Turtle

Jennifer Raver is of the most caring, thoughtful, introspective women I know (through my sister) .... I can hardly wait for her new novel to come out. Here is a peek at the prologue.

Small, sleek, silver like a bullet shooting across the green, run Rabbit run as fast as you can through the tall summer grass into the sea of silver birches. The trees’ leaves shimmer green and gold in the setting sun that strikes Rabbit senseless. She darts here first- then there- blind to the path but mindful of the finish line. Round and round Rabbit runs skirting the forest’s edge until the sun descends and dazzles her eyes no more.

Master of her senses again, Rabbit dashes headlong into the forest. She sprints at a speed terrifying to lesser creatures, crushing the earth underfoot or crashing into nature’s larger elements. Her feet are sticky with grass and wild strawberries, her fur matted and torn from tree and shrub but nothing stops her. Nothing slows her. Rabbit has a race to win so run on, my fleet-footed friend!

The forest grows more dark and wild the deeper she goes. A lush canopy of feathery ferns obfuscates the earth’s floor. As rabbit dives into the green expanse, the ferns tickle her nose and brush against her furry cheeks, reminding Rabbit of baser needs. She scampers under the sheltering ferns and bites into a soft frond. It is cool and sweet. Eat your fill then lie down with us, the ferns whisper. For a long minute she is tempted but then her animal spirit cries: Tarry not!

On and on Rabbit runs until the ferns disappear and she enters the dark heart of the forest. She stops, afraid to go farther for the forest has drawn a heavy velvet curtain across the land. She looks heavenward for relief- some stars or the moon may reveal the path- but the trees’ branches blanket the sky with leaves.

She believes that the dark has bested her but her eyes grow friendly with the dark and it reveals a series of tall, broad and timeless trees. Thick tangles of roots separate the trees; the roots pop out of the ground and pulse with life, a bluish-black, slow-moving blood. Even with light, the land cannot support new life for the trees’ ancient roots run deep and long and drink greedily of the earth’s goodness.

Ready to run again, Rabbit surveys the land. She spots something, and hops gingerly over one tangle to get a better look. Age has felled one majestic tree. Shriveled roots extend from the tree’s base like a cat’s paw ready to strike. She carefully hip hops along the trunk as if it were a compass pointing in the right direction. She smells water, wood and dirt then the acrid odor of decay and death invades her nostrils and checks her progress. In the tree’s branches something once living has made its final bed among the brown withered leaves.

Rabbit backs away and turns to run but the cold, damp ground sends a shock- both thrilling and terrifying- through her body. She rears up on her hind legs desperate to run but the darkness locks her in its chilly embrace. The stench of decay and death draw near and threaten to overwhelm her.

She steps outside herself and sees a meagerly proportioned bunny doing a stiff two-step with the air. Ha, a high-pitched squeak escapes through the perpetual smile she wears then her pink-rimmed eyes water and a twinge pierces her furry, white breast. Even if Rabbit wins this race there will be others, and even if she wins every race, she will one day return to join those who have run before her. Rabbit’s front paws smack against the ground and her head lists to one side. Where to, she cries.

Suddenly Rabbit’s ears prick at the sound of a branch snapping. The eternal Song sings, Run, run! She hurdles roots and dodges trees in her flight from the forest’s dark heart. She runs and runs; sprinting so fast her feet do not touch the ground; so fast that it seems she has become one with the air.

The light grows stronger as her haunches carry Rabbit out of the woods into a clearing. Beams from a low-hung moon light a smooth, even ground. The wind brushes her back and tickles Rabbit’s tail. Her animal senses tingle and she runs onward, fleet of foot, stout of heart- a champion running the final lap. Each step brings Rabbit closer to victory, and in her mind’s eye, Rabbit has already crossed over into glory; the sound of the crowd’s roar fills her ears. Victory seems certain until the moon’s rays reveal a bright expanse of water. At first Rabbit thinks it a mirage for she has run a long way without sustenance. Her feet slow then stop. She hops to the pool’s edge and taps the surface with a hind leg. The cold water makes her body shimmy and shake. Rabbit bends her head towards the pool.

The water’s surface plays mirror: oblong ears trimmed in white hair, pink-rimmed eyes with dilated pupils, gray tufted cheeks with long pale whiskers, a pink triangle of a nose and a mouth that always smiles. This is no mirage, she thinks and drinks deeply from the cold, clean water. Refreshed, Rabbit remembers the reason for her thirst. She looks right then left but sees only water. She can run but she cannot swim. What will you do, oh runner of races?

Her senses sing as someone- predator or competitor- approaches. She hops around to face the forest and scans the horizon. Her ears strain for sound; her nose sniffs the ground for the smell of another. Throat parched, she licks her lips and taste metal. Bang bang bang bang the rhythmic beat fills Rabbit’s ears and blood rushes to her temples. He comes! Run, run!
Rabbit’s mind races but her feet remain still…or do they? She looks over her shoulder to see her right hindquarter hammering away at the earth. Her foot slows and she sighs, able to breath at last, but the rush of oxygen to her brain makes her giddy. Unbalanced, she staggers backwards and falls into the shining pool.

Down, down into the deep water Rabbit dances, torso twisting and limbs kicking. The current carries her deeper still and water fills every orifice. Her lungs burn and head pounds with red impotent rage at the heavy, cumbersome and slow being she has become. As she watches her last breath bubble to the surface, a calm replaces the rage. Rabbit thought she’d return to the dark heart of the forest to die but death visits her instead, releasing Rabbit from her physical form.

Heaven here I come! Rabbit’s spirit navigates the once treacherous current with a speed and agility that her body lacked. Lighter, nimbler and faster, her spirit glides towards the light, rushing higher and higher, parting the water with ease and assurance. Rabbit’s spirit breaks through the surface to join with the radiant, all-powerful light.

Daylight strokes its warm fingers across her back, ushering Rabbit once again into the physical world. I’m alive! I’ve not died! She raises her head still heavy with sleep to see the risen sun. She has dreamt a strange dream- a nightmare that somehow ended well.
Suddenly Rabbit sees something. It’s him! It’s my competitor! Bulging black eyes covered by thin eyelids, a boxed-in nose, no mouth to speak of, a skinny neck, and a hard, wide shell too large for its extremities. It’s a reptile; order Chelonia; family Emydidae. Ha, her squeak is low and muffled, It’s a turtle! More precisely, it’s a painted turtle.

He fixes his bulging black eyes on Rabbit then both Rabbit and Turtle crane their necks to get a better look at each other. Bold Turtle, she thinks then her nose touches water and he becomes a wave. Rabbit is frightened to be so near the water again. Her head snaps back and darkness envelops her. Where am I, she wonders. It seems to be a kind of cave, one that is dark and unknown but somehow familiar and safe. She sees nothing but senses that her legs are nearby. For a moment she wonders if she’s gone mad then a thought occurs.

She ventures forth from the darkness, trying to hop but too heavy to do so. She doesn’t hear or smell so well but she can still see, and waddles towards the pond. She looks into the pool and finds Turtle staring back at her. She takes two steps back then two forward; Turtle disappears and reappears. A horrible thought fills her head: I am the turtle. She stares at her reflection then big watery turtle tears begin to fall.

When she finally sheds her last tear, she creeps to the pond’s edge to take inventory of her new self. She is short, squat and low to the ground with a tough, round shell and a soft underbelly. Her senses of smell and hearing no longer sing but she sees just fine. She cannot run or hop; at best she manages a brisk waddle walk. Yes, travel on land is laborious but then she remembers: I can swim. She waddle walks to the bank and this time, she enters headfirst, eyes open.
Those watching see a small, brightly painted turtle making short but steady strokes through the pool, water fanning out behind her like the lower-case v of a young child.