We Are Both Mammals (14 page)

Many times Toro-a-Ba has expressed to me his
sorrow and pity that I must endure these negative, occasionally
impassioned, reactions from humans. Do not humans understand, he
asks, that the universe is full of strange things, so that
strangeness is therefore normal; and that all life is precious,
regardless of how strange it may appear to us? Do not humans
perceive that it is clearly necessity that obliges us to be joined
like this, and that shock and horror are therefore needless? Why,
he asks me in almost pathetic puzzlement, do humans take everything
so personally, reacting as though frightened or personally
threatened by the sight of a human and a thurga walking together,
something that, were it not for the hose between us, would be
neither frightening nor threatening? A human, a thurga, a synthetic
hose bearing fluids: all of these things are not frightening in
themselves; what, then, is so shocking about the three being
combined?

And I answer him that I do not know. I
explain that humans have learned, through millennia of survival,
always to react to the new and strange with suspicion; and he
replies that thurga-a have also had to deal with new and strange
things, yet their first reaction is not fear or suspicion but calm
curiosity, and wariness if it seems warranted. He points out that
humans have been the apex predator of the animal world on their
native planet for millennia; why then do they retain this instinct
to react with fear to anything new?

Perhaps it is that fear that has made them
– us – the apex predator, I respond.

And he thinks for a time, and sometimes we
discuss it further; but the discourse always ends with Toro-a-Ba
apologising to me for the fact that, because of him, I am
frequently treated by my own species like a monster.

If it were not for him, of course, I would
be treated like a corpse.

He always introduces me as ‘Avari-Ba’, the
Thurga-to equivalent of ‘Mr Avari’; but in private it is always
‘Daniel’, pronounced in that careful, mellifluous, three-syllabled
way. Sometimes he will even address me as ‘my Daniel’; or
‘Daniel-chi’, a term of endearment that translates to something
like ‘Daniel darling’.

I have never yet been able to bring myself
to return the favour; and of that I am somewhat ashamed. I am
certain that Toro-a-Ba would be happy for me to address him as
simply ‘Toro-a’, or even using his private name; but I honestly
cannot stomach the thought.

I cannot … I cannot admit such intimacy.

This person did an extraordinary thing for
me; indeed, every day he continues to do that thing, and there is
never, ever, a word of complaint from him. A more selfless creature
I have never met, and yet I am so selfish in my self-consciousness
and reticence that I cannot treat him with the affection and
gratitude that he deserves. I can cradle his nieces and nephew in
my arms as they sleep, yet I cannot touch him unless out of
necessity. I owe him my life; every breath is a gift that he gives
me; he gave up everything for my sake in the knowledge that I had
nothing whatsoever to offer him in return. And yet …

Sometimes, when he looks at me with those
huge, round, trusting, innocent eyes, I have to look away.

And I am honestly not sure if it is because
I wish that he had not given me a gift that I can never repay, or
because I am ashamed of my selfishness compared to his
selflessness, or because my soul recognises that, compared to him,
I do not deserve to live: he should have kept his life and used it
to serve many others, not just one such as I.

I try not to notice, but I cannot pretend
even to myself that I do not see the look in Toro-a-Ba’s eyes
occasionally when he gazes at me. It is a look of loneliness; of
resigned wistfulness. Every now and then he will do something, or
say something, and I would have to be blind, deaf and stupid not to
understand that he is trying to reach me, to know me more
intimately, to be close to me emotionally even as we are
inextricably close physically.

I cannot respond.

To my shame, I cannot respond.

Someday, perhaps, far in the future, if we
live that long, I may be able to treat him as he deserves to be
treated. I can never repay what he did for me, of course, but
perhaps someday I will no longer be in mourning for it.

In the meantime, sometimes, in the dark of
the night, when Toro-a-Ba Ni-Ev is asleep beside me, I lie awake
with a lump in my throat, and I can hardly stand what he has done
for me.

–––––––

G. Wulfing.

Written between 7/11/14 and 8/4/15.

–––––––

About G. Wulfing

G. Wulfing, author of
kidult fantasy and other bits of magic, is a freak. They have been
obsessed with reading since they learned how to do it, and obsessed
with writing since they discovered the fantasy genre a few years
later. G. Wulfing has no gender, and varies between twelve and one
hundred years of age on the inside, and somewhere in between that
on the outside. G. Wulfing lives amidst the beautiful scenery of
New Zealand, prefers animals to people, and is in a dedicated
relationship with theirself and hot chocolate.