Anthill

by Edward Osborne Wilson

  Ainesley was not a man to pass by an open door of opportunity, which in his life was rare and usually quickly closed.

  "Why, that would be wonderful, Mr. Semmes. And I know Marcie will love it too."

  The wedding was two months later, in St. Paul's Episcopal Church. Marcie wore an ankle-length white gown designed for her by the family's usual couturier, Thompson's on Dauphin Street. Ainesley looked sharp in rental black tie and shiny patent leather shoes. Jonathan gave his daughter away, and the elder of Ainesley's two brothers served as best man. Five of Marcie's closest friends, two from the neighborhood and three from Spring Hill College, were the bridesmaids. A surprising number of Ainesley's cousins, friends, and their families, a total of over thirty, made their appearance. An even larger number of friends of the immediate Semmes and Baldwin families, together with neighbors and friends, also showed up.

  All from both sides shook hands and complimented the young couple. Elizabeth Semmes was in mild shock, deepened by one bourbon too many taken as an anesthetic after breakfast. She smiled nonetheless, and accepted congratulations. True to her upbringing, she did not break down or leave the assembly at any time. And she cried only during the ceremony, quietly, into a lace-edged handkerchief, socially correct to the end.

  9

  WHEN THE COUPLE returned from their honeymoon, it was to their newly purchased bungalow in Clayville. Two ladies from the Semmes Gulf Associates staff had thoughtfully furnished it with new kitchen appliances and basic pieces of furniture, leaving most of the remainder to Marcia's taste. The refrigerator and cupboards of the little house were filled with groceries. An inexpensive set of cooking utensils, dishes, and flatware were laid out, with the expectation that these would be replaced by Marcia. A bright floral arrangement sat upon the kitchen table. A working telephone under the name of "Cody, Ainesley" had been placed upon a shelf above the kitchen sink.

  As they left for Sanibel Island and their honeymoon, Elizabeth had quietly handed Marcia a small leather handbag with her name engraved on it. A checkbook showing a balance of forty-two thousand dollars was discreetly tucked inside.

  For his part, Jonathan had slipped Ainesley an envelope of thick white linen paper embossed in gold with Jonathan's name and the return address of Marybelle.

  "This is a personal gift for you from the family," he said. Inside was a note handwritten in precise Palmer script.

  Dear Ainesley,

  Welcome to our family. We debated for a while over the best wedding gift to give you personally, and finally decided the nicest would be something that aids you in your new position and family life. (We discussed this secretly with Marcie!) So if you would pick out a new pickup truck that you consider best, Elizabeth and I are looking forward very much to purchasing it for you.

  Sincerely,

  Jonathan Semmes

  The Monday following their return from the wedding, Marcia happily set out writing to-do notes to herself and calling friends. Ainesley departed for his new job at the Clayville Hardware and Auto Parts Store. He arrived at eight A.M. on the dot, walked in, and warmly shook hands with Jesse Nichols. They sat down and chatted for a while. Then Nichols took Ainesley on a guided tour of the premises and its well-stocked shelves. They were interrupted every few minutes or so by customers. Ainesley, already familiar with most of the products, cheerfully assisted with the sales.

  He noticed that there appeared to be no other employees. But just before noon a heavyset woman of about fifty came in and was introduced to Ainesley as Dolores. She proceeded to the coffeemaker, drew a cup, no sugar or cream, and settled down by the cash register. By this time Ainesley could see that the store was a nickel-and-dime operation. No matter, he thought, it's a living. In a year or two I'll be in charge, and we'll see what happens then. I'll bet I can make some serious money out of this place.

  Three weeks later, Jesse Nichols telephoned Jonathan Semmes and said, "He's doing just fine, Mr. Semmes. He shows up on time, he works hard, and he seems to enjoy the job. It's certainly taken a lot of pressure off me."

  Then he added, laughing, "It gives me time to go to the bathroom once in a while."

  Jonathan relayed this good news to Cyrus. "Well, keep your fingers crossed, Cy. He's got serious limitations, of course, but I think eventually we might be able to move him someplace or other into middle management. And thank God Almighty, Marcie's safe. Elizabeth says she's deliriously happy."

  But if Jonathan and Cyrus thought Ainesley could be remodeled into a small-bore Semmes, they were wrong.

  In the years immediately following the wedding he stayed close to his young wife, but after the birth of Raphael, he began to return to the delectations of his bachelor days. Further education and financial security were not high on his list. Partying with old friends once a week were among the pleasures that meant the good life to Ainesley Cody. So were occasional one-night stands with women picked up at bars, hunting anything legal that moves, and trash fishing, where the angler drops a baited hook in and is satisfied with whatever bites. In his mind, a job was a part of life you tried to do well and something you had to do to meet obligations, but nothing you lived for. Honest compliance to a boss's orders was in his code of honor. Striving to attain his personal potential was not.

  By his early forties, Ainesley's daily cigarette consumption had risen to two packs a day. That went well with three beers fortified by a frequent pint of Jack Daniel's. The index and middle fingers of his right hand were stained yellow with cigarette tar. With the addition of low-stakes poker and an aversion to unnecessary physical activity, Ainesley had grown a sizable paunch. His chances of reaching old age were growing dimmer by the year. His manner had become more abrupt and irritable. He had picked up chronic bronchitis, frequent coughing, and a shortness of breath that should have sent him to a doctor. But Ainesley disliked hospitals and didn't trust doctors. When Marcia raised the issue of his mortality he declared, "I'll go when the Good Lord calls me."

  10

  MEETING THE CODYS each summer at Lake Nokobee, catching fragments of their conversation, I could see that Ainesley and Marcia had reached a point when they were barely able to hold their morganatic marriage together. Their struggle for Raff's loyalty had turned him into a nervous, unhappy child. By the age of twelve he no longer trusted the alcoholic bravado of his father. He could not help but contrast the relative penury of life in Clayville with the privilege and security of the family at Marybelle. His mother's obsession with the Semmeses' tribal glory clashed unpleasantly with knowledge of the Semmes privileges that were denied him. He came to reject his mother's fantasy, and made the most of plebeian reality. The genealogy of the Semmeses held no more interest for him than the succession of the British royalty.

  Above all, Raff dreaded the possibility that his parents might divorce. Several of his classmates at the Martin Luther King, Jr., Grammar School had divorced parents. They seemed all right in how they behaved, but he knew from kids' talk that they were confused and conflicted, and often upset. Two sets of parents were commonplace, with tangles of half-siblings and siblings-in-law living here, living there, sometimes arguing in other rooms and in other towns, behind closed doors. It was a nightmare that could happen. Raff just hoped Ainesley and Marcia would at least stay together, even if they fought a lot, just to avoid a catastrophe for himself.

  It is natural, I understand looking back, for a child under sustained and close domestic stress to search for other venues. Some invent fantasy places of escape and survival, dream worlds in faraway places--treetops with Tarzan and Jane, a magical world at the center of the earth, a camouflaged shelter next to a pure bubbling stream in an enchanted forest. At a certain age, usually between eight and twelve, children often construct simulations of their dreams in the form of treehouses and lean-tos and teepees made of cut saplings and rope.

  During pleasure drives with his parents on Sundays down the meandering byways around Clayville, Raff often had glimpses of the floodplain woodlands that lined the cre
eks and rivers in this coastal region. He peered as deeply as he could into their junglelike interiors. They were the Amazon and Congo of which he read, writ small. He imagined walking along one of the clear, gentle streams to a place far away, completely wild and never seen by any others, where he could live awhile.

  In time, Raff recognized that he already had such a refuge. Ten minutes' drive from the Codys' home, down a side road north off Alabama State 128, was Lake Nokobee. The southern perimeter of the lake was often visited by townspeople and fishermen for recreation. Raff's parents had been taking him there on weekend picnics since he was a baby. Along the western lakeshore was a strip of nearly pristine hardwood brush. Inland from these peripheral woods stretched a large tract of longleaf pine savanna dotted with dense hardwood copses. Most people within fifty miles knew of this inland portion of the Nokobee tract but believed it to be private and off-limits. In any case, it was in their eyes little more than unhealthy piney woods and impenetrable thickets, the haunt of bugs and snakes. They believed that insects, poisonous snakes, and thorny bushes that tear your clothes were dominant elements. Beyond Nokobee lay the much larger William Ziebach National Forest. Because it was even more remote, approachable only by a single logging road on the northwest, it received even fewer visitors than the Nokobee tract.

  This domain was all that Raphael Semmes Cody needed to satisfy his dreams. At the age of twelve he began to explore the Nokobee tract on his own. He went whenever he could find half a day free. He said nothing to his parents, who thought his excursions were with friends to the Clayville town center or high school recreation field.

  Raphael Semmes entered the Nokobee world as a child, playfully and joyfully, without fear. He had no adult hand to restrain him. The towering longleaf pines and the wild native flora beneath them became as familiar to him as the shrubbery and gardens of Clayville. One or two snakes were always there to be caught on any given day, examined closely, and released. Raff found insects, spiders, and other arthropods of endless variety and put many in jars for temporary captivity. In spring and summer, bird nests could always be found, and a few were low enough to be monitored for eggs and nestlings. Hawks and other large birds high overhead came reliably in sight, to be watched as they drifted to unknown destinations. Herons and egrets of a half dozen species speared frogs and fish in the lake shallows. Rattlesnakes, cottonmouth moccasins, and black widow spiders provided excitement, but were to be avoided--at least, no more than poked with a long stick.

  Raff dared say nothing of his adventures to Ainesley and Marcia, who if he did would learn he had lied earlier about his whereabouts and ground him. But he could confide in me, his honorary uncle. After all, he and I were doing the same thing. The difference is that I was constrained to research projects well defined in advance, in order to find and document enough new original material to publish in scientific journals. I was locked into the cycle of the professional scientist: seeking grant money to discover enough to earn more research grants. I would have liked to return to childhood and be a true explorer like Raphael. Little of what we found was truly new to science, but it was novel to him, and he was in a constant state of exhilaration.

  "I want to do a complete map of the Nokobee tract," he said. "And maybe go on into the Ziebach Forest and make a list of all the kinds of plants and animals in there too. Maybe I can find new species and take photographs of snakes."

  I realized that my easy acquiescence in our earlier encounters had trapped me. I couldn't break my promise to Raff by telling his parents; he wouldn't ever trust me again if I did. But I could not allow a twelve-year-old boy to go wandering secretly and alone into a wilderness like the Nokobee tract and Ziebach National Forest. So after struggling inwardly with the dilemma for a moment, I finessed my response.

  "I won't tell your mom and dad, but I want a couple of promises from you in return. I don't think you realize how easily you could get lost in those places. If you had an accident you could lie out there injured or even dead for days before anybody found you. I want you to promise you'll never go beyond the trailhead and those places y'all have your picnics. And I want you to tell your dad and mom every time you go, and exactly where you'll be, and the exact time you'll come home. Now, do...you...promise me?"

  "Okay," Raff said.

  His prompt response startled me. I thought, He's been waiting for a grown-up to approve his plans and bring some order into his secret life.

  "Raff, now let me give you some more advice on all this. Go slow. You're still very young. There are probably new species out there, all right. But take everything one step at a time. Learn the fauna and flora as you go. And above all, be real careful in everything you do. Stay away from poisonous snakes and out of the water. Take someone with you if you can, maybe your cousin Junior or some friend at school. Nokobee is a wonderful place. I just want you to stay alive to enjoy it. I want you to promise me this much."

  "Yessir. Okay."

  The response this time was a bit too pat. I only half believed him. But I had done what I could, and I let it go.

  11

  LAKE NOKOBEE WAS at that time one of the least developed bodies of water on the Gulf of Mexico coastal plain. Middling in size at twelve hundred acres, remote in location, it was surrounded by privately owned land still protected from suburban creep and several lakeside cottages on the eastern shore. Its waters, fed by small tributary streams and breakout seepage of groundwater, were unpolluted and clear. In sunlight it was possible to catch glimpses of gar and spiny soft-shell turtles as they glided past schools of bream hidden in submerged stands of eelgrass. Five medium-sized alligators, their territories well spaced out along Lake Nokobee's shores, sunned themselves on the banks. Because their kind had learned well from centuries of persecution, even just the distant approach of a human was enough to send them crashing into the water and out of sight. At night following heavy rains, congo eels, a kind of giant aquatic salamander, prowled through the overflow waters in search of crayfish. Six kinds of water snakes, including the poisonous cottonmouth moccasin, hunted through the shoreline vegetation and shallows for frogs and small fish. Lake Nokobee was an unspoiled aquatic ecosystem, unchanged from what it might have been at this spot five thousand years before.

  At the northern tip of Lake Nokobee a narrow creek flowed out through a thicket of broadleaf cattails and primrosewillow. The unnamed stream traveled onward in the shade of a dozen species of scrub hardwood along its banks and the interlacing canopies of hardwood trees higher above. Its waters meandered thence north to join the Chicobee River, a tributary of the Perdido River, whose broad strong waters then flowed straight south to define the Alabama-Florida border all the way to Perdido Bay.

  The shoreline of Lake Nokobee bulged outward into a dozen small inlets. Each was lined with aquatic grasses and sedges and thin strips of hardwood thickets. The largest, located at the lake's southern edge, was Dead Owl Cove--or Dead Owl Slough, as some old-timers still called it. The name of the cove, which, granted, is peculiar even by Southern standards, was widely believed to be just a mapmaker's whimsy--or just as likely an early cartographic misprint of Dale Arle, or even Dale Errol. There had been both Arles and Errols in nearby Jepson County, Alabama, since before what often was still elliptically called The War. Dale Arle (or Errol) himself was a somewhat shadowy figure, who in the late 1700s explored northward by skiff from the Gulf Coast along the floodplain forest of the Blackwater River, running down east of the Escambia and parallel to it. According to oral tradition--any possible written documents were destroyed in the Jepson County Courthouse fire of 1883--he camped for a while at the southern edge of Lake Nokobee. No one knows why he went there, if he really did, or what he hoped to find.

  Dead Owl Cove--too late to call it anything else now--was at the end of a dirt road that led out of cornfields into one of the last remaining tracts of old-growth longleaf pine.

  One of the most prominent forms of wildlife at the cove, if I may stretch that loose zoological term
a bit, was a kind of ant species whose colonies built conspicuous mound nests along the banks of the lake. The species was and remains widespread but very locally distributed across the Gulf Coastal Plain. It could be found associated with longleaf pine in sites all around Lake Nokobee, with the highest concentration at Dead Owl Cove. The lakeside soil, a well-aerated mix of sand, clay, and humus, was ideal for native plant and insect life. The exposure of the nests to the sun's warmth in its open spaces gave the ants an early start in the season and each morning on warm, dry days.

  These anthills are special to the history I have chosen to record. They were to play a principal role in the life of Raphael Semmes Cody, and, even more remarkably, in the ultimate survival or destruction of the Nokobee environment itself.

  The relative openness of the Dead Owl Cove shore was not due to frequent human activity. It was both ancient and natural. The tract around the cove was a tongue of the much larger stretch of longleaf pine habitat that stretched west from the lake all the way into the William Ziebach National Forest. The grassy high pine woodland was more savanna than forest, with scattered pines of varying girth, the older ones with flat tops and the youngest forming clusters on the landscape. The space between the pines was filled with bunches of wire grass and a veritable garden of ground plants--croton, bluestem, dogfennel, threeawn, beargrass, Florida dogwood, and many more, all bestowed delightful names by English-speaking settlers. Pond pine, myrtle-leaved holly, titi, tall gallberry, and pond cypress clumped together to form occasional low-bottomed, seasonally flooded hardwood islands called domes. Sparse it may seem on casual examination, the longleaf pine savanna is nevertheless biologically one of the richest botanical environments of North America. As many as 150 kinds of plants, almost all located in the ground-level cover, can be found in a single hectare. Many of these species are endemic to this habitat. That is, they are found in no other place on earth.