When Roger and Lou got to the vacant lot, Jerry and Marlene were tossing a ball back and forth, with the rest of their baseball stuff lying on the ground near the home plate they’d made of plywood.
Roger noticed Marlene staring at him again. “What are you looking at now?” he asked defensively.
“I’m wondering how you’re talking,” she said. “Your mouth moves a bit when you say something, but it sounds like your voice is coming from somewhere around your legs.”
“I don’t know,” said Roger. “I don’t know how I’m doing anything. I’ve only been a bug since this morning.”
“Keep talking,” directed Marlene, crouching down.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Mantises have an ear down here, you know,” she said, pointing to a spot near the base of his front walking legs. “Hello!” she shouted.
“Ow! Stop that!” yelped Roger.
“Yep,” said Marlene, standing up again. “That’s where your voice comes from too. Talking is something else a real mantis can’t do”
“Ewww!” said Jerry laughing. “Isn’t that like his belly button or something?”
“No!” said Marlene, in a disgusted tone. “It’s part of his thorax. I don’t know why he moves his mouth when he talks. Habit, maybe?”
“Roger and his Amazing Talking Belly Button,” said Jerry. “So, Roger, who’d you eat for breakfast?”
“I had sausage and bacon,” said Roger. “Just sausage and bacon. No people at all. But now that I think about it, there might be room for you on the menu.”
“Nah, I’d give you the trots,” said Jerry. “Like the biggest and worst burrito ever. You sure you wouldn’t prefer some nice, juicy crickets?”
“Shut up, Martinez,” said Marlene, but she was grinning.
“Nope. I’m just fine with bacon and sausage, thanks,” said Roger, laughing.
“Oh, I think I’ve got Roger’s mysterious change figured out now,” said Jerry. “Remember that old movie where Don Knotts turned into a fish?”
“So?” said Roger.
“In the movie, him turning into a fish was like a reverse-evolution kind of thing. Maybe that happened to you.”
“Martinez,” said Marlene, “even if that movie wasn’t a complete fantasy, people are not related in any way to insects! Good grief, does anyone pay attention in science class anymore?”
“Okay,” said Jerry, smiling. “So science isn’t my strong suit. I’m more the artistic and athletic type.”
“Can we focus here?” asked Roger. “We’re here to practice.” He was starting to feel like some kind of science specimen. Heck, he thought. I suppose I am some kind of science specimen.
“Okay,” said Jerry, “sorry.” He held up Roger’s baseball glove. “So how do you want to work this? However you got this way, you’re still a bug.”
“That’s the whole point!” shouted Roger. “I can’t play baseball anymore! Look at me! He waved his claws around wildly. “I don’t have hands! I’ve got one long stupid finger on each claw!”
“Roger,” said Marlene, “we can work around this. I know we can.”
“Seriously?” said Roger. “How?”
“Remember when you started out in Little League?” said Jerry. “You really stunk!”
“So?” said Roger, sullenly.
“But you went on to be one of the team’s best players. Do you remember how?”
Roger gave it some thought. “Like anyone else, I suppose. Lots of practice. I kept working at it. And I didn’t stink that bad.”
“That’s how you get good at anything,” said Marlene. “I’ve known you for a long time, Roger, and if you’re anything, you’re persistent.”
“Yeah,” said Jerry. “You’ll do okay. Stinking at something is the first step to getting good at something.”
“Let’s start with the bat,” said Marlene. “Can you hold one?”
“Um … I’m not sure,” said Roger, moving his spiny left arm around experimentally. Maybe they were right. How would he know unless he at least tried?
“Here,” said Jerry, picking up an old two-by-four board lying nearby. “Try grabbing this.”
Roger grasped the end of the board between his right claw and forearm. The spines on his arm bit into the wood. He squeezed, and the wood made a crunching noise. Roger waved the board around like a bat.
“Not too bad,” said Jerry, rubbing his chin. “But you’re going to need more control.”
“It feels so light,” said Roger. On impulse, he grabbed the other end of the board in his left claw. With a sudden movement, he snapped the two-by-four in half.
Marlene gave a little gasp. “That’s crazy! You shouldn’t be that strong! It’s physics!”
“Whoa, dude!” said Jerry. “Lemme find another board!”
“Never mind,” said Roger. He looked at the two ends of the board in his grip. “Look at how badly my claws messed it up where I was holding it. I’d wreck any wooden bat I grabbed.”
Jerry had to wiggle the broken board a bit to get it free of the spines on Roger’s forearm. “I see what you mean,” he said.
“You might do better with an aluminum bat,” said Marlene. “But we don’t have one right now.”
“Wait,” said Jerry. “Where’s your beat-up wooden bat from last year?”
“In my garage,” said Roger. “By the door.”
“I’ll go get it. I’ve got an idea.”
“Grab my old glove, too,” yelled Roger. “It’s by the bat. Just in case.”
Jerry ran off the lot and came back shortly with Roger’s old bat, glove, and a big roll of duct tape. He spent a few minutes wrapping a thick layer of duct tape around the handle of the bat. Then he handed it to Roger. “Here, try this. Don’t squeeze too hard.”
Roger gripped the bat like he had the board, but more gently, and swung it back and forth. He had to turn his arm at an odd angle to bring the bat into a swinging position, but he could do it. Then he handed the bat back to Jerry. “Well?”
“Looks okay,” said Jerry. “You’re poking holes in the tape, but it doesn’t look like it’s getting into the wood much. Let’s toss you a few balls.”
Roger walked over to the plywood home plate. Jerry put on his glove and headed out to the homemade pitcher’s mound. Marlene went out toward the woods to field the balls, but only a little way. Apparently, she was still convinced that Roger shouldn’t be anything other than weak. Lou darted into the outfield behind Marlene. He had learned to retrieve balls that anyone missed catching. Nobody minded because he was actually pretty good about not chewing the baseballs up, and it saved them a lot of work.
Jerry carried several balls out to the mound since Roger hadn’t been doing very well at picking up balls off the ground and throwing them back.
Maybe I need another dog for catcher, Roger thought.
Jerry started by pitching an easy ball. Roger focused on it, and it looked like the ball was just drifting through the air. He swung, but missed because he couldn’t figure out how to move the bat exactly where he wanted it to go. Still, the bat blurred through the air with an audible swoosh. Marlene raised her eyebrows and started backing up. Jerry tossed a faster ball. Roger missed again, but by less this time.
Jerry threw him a real fastball. Roger connected with a sharp crack. The ball sailed far over Marlene’s head, across the expanse of the vacant lot, and came down far into the woods. Lou ran under the fence and took off toward the ball but stopped at the edge of the trees and looked back as if to say are you kidding me?
“That ball is gone!” whooped Jerry.
Roger grinned, although he didn’t know what his insect mouth was really doing. The best home run any kid had ever hit on the vacant lot had only gone about thirty feet into the woods. That last ball would have gone over the center field fence at the high school, never mind the Little League field!
“We can look for it later,” said R
oger, eagerly squaring up to the plate again. “We’ve got more balls.”
“Well, not that many more balls,” said Marlene, coming in from the outfield to pick up the two balls behind the plate that Roger had missed. “How about we switch directions and use first for home so the balls stay in the grass and out of the woods?”
Or stay in the same time zone, thought Roger Maybe this isn’t going to be as bad as I thought it was going to be.
Chapter Five
They spent the rest of the morning hitting, running, throwing, and catching. Marlene figured out how to attach Roger’s old baseball glove to the end of his left claw. “Your forearm part is called a ‘femur,’” she said, pointing to Roger’s arm. “The sharp claw part that pinches against the femur is called the ‘tibia.’ This finger-thing coming out the end is called a ‘tarsus.’ Two of them are called ‘tarsi.’”
Roger wiggled his tarsi. “They still feel like fingers to me.”
“This is all so fascinating,” said Jerry, yawning deliberately.
Marlene shot him a dirty look. “We’ll wrap the sharp point of your left tibia claw with duct tape, and then you can stick that into one side of the glove and the left tarsus into the other side. Kind of like putting a glove on somebody who only has a thumb and little finger.”
“Does that ‘only a thumb and little finger’ situation come up a lot?” asked Jerry, handing Marlene the glove. “Except maybe with really clumsy butchers?” Marlene ignored him. She quickly wrapped Roger’s left claw with the duct tape, and then worked the glove onto it while Roger tried to get everything to go where it belonged. As Roger had feared when he’d told Jerry to bring his old glove, he poked a couple of holes in it trying to adjust it.
Finally, Marlene stepped back, and Roger waved the glove around. It fell right off. Marlene helped him put it back on again, and she wrapped more duct tape around the base of the glove and Roger’s …
“What’s this part again?” asked Roger, wiggling his claw.
“Tibia,” said Marlene, her voice strained from having to repeat herself.
“So when did you become a Mantis Expert?” asked Jerry. “That’s a lot of information, even from you.”
“Remember?” said Roger. “She built that model of one for the science fair. That was after we watched that giant mantis movie on TV.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Jerry. “I remember now. I also remember that’s when she started telling us about how giant insects couldn’t exist. Hah!”
“All right, all right,” said Marlene, smiling. “Is the glove staying on now?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” said Roger. “But we’d better buy a lot more duct tape. Jerry, throw me a couple so I can practice catching them. Marlene, can you stay back here and toss the balls back to Jerry? I still haven’t figured out how to throw one decently.”
Jerry went out to the mound and tossed Roger a slow one. As Roger focused on the ball, it seemed as if he had all day to get the glove in front of it. The ball hit the glove, and Roger covered it quickly with the smooth part of his right tibia claw to keep it there.
“Nice catch!” yelled Jerry. “For a bug! Now, think fast!” He fired in a fastball while Roger still had the first ball in his glove. Instinctively he shot his right claw out.
Jerry and Marlene stared at the baseball impaled on the sharp point of Roger’s claw like a candy apple on a stick. Unnoticed, the ball in his glove dropped to the ground.
“That was a nice catch too,” said Marlene quietly. “But now we’re down two balls.”
Roger kept practicing his throwing the same way he’d figured out back in the woods, wrapping his right tarsus around the ball and letting it go with an overhand snap of his claw. But while he finally managed to get some speed on the ball, and quite a lot of it, he couldn’t aim it accurately. It nearly took Jerry’s head off. Roger put it on the list of things that would need a lot more practice, right up there with walking on polished wooden floors.
Something else that would need a lot more practice was running. His new legs weren’t designed for flat-out speed, and Roger still didn’t quite have the hang of operating two more legs than he was used to.
Marlene looked sympathetic. She was a good shortstop and a fair hitter, but her best skill was that she could run like a cheetah. Marlene had stolen more bases last season than anyone else on the team. This was even more impressive considering leading off the base wasn’t allowed under Little League rules.
“Start slow,” she coached. “Figure out how your legs move, then speed it up once you’ve got it worked out.”
“That doesn’t work for horses,” said Jerry, who had spent a lot of time at his grandfather’s ranch. “They use different leg patterns at different speeds.”
“Fine,” said Marlene. “Just do your best, Roger.”
Roger took off from home plate to make the round of bases. He did pretty well until he passed third, suddenly tripped, and started to fall flat on his face. He felt something in his back shifting weirdly and heard a loud whirring. He looked down, and instead of the baseline, saw Marlene and Jerry at home plate looking up at him with their mouths open as his shadow passed over them. Lou ran in circles, barking his head off.
“I’m flying!” yelled Roger. Before he could think about it, he had landed neatly on all four of his green legs. Roger turned his head to look behind him and watched in amazement as a pair of large, fan-like insect wings folded neatly back under the smooth green wing covers on top of his abdomen.
Marlene ran over. “Now that’s really impossible!” she sputtered. “There’s no way an insect your size should be able to fly!”
“Would we be talking about more ‘physics’ again?” asked Jerry innocently.
“I give up,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. “Obviously science means nothing around here.” Then she turned to Roger with a sort of sheepish smile. “But that was really cool. Can you do it again?”
“I don’t know!” said Roger, shakily. “I didn’t know I could fly in the first place!”
“You knew your pet mantis had wings, didn’t you?” said Marlene. “You scared him into displaying them for us often enough. What did you think they were for? Now, come on, try it again!” She seemed to have completely forgotten Roger’s flying was supposedly technically impossible.
Roger tried to remember how he’d started flying. After some false starts, he got going again by running and then jumping. Like the smooth motion of an opening umbrella, his wings unfolded and thrummed rapidly, and he rose off the ground. He buzzed around over the bases once more, but was nervous about getting more than a few feet off the ground. After a few laps, he managed to land near the others.
“I don’t suppose you give rides,” said Jerry, but Roger was concentrating on what was happening behind him, folding and unfolding his wings, and trying to figure out exactly how they worked. The wings were translucent and lacey, with black cool-looking patterns.
“Get serious,” said Marlene. “He breaks enough laws of nature just getting himself off the ground.”
Roger folded his wings again, and then suddenly experienced a sensation that was both quite familiar and yet very strange.
“Um … I have go to the bathroom,” he said. “Wait here.”
“How are you going to go about doing that?” asked Jerry.
“What? I … I’m not sure. Probably the same way my pet mantis went, I guess. I hope.” Roger’s legs began to fidget back and forth uncomfortably. “Do we really have to discuss it?”
“Good luck!” said Marlene, grinning.
“Hope everything comes out all right!” said Jerry.
“Jeez,” Roger muttered as he went back to his house, with Lou trotting by his side.
Roger managed the stairs, but was stumped when he got to the bathroom. There was no room in the bathroom for him to put the end of his tail over the toilet, even if he stood in the bathtub. His body was just too long.
A few minutes later, Roger stood in the open bathroom door tapping one of his front feet while his long back end remained inside the bathroom, getting business done in the proper vicinity of the toilet. Roger looked over at Lou, who watched him from the head of the stairs with his tongue hanging out and a big doggy grin on his face.
“Take a picture, dog,” said Roger. “It’ll last longer.”
Chapter Six
Jerry and Marlene joined Roger for lunch. They waited in the kitchen for Roger while Roger’s mother made hot dogs and potato chips.
“Mom!” Roger said, trotting down the stairs. “You should have seen me! I can fly!”
His mother looked up. She didn’t look as excited as Roger felt. “W-what? Fly?”
“Yeah! I’ve got wings and everything! What’s wrong?”
“Roger,” said his mother. “I didn’t want to scare you about this, but you have to be careful with this body! If you get hurt there may be no way to fix you!” she put both hands on the table and leaned forward, her face filled with concern. “I’m no entomologist, but I do know that an insect as large as you are ought to be immensely fragile.”
“That’s what I said,” muttered Marlene. “Does anyone listen to me?”
“If a mature insect gets injured,” said Roger’s mother, “it doesn’t heal like injuries do on other animals. If you break a leg, it may be broken forever. Your … abdomen doesn’t even have an exoskeleton to protect it. It might easily be cut or abraded.”
Roger hadn’t known any of this. His mother must have been worrying about this all morning! “I’ll be careful, Mom,” he said. He looked at his huge armored arms. They didn’t seem very fragile to him. “I’m really strong, too. I broke a two-by-four. With no trouble at all.” Still, Roger was a bit nervous. Did that mean if he even got a little scrape it would never get better? Maybe a giant mantis was different, but the only way to find out for sure was the hard way.
Roger Mantis Page 4
