The sun was going down on a warm summer evening in Tennessee, and the air was moist and heavy with t

The sun was going down on a warm summer evening in Tennessee, and the air was moist and heavy with the thick scent of lilac, for there was a large bush laden with purple blossoms at the edge of the fresh-cut lawn. The bush was crawling with insects, small midges and lacy-winged flies and even fat, droning bumblebees, all eager for the last bounty of nectar before the summer’s end. Near the end of one willowy branch was something without an exoskeleton- a small brown bat, clinging with its feet with wings tucked. It had a flattened, upturned nose and a cleft lower lip, which by all human accounts made it quite ugly, and very bright black eyes, which were open despite the continuing presence of the sun coloring the sky honey-golden. The insects buzzed freely around the bat, which paid them no mind whatsoever, for they were not its intended prey; nor did it show any interest in the lilac’s nectar. It did have quite a rotund little belly, suggesting that whatever it ate, it had eaten recently. Quite suddenly it extended its wings, curving them forward in a long, luxurious stretch. The fading sunlight caught the thin membranes and highlighted them orange-red, making every vein stand out in dark relief. The bat’s scalloped ears twitched forward and it turned its head upwards at the sound of footsteps crushing the damp grass nearby. Approaching the bat was a very young boy, not much older than six or seven. His round little face sported an upturned nose and bright, rosy cheeks, and his eyes were dark and folded into the warm creases of his smile. The bat folded its wings again, and said, in a high, chittering voice, “Did you wake up early?” The little boy nodded, smiling almost bashfully, reaching a hand out to tug at some of the purple blossoms. Insects flurried and buzzed around his fingers. “Stop that,” said the bat. “Don’t hurt the flowers.” The boy seemed not to hear this, fascinated in his childlike way by how his tugging released a dusting of yellowish pollen that swirled and lit in the fading sunlight. “Des,” said the bat. “Did you hear me? I said stop. Do you want me to have to say it again?” The boy’s smile faded, and he released the branch, making the rest of the bush shake, even the branch the bat was hanging on. It chittered angrily for a moment. “I’m sorry,” the boy said, without being prompted. He was now twisting around on one foot, looking at the ground. The bat resettled its wings. “Thank you for apologizing. That was very nice of you.” At this the boy brightened again, and the bat flapped its wings, sending more of that swirling pollen his way. He laughed and sneezed at the same time. “Did you already eat?” “Yes,” said the boy, sounding a bit guilty again. “I was hungry.” “That’s all right. Where did you go to eat?” The boy pointed with a small finger across the lawn towards the large white house, which the sun was setting behind. At the front was a small screened-in porch, and lying on a swing was a man with a baseball cap pulled low over his head, chest slowly rising and falling. “Oh, Des,” sighed the bat, shifting its claws a little on the branch. “What have I said? What do you think would happen if that man woke up, hm?” “He didn’t wake up,” said the boy, smiling beatifically, and his sharp canines protruded over his lower lip. “I was so quiet, Mama. I bit his foot.” The bat turned her little head further up to look, and indeed, the man’s foot was dangling down from the swing, scraping the paneled porch with each gentle movement. “That’s good,” said the bat, though her high voice still sounded somewhat perturbed. “Did you close it up nice for him when you were done?” The boy squirmed. “Des.” “I tried to, but it was so hard,” he said, sounding frustrated. “It’s too hard.” The bat gave a very small sigh. “Come up here.” For a second time the boy appeared not to hear her, and looked away as if something was suddenly very interesting to his right, and the bat flapped her wings once, loudly and sharply. “Okay,” said the boy, putting his hands on his round little belly, and wriggled, and became a very, very small bat in the grass. His mother curved her wings towards him, and he hopped a few times, sending little dewdrops flying everywhere, before he finally managed to spring up from the ground and flutter haphazardly up to her branch. As soon as he was anchored she wrapped her wings around him and drew him against her chest, where he snuggled into her fur. He yawned, lips curling back to expose those very sharp canines, and her nose twitched at his breath. “Are you sleepy now?” “No,” he said, blinking his round little eyes at her. “Not sleepy.” He yawned again. “I hope you’re not too sleepy,” she said sternly. “Because we have to go flying again soon.” He nuzzled deeper into her fur. “Not sleepy. I don’t want to sleep.” “Des-” “If I go to sleep, will I wake up cold?” Her voice softened. “No, Des.” “I don’t want to wake up cold.” He was squirming against her now. “I don’t want to fall down, Mama.” She wrapped her wings tighter around him. “You silly, we’re going to where we won’t have to cold-sleep at all anymore. You will always wake up warm.” “And I won’t fall down?” She pressed her cheek against his. “If you fall down, you will always be able to fly back up, I promise.” He was quiet. She knew what he was thinking of, for she was always wishing he had not seen it: the floor of a cave, littered with bones as long and thin as pine needles. They had flown south, alone, against the rules, to escape that encroaching terror. Just them two. Now she began to groom him fastidiously behind the ears. It was safer for them to look like humans, if they did not want to attract the white spores; but there were few places she could take her young son and have him pass, not if he could get hungry and decide it was all right to nibble on someone’s ankle. She felt his full little belly against hers and thought of the winter, of the energy they needed to store and stretch so it lasted, of the faces of those around her getting choked with white fungus so that they were dragged awake, beating at it frantically, wasting so much energy- so much energy- and they would shiver, and shiver, and fall, and they would not be able to move; not to look human, not to fly again. She had once stepped into a cave with a human foot and felt all the tiny bones go crunch under her heel. They were not allowed to fly away so far. Not to the southern regions, where the white death had not yet flown in on friendly wings. They had an order to things, a set of safety precautions, and she was violating all of them, putting an innocent population at risk. “I hope the summer never ends,” said her son, his large eyes closing and his heart beating gently against her chest. She did not respond, and only nipped the white flecks around his neck away with her teeth. ~~~ notes Bats in North America are now being threatened by a fungus known as white-nose syndrome, which has already killed around six million bats and is spreading both up and down the east coast. It attacks hibernating populations of bats, forcing them to wake up and expend energy so that they starve to death. There is a very real threat that common species such as big brown and little brown bats may go extinct; two species, the Indiana bat and the Gray bat, are already teetering on the brink. White nose is believed to have been carried over from Europe, where bats have a natural resistance, by humans. Find out more about it here. Vampire bat is the common name for three species of blood-drinking bats which are not particularly closely related. They are all native to South and Central America and will likely remain unaffected by white-nose syndrome because they live in climates warm enough to prevent hibernation. -- source link

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