Through Caverns Measureless to Man

by D G Rose

  Our father put us back on the table and we heard the pop of a cork and we smelled the scent of strong wine. “Just a cup to steady my nerves.” Said our father. And he drank and filled his cup and drank again. Then he lifted up our cage and peered inside. “Ok little cricket let’s go. I hope that the Magistrate thinks your red stripes make you worthwhile.” And just before he stuck us in a dark bag, we saw a flicker over his face.

  More jouncing in the dark. We were getting sick of this mode of travel. We missed the field and jumping and flying and freedom. We hated the cage and we began to feel sorry that we hadn’t released the other cricket sooner.

  We were pulled from the bag and a face peered into our cage. “Bah! I told you to find me a first-class cricket! Not this midget!” Said a voice that must have been the County Magistrate.

  “He’s small but mighty!” Insisted our father. “See his red stripes? Those are the marks of a killer cricket!”

  The County Magistrate’s voice took on an oily tone. “I’ll tell you what. Your cricket can fight one of mine, my second best cricket. And if yours wins, I’ll accept him as fulfillment of what you owe me. If mine wins, you’ll sign over your land to me.”

  “I – I – I’m not sure.” Our father stammered.

  “Then, just admit that you are trying to pass me an inferior cricket and take your lashes.” Replied the County Magistrate.

  We must say that we didn’t like being called an inferior cricket. If the County Magistrate had seen us in the fields, he never would have spoken about us like that.

  “Well, if it’s just your second best cricket, I guess it would be alright.” We could hear the fear in our father’s voice.

  “Ok then!” Said the County Magistrate. “I’ll set up the fight. Bring your cricket back here tonight after the evening bell.”

  That evening our father trudged back to the home of the County Magistrate. Even within the dark bag, we could feel the reluctance in each step. He’d said nothing to our mother about his deal with the Magistrate and she was home unaware of the terrible wager that he had made. How would he explain to our mother how he’d bet their farm and house on an untested cricket in order to avoid his lashes.

  We were taken from the bag in a room filled with people. Our father put his finger into our cage and we didn’t bite him (we thought about it, but we didn’t do it). Instead, we crawled onto his finger and let him draw us from the cage.

  “That’s your second best cricket?” Our father asked incredulously.

  “Oh yes.” Replied the County Magistrate. “My best cricket is much larger.”

  “They’re not even in the same weight class!” Our father objected.

  “Did we agree that your cricket would fight my second best cricket in the same weight class?” Asked the County Magistrate. “I don’t even have a cricket in his weight class.”

  “Well, it’s just traditional.” Our father replied, even to us it sounded weak.

  “You know what else is traditional?” Asked the Magistrate. “Not arguing with your betters when you’ve been graciously offered a second chance. The Emperor isn’t looking for the best cricket in its weight class. The Emperor is looking for the best cricket. If your cricket can’t beat my second best, then your cricket isn’t the best cricket.”

  Our father placed us at the edge of a large circle of smooth ground. In the distance, we could see another hand holding another cricket. He was, indeed, a giant! Our father held us, surprisingly gently. We heard bets being shouted out. “10 on the giant! 20 on the Magistrate! 10 on the big one! 50 on the green one! 5 on the red striped one!” Most of the bets seemed to be on the other cricket. As we looked at him it seemed reasonable. If we could have talked and had had any money we probably would have bet on him too.

  Still, we were determined to do our best. There was no way we were going to let this slimy County Magistrate kick our mother out of her home!

  When the betting slowed down, the Magistrate raised his hand. “Three! Two! One! Release!” And our father released us. We had no idea what to do. In the field, we had defended our territory mostly by playing our music louder than the other crickets. Our idea was the louder we played the bigger and stronger we would appear. We’d almost never actually even seen another cricket. Then the giant came out of nowhere and knocked us on our back. The other cricket stood over us and reared up one of his large hind legs to deliver a killing blow, but we managed to scramble away. We hopped and flew to the other side of the ring, but the bigger cricket pursued us. There was nothing to do but turn and fight. We spun around, but rather than hop directly at the other cricket as he had done to us, we jumped off to one side and then while he was still looking for us in front we jumped onto his side, grabbing one of his antenna in our mouth and bit down savagely. He screamed! Who even knew that a cricket could scream?

  As he was distracted by the pain in his antenna, we jumped behind him and grabbed a back foot in our mouth. The fight was finished almost before it had begun.

  Our father jumped and whooped for joy! Our own joy was tempered by the knowledge that our victory meant that we would be sent to the capital, away from the only home we had ever known, to live and fight.

  As they were celebrating, a rooster flew into the ring. Where the hell did that rooster come from?! He took one look at the other cricket and swallowed him down whole. Then he turned a hungry eye on us! The rooster approached, beak open, and pecked viciously down at us! But the same trick that worked on the cricket worked on the rooster, we jumped to one side then jumped up on the rooster’s head and took a piece of his fleshy comb in our mouth and bit down hard! The rooster clucked and bucked and shook his head to dislodge us, but we held on tight. Soon the County Magistrate grabbed the rooster and pried us off, rooster blood dripping from our mouth.

  “This cricket is the one I’ve been looking for!” He cried. “I’ll send him to the Emperor tonight and tomorrow I’ll be on my way to a post in the capital!”

  Our father sidled up alongside the County Magistrate and handed him our cage. “And you’ll mention my situation to the Emperor?” he reminded.

  The County Magistrate made a dismissive motion with his hand (the hand that still held us) and said, “Of course. Of course.”

  CHAPTER 23 - He snores. We chirp. All is fair.

  The County Magistrate, himself, took us to the capital in his own coach. It was a long and bumpy ride, but the County Magistrate, at least, knew how to take care of a cricket. The food was superior, not only to that we had been served by our various captors, it was often even better than the food we had found for ourselves in the fields.

  While in our village the County Magistrate had been a figure of frightening authority, in the capital he was a small fish, a tiny fish. Although we drove directly to the imperial palace complex, he could not gain entry and was directed to a sub-magistrate in charge of sports, in an outlying building, who he was told would evaluate his cricket (us) for suitability.

  The sub-magistrate (who despite the sub prefix clearly outranked a lowly county magistrate) gave me one look.

  “We don’t even have a weight class for a cricket that small.” He dismissed the County Magistrate out of hand.

  “This cricket fights above his weight! Why he even fought a rooster!” The County Magistrate objected.

  “Fights above his weight, eh? Well, not at any fight sanctioned by this office he doesn’t.” Replied the imperial official.

  But the County Magistrate had invested too much of his own time and money and reputation to be dissuaded and a bribe worked where other arguments wouldn’t. We were scheduled to fight in two days’ time.

  The Magistrate found an inn and booked a room, complaining all the time about the expense and alternatively threatening us and cajoling us. Being with the Magistrate was torture and time passed slowly.

  Finally, the night of our fight arrived. The room where they held the fights was larger than any we had ever seen. It had multipl
e rings for multiple simultaneous cricket fights. The crowd was loud and the smell of wine was strong.

  When we were placed in the ring, we really didn’t want to fight. After all, why should we fight another innocent cricket for the amusement of these drunken louts? But once the bets were off (again almost all the bets were against us) and we were released the other cricket attacked right away and we had no choice but to fight. We tried the same technique, jumping to one side and then launching a lateral attack. And it succeeded exactly as before. Here is a secret: Your average crickets is not very smart. They only know one way to fight and can’t imagine anything different.

  Of course, the County Magistrate was thrilled. He pocketed our prize and his winnings and, at least, stopped complaining about the expense.

  After a few more fights, from which we emerged victorious every time, a court official pressured the County Magistrate into selling us. We were glad to see the back of him but realized that now nobody would ever mention our father to the Emperor. Our father was a rough man, petty and overly free with the strap, a coward who took out his fears on his wife and son, but he was our father and even if he hadn’t really deserved the first cricket we had found, it had been our fault that the cricket had escaped. We wished that there was something we could do, but we didn’t see any way to help.

  After that, we passed from hand to hand, each victory was followed by a more senior official pressuring his junior into selling us on. And so it happened that we eventually found ourselves being placed in a silver cage and wrapped in cloth of gold and presented to the Emperor himself as a birthday gift from the Empress herself.

  The Emperor was delighted by the gift, having heard of our unprecedented string of victories. “I hear that he even fought a rooster!” The Emperor exclaimed as he unwrapped us and we bobbed up and down to let him know that we had, indeed, fought a rooster and that the rooster was the worse for it!

  The Emperor commanded that we be given a place in the imperial quarters. So it was that we found ourselves sleeping in the very same room as the Emperor. He snores. We chirp. All is fair.

  The Emperor had a great rival. It seems strange to say that, but we learned much by sleeping in the same room as the Emperor. His rival was the head of a family that, by tradition, had control of much of the administrative machinery of the empire. The Minister and his family had used that control to grow fabulously wealthy. The Minister, a great lord in his own right, had, so the Emperor mused to us many a late night, a desire to see one of his grandchildren on the throne. So, the Minister made a wager with the Emperor that if his cricket should defeat the Emperor’s cricket, the Emperor would marry the Crown Prince to the Minister’s daughter. The Emperor countered that should the Imperial Cricket win, the Minister must retire from office and lead the life of a solitary monk.

  Thus the wager was set. The Emperor was supremely confident in our abilities and considered that the Minister had made a foolish bet. That night the Emperor slept more soundly that we had ever seen him sleep.

  The fight was to take place in two weeks and the Emperor was determined that we would be in the best shape of our lives. He personally undertook our training regimen, which consisted of fine health foods straight from the Imperial Kitchens and daily bouts of exercise. We particularly enjoyed swimming in a little golden bowl of cool water which the Emperor had commissioned just for our use.

  The Emperor often left us alone in our cage while he attended to matters of state. Later when the Emperor would return he would regale us with stories of his day, making funny voices to burlesque the sycophants at court and their oily ways. Then we would sing him to sleep.

  However one day (only four days before the fight), we found ourselves not quite alone. A man entered the Emperor’s window and crept slowly along the floor to the little bedside table were our cage sat. This man reached up to grab our cage. It was clear that he wished to steal us and so force the Emperor to use an inferior cricket in the upcoming fight. We had grown fond of the Emperor who seemed lonely and more human than we had expected. So, to protect our friend from a humiliating defeat, we jumped up and sank our jaws into the exposed finger of the thief. He yelped and tried to drop the cage, but we held on tight and would not let go. Very few seconds passed before the guards rushed in. Although this thief had tried to steal us, we had no wish to see him suffer Imperial Justice, so we released his finger and watched with some satisfaction as he escaped through the same window as in he came.

  The furious Emperor called the Minister to account for the theft attempt, but the Minister denied any connection. “Your Imperial Highness, as you are aware, your cricket is the talk of the capital. I’m sure that many unscrupulous elements would be delighted to steal him away. I imagine that he would fetch a fine price in the cricket market.”

  The Emperor decided that I would never leave his side. “Let the guards that protect me also protect my cricket!” He declared.

  And so, we went everywhere with the Emperor. We sat at his side during court and heard the petitions of ambassadors from foreign lands. He stood us at his right hand during meals and the Emperor delighted in slipping us morsels from his own plate. He even insisted on carrying us with him into the Imperial Bathroom, an intimacy that we could have skipped without missing it.

  Eventually, the day of the big battle arrived. All work in the Imperial Compound ground to a halt. Nobody could talk of anything else except the coming fight. It may seem strange such emotion expended on a cricket fight, but you must remember that, in some regard, the fate of the Empire hung in the balance. Many of the courtiers were aligned with one faction or the other and their positions in the Imperial Administration were also at risk.

  The Emperor, who had, himself, taken our training in hand, ordered a light meal for us. He knew that we were partial to apples, and small sweet cherries that were imported especially for the Emperor and us. So, the servants brought us a delightful plate consisting of three paper-thin slices of apple and a small mountain of perfectly ripe red cherries, pits in, as we liked to gnaw the pits after eating the sweet flesh.

  The Emperor watched and laughed as we ate. He always enjoyed seeing us eat and often commented that our food seemed healthier and more delicious than his own. We had eaten most of the apples and a good cherry and were gnawing the pit, when we saw the Emperor’s hand pass over us and pluck a cherry from the pile and pop it in his mouth. “Mmmmm!” He said. “If I were not Emperor, I should like to be a cricket.” As he reached for another cherry. And we could not help but bounce in agreement.

  Our meal completed the Emperor let out a loud yawn. It was nothing to us, we had lived for so long in such close proximity with the Emperor that we had heard all the sounds that his body could produce. The strange thing for us is that we also longed to yawn. A cricket can’t yawn and so the longing grew almost unbearable. Then we decided that we didn’t care to yawn and we would prefer to sleep. We took a step toward the corner of our cage where we had prepared a little bed of fluffy grass and where we preferred to sleep and we stumbled our hard chin hitting the harder floor. What an odd thing. We had never stumbled before as a cricket. It’s surprisingly hard to do when you have six legs. Almost always at least four legs are firmly planted. But we did stumble and then we slept. Not in our corner but right where we had fallen. If we could have, we would have drooled.

  We were shaken awake, rather rudely. We felt like crap. But there was the face of the Emperor, who also looked less than his usual celestial self, and just for a moment, there was another face drawn over his face. “It’s time for the fight” He roared. But we were in no condition to fight. It was clear to us that we had been drugged, poisoned. While every bite that passed the Emperor’s lips was tested beforehand, it’s quite possible that the kitchen staff were less scrupulous when it came to food for the cricket.

  We wobbled in our cage, even our six sticky legs not enough to hold us upright. The Emperor, himself a little unsteady, carried us to the arena. We
who are about to die, salute you.

  The Emperor knows that something is wrong. But he cannot back down, lose face. Even an emperor is constrained by reputation and opinion.

  He pauses at the entrance, takes a moment to straighten himself, looks into our cage. “We may have already lost, my friend, but let’s go down fighting!” Then with a nod the door is thrown open and the Emperor strides in head held high.

  We are placed in the ring. The room, although it is packed with spectators, is strangely quiet. There is no betting, as it would be bad form to bet against the Emperor. We wobble and there is a loud gasp that ripples through the room, as those who have seen us inform others further back.

  Our opponent is, as he must be, as he always had to be, the largest cricket we have ever seen. Maybe he’s a locust in disguise. It doesn’t matter. Here we will make our last stand. The Emperor himself holds us in his hand. Then the count and the release. The other cricket is so fast. He is on us in an instant. We jump to one side as we always do and it works as it always does. But we are slow and he is fast and before we can jump on his side, he has moved. He spots us and turns to face us. This is the face of our death. It is surprisingly frightening. When we died before, we hadn’t known it was coming and so had had little time for fear. Now we are facing our death, his armored face, his powerful legs, the sharp spines that will tear our carapace. He jumps and we just manage to avoid him, but we moved too slow and too little and he can still see us. We scramble away, hoping that we can provoke him to jump again and gain a little time.

  “The fight is over!” Shouted the Minister.

  “Not at all.” Replied the Emperor. “Both crickets are unharmed.”

  “The rules clearly state that the fight is over when one cricket begins to avoid the other.” The Minister argued in his most pedantic voice.

  “That rule doesn’t apply to a cricket who uses avoidance as a strategy.” Said the Emperor, calling for a copy of the cricket fighting rules and writing the addendum in with his own hand.