“Excuse me. Mr. Luke?”
“Yeah?” I lifted my head from my bowl of Udon.
“Well, uh, do you like turtles?” He gleamed into my eyes as if his question was the most important question ever asked. He had a piece of shitake mushroom stuck to the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, I like turtles. I had one when I was a kid.”
“I have a turtle.” He looked at me and smiled. He licked the mushroom and pulled it into his mouth.
“Really? Cool.” All the other kids looked at me and smiled.
He kept on smiling then began to nod his head. He was getting excited. The other kids all looked at me and smiled.
They weren’t looking at me.
“Look!”
He pointed over my shoulder and I turned around.
“I found her in the mountains. Her name is Maya.”
There was a turtle all right. For how much longer I’m not sure.
Maya was by far the most cooped up creature I have ever seen. His aquarium was a clear plastic box with a piece of Styrofoam thrown over the top, and held down by textbooks. His feet hit the walls, and there was a film beginning to crust over the top of the water.
Its been a while since I’ve owned a turtle, but I don’t remember them smiling. At least not like this. Maya didn’t just smile, she had a massive grin. If she had them, it would have been ear to ear.
“Maya? How did you come up with that name?”
“Well, I found her in the mountains. And Yama is mountain in Japanese. And if you put the ‘ma’ in from of the ‘ya,’ you get Maya.
“Cool. Maya is a good name.”
“So…when are you going to keep Maya until?”
“Until she dies.” Another kid from across the table chimed in. Maya’s owner agreed.
I kept on eating my Udon. I wanted to tell the kid that the principal wanted to see him right away, and take the plastic box and set the poor bastard free. I know it was smiling, but it was probably just genetic.
“We take it out sometimes.” The other kids nodded.
“She likes to play in the grass.”
“Do you have bugs in America?” Its amazing how quickly topics can change in Elementary school.
“Yeah, sure. We have a lot of them.” I said.
“What kind? They all stopped eating and stared at me, hinging on my reply.
I got to be honest. My Japanese is pretty good these days, but these kids know their bugs inside and out, and for me to bust out “bees” and “worms” like a rookie, would make me look like a complete ass.
“Ahh...... King Beetles.” That’s the one cool bug I know. It’s the beetle with the massive horns / pinchers on their head. The kids love them. They practically shat their pants when they heard they were in America too.
“Wow! Next time you go there can you bring one back? Do they look like the ones here?”
“Yeah, just like the Japanese ones.” I was already lying. I’ve never seen a king Beetle in the states. But I should have told them, ‘Yes, we have them. And they’re the size of cats.’
“You want to see mine?”
He took me over to the windowsill where the afternoon sunbeams cast upon mayonnaise and peanut butter jars filled with dirt and soil.
He showed me his King Beetle. It was almost as cooped up as Maya. He pointed to his pinchers and made pinching gestures towards my face with his fingers and groaned as a monster would.
The other jars were filled with grubs, worms, caterpillars and ladybugs. He was so proud of them. Then he said that since summer is on its way, he couldn’t wait to catch a praying mantis. I told him that killing them in the states is against the law, and he gasped.
He grabbed one of his empty jars with the plaid lid with holes poked in the top and scoffed, “I don’t hurt my bugs!”
