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I awaken from my slumber, and already I am angry. I open my eyes and move my head, letting it come out of my shell as I take in my surroundings.
From my spot underneath the rocks of the pond, I can see the sunlight creeping inside the water, reflecting on the muddy floor below. There are two young turtles playing between the algae and the lilypads, fueled by the strenght their reckless, juvenile limbs carry.
But to me, all that matters is that they woke me up. I stretch my legs and swim forward, resolute on giving them the earful they deserve.
As I am speaking, the younglings look at me as if I’m insane. They agree to leave, but I hear them snickering as they swim away to play somewhere else. Apparently, they think me deaf, as well. Bah! These new generations…they have no more respect for the elderly!
I am tempted to go after them, but my stomach rumbles in protest. I turn around and swim upwards, feeling the water warm up around me as I surface. There are more turtles here, enjoying the hot sun out of the pond.
I know, from stories my cousin has told me, that there are fellow turtles in the world who cannot see the open sky. Humans, the creatures that live on land, pick them up and put them into glass boxes.
Outrageous! I think as I ignore the other turtles in the pond and begin swimming towards my rock. How is a turtle supposed to live without the ability to bask in the sunlight and in the rain alike?
My cousin tells me a lot of stories, because she loves gossipping with the other turtles and has no one else to bother but me. I don’t listen to most of her ramblings, but she comes up with something interesting, from time to time.
I see her approach me from a corner of the pond, but I do not head her call. The younglings woke me up before my usual time, and I am in no mood to talk today.
I emerge from the water, paws meeting the grey sand as I hoist my old shell up on my favourite rock. I claimed it as mine the first day I arrived here, and since then this rock has been no one else’s.
The younglings won’t bother me here. They are wise enough to know I will bite them, empty stomach or not.
I wait for the Food Bringer on my rock, letting the sun warm up my shell. I am a lucky turtle, I think, because I know some turtles can’t enjoy the sun on their bodies like me. Some turtles stay in the wild forever, and they must find food on their own to survive. The lucky ones have a human that takes care of them.
Then again, not all humans are nice like the ones from our pond. Some put their turtles into glass boxes, like my cousin told me.
Humans can be unnaturally cruel.
Soon, I hear footsteps coming from the staircase that leads to our pond, and the Food Bringer appears, dressed in the funny gown humans like to wear. His is completely white, like the stone pillars that surround our pond. It must be a colour exclusive to Food Bringers, because I haven’t seen any other human wear it.
The other turtles of the pond rush to meet him, acting like starved animals in the wild. The exertion is too much for me, so I judge them from the peace of my rock.
The Food Bringer is not a cruel human. Of that, I am glad. He brings each turtle its own share of fruits and vegetables, so that no one has to fight for their food.
He wasn’t always the Food Bringer. We used to have another one, an older one, less hair and less smiles. He, too, wasn’t a cruel human, but he was a bit indifferent towards us. He didn’t visit daily like the current Food Bringer and, most importantly, he never spoke to us.
Turtles can’t understand human speech. It is too complicated. The humans however – or at least, the Food Bringer – don’t seem to have noticed.
The Food Bringer speaks everyday - weird, bubbly sounds that come out of his mouth and that we can’t decipher. Our current Food Bringer is kinder than the previous one, but I suspect he might be dumber. Maybe that is why the humans changed him. Maybe our old Food Bringer has a new role now, one that doesn’t involve feeding turtles and wearing funny gowns.
Still, as long as the current Food Bringer continues to provide nourishment, I shall tolerate his stupidity.
Like always, once the other turtles have satiated their hunger, he moves over to my rock and gently places a chunk of tomato and some lettuce in front of me. He speaks to me, and though his voice sounds unusually wet my instinct makes me ignore him. I eat the Food Bringer’s gifts, and I thank him by allowing him to pet my shell.
Once the tomato and the lettuce are both gone, I lift my eyes to look at him, squinting as the sun blinds me from behind the clouds.
The Food Bringer looks oddly sad, I notice. His lips are quirked downwards in a position I have rarely seen on his face, and his eyes appear hollow. Suddenly, a layer of water appears inside them, and the Food Bringer brings a hand to his mouth to muffle a sharp sob. It is an ugly sound, quickly followed by many more. I have never heard it before. Turtles don’t grow water in their eyes like humans.
Scared by such a display of raw emotion, some of the turtles retreat deeper inside the pond as the Food Bringer covers his face with both hands.
His wails are much too loud, and they bother me. His shoulders shake violently, white gown rumpled by the wind, and a drop of water escapes his fingers to fall on my rock. Soon, the drops multiply, and all of them land near me.
A small puddle appears on my rock. I lick it, and I immediately grimace.
It’s full of salt! The Food Bringer has made my rock salty! Oh, the horror…
I jump into the water, uncaring of the ugly cries resonating around me. Human matters, just like their language, are too complicated for turtles. The Food Bringer better remember that he made me upset the next time he visits, otherwise I will bite him.
I return to my spot underneath the rocks of the pond and retreat inside my shell, hoping the coming day will bring with it less eventful hours.
🐢🐢🐢
The coming day arrives, and the Food Bringer returns. His mouth doesn’t produce any ugly sounds this time, but I notice a certain heaviness around his figure that is deeply unlike him. He talks less to us today, and distributes food mechanically, gaze locked on a fixed point on the horizon.
Odd, I think. The last time I’ve seen a human act like this, it was with our previous Food Bringer, and he ended up disappearing shortly after. A bit rude to just leave like that, to be honest, but I suppose humans aren’t familiar with a turtle’s idea of good manners.
Maybe it’s some kind of stage of life? I don’t have much experience with humans, so I don’t really know.
I seriously hope it doesn’t mean the Food Bringer is going to die. No human has ever blessed us with so much attention before. They used to leave our food all in the same spot, forcing me to climb down my rock everytime I had to eat.
Once the Food Bringer leaves, I decide to take a nap. I am an old turtle, and even swimming to the surface of the pond can be tiring.
I am awoken shortly after by loud sounds. At first, I think it might be the younglings again, playing where they’re not supposed to play. However, as I open my eyes and stretch my legs, I quickly realise that my assumption is wrong.
There are two humans standing near the pond. One is black, the other is purple. They are wearing the same dress (why do all humans wear the same clothes?).
The noises are coming from them.
The black one is someone I recognise. He’s the Food Bringer’s mate, I am convinced of that. They often visit the pond together, though I’ve never accepted food from the black one’s hand. His blue eyes are much too melancholic, and his distant demeanor gives me the ick. I suspect he doesn’t like turtles.
I don’t know what the Food Bringer sees in him. The only thing I appreciate about the human with the black dress is that he doesn’t speak much. Never to us turtles, anyway.
I can see the reverence in his eyes though, when he looks at the Food Bringer, and the Food Bringer obviously shares the same sentiment. All their actions scream ‘we are mates’. Their closeness, the way they linger in each other’s spaces. I have never seen two humans act like that, but when turtles mate, they show the same symptoms. And love is universal, isn’t it?
Anyway, back to the black and purple humans by the pond.
I have no idea who the purple one is. He probably comes to the pond from time to time, but I never bother to learn the faces of the people who don’t interest me.
The purple human seems to be reproaching his colleague. The human with the black dress has his jaw clenched, arms hanging at his sides. I don’t think he likes what the purple human is telling him. He answers back, making even more noise, other words I can’t comprehend.
I frown. Blasted humans. Can’t they argue somewhere else? There are turtles who are trying to sleep here!
The purple human stops talking, and after a few seconds of silence the black one shakes his head. He looks sad – well, sadder than usual, at least. There’s that same heaviness surrounding him, the one I saw this morning in the Food Bringer’s eyes, though it seems denser here, like a thick fog blocking the positive emotions from coming out.
Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen the Food Bringer walk to the pond with his mate in a long time. Perhaps their sorrow is linked. Maybe they have upset each other, in one way or another. Humans are good at upsetting others, so I would bet my shell on that fact.
I hope it doesn’t last too long, because it’s starting to influence the life in the pond. Some of the turtles have noticed the humans’ distress, and they are growing restless. My cousin bothers me everyday because she doesn’t know who else to turn to.
I hate this, all of it. Why do humans have to make everything about themselves?
Eventually, the purple human leaves, and the other quickly follows. He steals a glance at me before walking away, noticing me watching him from my rock.
I glare at him. He ducks his head and turns around, fleeing the scene.
I huff, satisfied, and retreat back inside my shell to resume my nap.
🐢🐢🐢
More humans come to the pond in the following days. Most of them wear dresses, like the Food Bringer, but others don’t. I see a lot of humans wearing stripes, red and yellow and blue all over their bodies. Some of the striped humans hold pointy sticks, and that makes me wonder what they do with them.
Do humans hunt? I think they do. My cousin told me they eat meat, like the cats that sometimes bother us in the summer. For what concerns me, if a human ever tries to eat me, I’ll make sure they get a taste of my bite before I die.
This flood of humans that has suddenly interested our pond bothers me. Humans make so much noise, and they won’t let me sleep. I’m forced to nap underwater, even during the day.
It seems like big changes are taking place in the human world.
A bald human stops by the pond one day, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. He doesn’t speak to us, fortunately, though I can tell by the way his hands shake that something is seriously wrong. He contemplates the water for a few minutes, as if we turtles could have a say in the matters of the human world, then seems to realise he’s being ridiculous and leaves.
A few hours later, the Food Bringer stops by to deliver us lunch. Today, there’s peaches, and I nod approvingly. This is a good lunch.
I climb my rock and patiently wait for my turn while the other turtles crowd at the Food Bringer’s red feet. When the Food Bringer eventually hands me my peach slices, I raise my gaze to look him in the eyes.
He looks even sadder today. There are purple bruises under his eyes, and he somehow seems older.
Goodness, I think, a bit worried now. Maybe he is dying after all.
As soon the thought crosses my mind, the Food Bringer’s face twists into a frown, and ugly cries come out of his mouth, hands coming to cover his eyes once again.
Water drips down from his fingers and unto my rock. I realise with horror that it’s getting salty again.
Annoyed, I abandon my peach slices and step towards him. The Food Bringer has sunk to his knees, so we’re basically on the same eye level. I open my mouth and bite down on one of his fingers, flesh soft and wet.
It seems to knock him out of his sorrow. The Food Bringer stops wailing and lowers his hands to look at me, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Suddenly, he starts making noises again, but they sound more cheerful this time. He pets my shell and my head, fussing all over me.
No, stop it! I’m angry at you!
Apparently, the Food Bringer thinks I was trying to comfort him. Bah, as if I care about his feelings. I only want him to stop dripping salty water all over my rock!
I wiggle out of his grasp and go back to my peach slices. The Food Bringer looks a bit disappointed, but I don’t deign his presence with another glance. Eventually, he gets up and goes to sit on one of the stone benches by the pond while I finish my lunch.
A few minutes later, I hear soft footsteps echo on the staircase that leads into the human building. I raise my head, peach juice still dripping from my mouth, and see the Food Bringer’s mate appear.
He stops on the last step, noticing the Food Bringer sitting on the bench. By the surprised looks they exchange, I suspect the black-dressed human wasn’t expecting to find the Food bringer here.
His mate snaps out of his trance and turns on his heels to return inside. With a show of reflexes I didn’t know humans possessed, the Food Bringer gets up from his bench and runs up the stairs. He stops his mate by the wrist, and the latter turns to him, blue eyes so wide they threaten to pop out of their sockets.
The humans start arguing. The Food Bringer gestures wildly between him and his mate, while the other keeps shaking his head as he tugs his wrist free of the Food Bringer’s grasp.
The Food Bringer starts making those ugly noises of his again, and that alarms his mate. He grabs him gently by the shoulders and leads him back to the bench, sitting next to him. They are so close their dresses blend together, making them look like one being.
I have never witnessed two mates as disastrous as these two idiots. Lunch hour is officially ruined.
The noises cease, reduced to a few broken whispers as the black-dressed human comforts his mate. He dries the water on the Food Bringer’s face with his thumb and grabs his hand, placing it in his lap.
He hesitates briefly, then starts speaking. Judging by the way the Food Bringer’s eyes widen with each word, his mate must be confessing something. It looks very painful for him.
Once the black human is done, he drops his gaze to the ground, pink dusting his cheeks. The Food Bringer’s lips tremble, and the laments come back, though they are joyous now. He flings his arms around the black human’s neck and brings their chests close. Their bodies fuse together even more, white inside black and black inside white.
I am overwhelmed by all this useless noise.
The other turtles are looking at the scene unfolding in front of their eyes. I can hear their whispers and their muttered words, which prevent me from taking my afternoon nap.
Resolute on putting a stop to all of this nonsense, I swallow the last of my peach and walk towards the edge of the pond.
My rock is the closest one to the border that separates the turtle world from the human world. In the past, turtles have crossed it to never return, leaving the safety of the pond to search for a better place to live. Some of them were brought back by the striped humans, while others never returned. Sometimes I wonder if they’ve found what they were looking for, or if they’re still out there, searching for their forever home.
I don’t want to leave the pond however. I’m an old turtle, I’m happy with what I already have. I like to sleep on my rock and eat peaches for lunch, but these two humans are making it impossible.
They are completely focused on each other, too stuck in their own little world to notice as I hop off my rock and land on the grassy ground at their feet. The other turtles yell at me to stop, but I never listened to them, and I definitely won’t start now.
I reach the bench and bite the black human’s dress. I have the feeling he’s the main reason behind all of this mess, and I want him to notice my anger. Maybe that way, he won’t make the Food Bringer cry salty water all over my rock again, and I’ll finally be able to take my naps in peace.
I pull his dress towards me, paws digging in the dirt. The humans shift and separate slightly. The Food Bringer’s mate sees me on the ground and lets out an exclamation. A huge hand comes to cover my shell, and suddenly I am kicking the air as I feel my body being lifted up from the earth.
“Let me go!” I shout, even if I know the humans won’t understand me. This is an invasion of turtle personal space!
The Food Bringer’s mate carries me back to the pond and lowers me into the water. I splash some on his hand and dive down, returning to my napping spot under the surface.
🐢🐢🐢
Everything turns out fine in the end.
The Food Bringer returns cheerful, like he’s always been, and he no longer makes my rock salty with his ugly cries. The humans stop passing by our pond every day, leaving us to ourselves.
The air feels lighter now, like a weight has been lifted off the world. At last, I can nap under the sunlight without being bothered.
It seems like The Food Bringer and his mate have sorted out whatever disagreement had come to disrupt their peace.
One of the turtles tried escaping again, but he was brought back by a striped human. That night, as the other turtles huddled around him to ask all kinds of questions about the human world, the turtle revealed that he’d seen the Food Bringer with his mate on a bench in the nearby gardens, doing something weird with their mouths. It looked liked they were glued together.
I know this because my cousin told me. I consider it a bit gross, but then again, I will never truly understand humans. I hope that no problems will arise in the future, because I don’t think I would have the strenght of mind to handle them.
The turtles in the pond treat me like some kind of hero now. They think I was the one to solve this mess, after I climbed out of the pond and bit the Food Bringer’s mate. I like to disagree.
I am no hero. I simply wanted to take a nap under the sunlight on a dry rock. Simple as that.