it seemed, to carry these ideas onward, left him bewildered. There arose in him another objection. He realized that he must have his questions answered or he would never be able to rest. He turned again to demand the Vegetable Spider to put his mind at ease, that it was not mere hypocrisy that caused the Vegetable Spider to put his own happiness over that of his friend, and to abandon him with ideals that he lacked the strength on his own to put into practice. 

As he reached the edge of clearing, his mind full of questions and disquiet, his eyes looked up in horror as he watched helplessly as the Vegetable Spider struggled, tangled in the web and could see her fangs sinking into his back. 

September 13, 1999