Agate & Breadbox

Chapter 4. Sing Language

Inside I’m a hero

I often save the world

I smite the bad guys, save the good

Pretty good for just a girl!

Thank you, Super Girl!

From Anthem to My Secret Self on “Inner-galactic Journey” album

Day 3. Language is a slog. So little in common! What actually worked? Singing. And pointing. I tried tapping out numbers, feeling like the famous counting horse on stage. I pulled the gurney to the opening, so I could point out trees, sky and rocks. Yeah, so what?

She responded best to rousing melodies. I sang and played Gibb--everything I could think of. Quickly worked through my own published repertoire, then pieces I’d been working on. But what did she like best? Nursery rhymes and Christmas carols! Rousing tunes with a wide vocal range. She didn’t much respond to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” or “Silent Night,” but she jiggled and thrummed to “Pop Goes the Weasel” and “Joy to the World.” And she responded strongly to “Star Spangled Banner!” with elaborate display of tentacles waving and vibrating and thrumming. I thought she’d stand up and salute! I wish I could have done it in full Jimi Hendrix mode.

She tried to sing back to me. It did not start out auspiciously. She squeaked and gasped and wheezed. I was afraid she was overdoing it.

Breadbox wanted something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was like my damn fool cat meowing! I’d go all around my house, trying everything I could think of it might want. Out. In. Out again. Offer it food, water. Then ignore it.

But I couldn’t just ignore this poor beastie! I pushed the gurney around as far as the tether would allow. I picked up all kinds of stuff from the floor, held it out to her. I opened up the little compartments, pulled stuff out or pointed in.

It looked like this particular tentacle shake meant, “That’s not it.” Like a baby whose first word is “no.” God, maybe she wants her porta potty! How long can she hold it in? I finally asked this question the only way I could think of. I pulled down my jeans and peed in the dirt just outside the opening, where she could watch. Then I pointed. Was this it? It reminded me of trying to housebreak Buddy when he was a pup.

Breadbox was fascinated by this display but showed no inclination that this was it. What would she do to communicate this, anyway? Maybe cross her tentacles and hop up and down? Yet I wondered how my poor visitor was handling this particular need.

I started hauling things out from deeper in the vessel, but nothing I pulled up was what she was looking for. She pantomimed to me that she wanted to be disconnected from the life support. Despite my misgivings, I finally did this. I lowered the gurney as low as it could go , so she could crawl off. Immediately, we could see that this did not go well. She was quite weak. She whimpered and I helped her clamber back up and reconnect to her life support.

I went back and rummaged in the section where the dead crew members had been. This was difficult because it was dark, and I had to crawl back there, holding on to my flashlight with one hand, walking around at a crouch and looking for things that might be the right thing. Several trips of bringing things back out for which she signaled, “Nope, that’s not it.”

When I finally found it, I knew immediately! It was a cylinder. Over a foot long. Maybe two inches in diameter. Gray metallic look, with the same patterns the amulet I had found initially. Very heavy. It didn’t look like a weapon, though.

When I hauled that back up through the narrow tunnel, Breadbox showed visible excitement. This was obviously what she’d been looking for. She spoke to it and it trilled back to her. So, still functional! I handed it to her and she caressed it, held it in several tentacles like it was her baby.