Forty Days and Nights. 20. Snail's Pace

Things were wild in those days. You could never be sure about life from one minute to the next. One morning a lion might have long hair, then the next day, short curly hair, then no hair at all. No hair was hard on the lions, but it didn't last. Tiny spots stuck to green leaves might turn into caterpillars and then into butterflies and then back and forth. Confusing. One day leopards were sleek and blond, the next day they were all over spots, and no one could ever say why. Wild boars lost their wings but grew tusks. One evening the elephants looked around and realized they were no longer pink, and, oddly, they never, ever were again. Birds lost their scales and snakes lost their tails. Things were wild in those days.

She was low to the ground, she sped about on a bed of slime. She tasted the world through her feelers and it was good, it was very good. Green growing things to munch and to munch and life was good. No one was as fast as she, no one as quick. Messenger to the gods she was, fastest of the creatures on an earth the bucked and swayed and altered as she moved across it. The sea god loved her specially for, though she was a creature of the land, she rode a wave and left a trail of foam, as did many of the god's children. She loved him, loved him and did his bidding. He gave her a beautiful home, a home of shell, twisted and spiraled and chambered.

She loved it.

Loved it with a fierce and desperate love, a terrible lusting passion that rocked her and wrecked her. She possessed it and it possessed her. She was very happy, very happy in her having.

And yet.

Her home was light to carry, as homes go. She moved it about to find the best place, the nicest sun, the choicest shade, the sweetest breeze. She moved it about for the sheer joy of the moving. She lugged and loved and longed and at last, it occurred to her to worry. If she could move it, why not someone else move it? Why not anyone else move it? Why not just everyone move it? The thought stopped her in her track. What if someone moved it and she didn't find the place it had gone? What if someone moved it and took it and lived in it and she never ever saw it again? The thought grew on her and she found she could not bear to be away, for fear, for fear of what might happen. Might. Might happen.

She went back to check.
Home.
Safe.
Again.

She slacked her duties, shirked her work, shoved her promises. Fear grew in her and she rode her wave high, rode it fast, rode it back to check, to check, to check. It was there, it was safe, all was well with her twisted, her chambered, her tapered home of lovely brown shell. All, all was well.

The gods grew restive.
No one likes their messages left lying, their orders ignored, their due reverence unpaid. It you say you'll deliver the words of a god, you darn well better see to that in a timely fashion. You darn well better. She shouldered aside the growing pile of messages as she zipped back for one more look. Just to be sure, just to be safe. Back and forth and back and forth and back and back and back.
Home.
Safe.
Home.
Safe.
It was only a matter of time. Things were too wild, too fluid, too new and raw. The gods altered creatures to suit their fancy, their whim, their style. People awoke to find themselves changed for any reason, for no reason. She was racing against time every time she raced home to check, to be sure, to just be on the safe side. How her heart leaped, how it raced and purred when she saw it, when she caught sight of her beloved. How I love thee, she whispered, how I adore thee.

Finally, the god spoke. He said, in a message for her and for her alone, why on earth don't you just carry the silly thing around with you from now until the end of all things rather than rush off to check it every five seconds? Difficult to tell what those words really meant to him when he said them, but simple to say what they meant to her when she heard them. Approval. Freedom. Permission.

She did it. She did what the god had said. She had to. She had no choice. She desired no other choice.

Yes, she thought, as she stretched under the weight of the home she carried on her back, yes. She was happy, she was safe, she was home. This is what is best for people like us, she thought, people like us aren't meant to live where things are too wild, too unsettled. We're just meant to be at home, to be at home no matter where we go.
Finally, she thought, as she strained and inched her way along. Finally. I am at peace. I can let go now, she thought as she crept through her days with her life on her back. It's all here, she thought. It's all mine. No more worry, no more wonder. No more fastest-of-them-all. No more messages from the blessed gods, she thought. Someone will deliver the words of the gods, someone will step up to the task. Someone always does, even if they have to grow wings on their feet to do it, someone will take that up if I let it fall. Finally, she thought, I can just be. Now. Now.
Now, she thought, now I can rest.