I think I must be getting lonely. I have a new pet wasp in my bedroom; I call her Hudson, after W.H. Hudson, who wrote a 1905 essay titled Wasps, extolling them as one of the more intelligent insect genus. In the case of Hudson (my wasp) I think it belongs to genus polistes, species fuscatus pallipes , commonly called a yellow jacket or paper wasp. Hudson is probably a female, but I don't want to give the impression of being sexist, especially when I don't really know it well enough to check for the presence of an ovipositor-especially an ovipositor developed into a dangerous poniard. At night Hudson, a social insect prematurely hatched and longing for its misplaced hive, walks a circle a few times around her favorite file cabinet folder strewn on the floor next to my keyboard where I write. It seems that Hudson likes being near me. I had a thought that perhaps Hudson is an outcast, a creature of great reflection looking for intellectual opportunities that expand beyond those normally allowed within the wasp social framework. A creature not unlike myself. We are birds of a feather, Hudson and me.
Last night I was singing a Johnny Cash tune, "Folsom Prison Blues", when I saw Hudson wiping and washing her face with her forefeet. I somehow sensed that I was irritating Hudson with my resonant baritone. I'm sensitive to criticism, especially in my own bedroom, and I told Hudson a story about the time my mother scolded me for whistling in the car, "If I wanted to listen to music," she said in her nasal whine, I'd turn on the radio." Hudson showed genuine regret. "I'm sorry," she seemed to be intimating with her antennae, "go ahead, sing your poor lonely heart out." We both let it go. I started punching out my news column, while Hudson folded her wings and went to sleep. It was past her normal bedtime.
In the morning, I opened a drowsy eye, and Hudson was right where she had lain when I turned the lights out. I didn't disturb her all at once, and went about my normal morning routine: coffee, invoking ritual of the pentagram, bathroom. I'd had enough of Hudson's lethargy, so I picked up her folder and carried her to the window, opened just a crack. There her wings began to stretch out in the slight turbulence of a March breeze.
I left for an interview in the morning, returning in the afternoon to find Hudson missing. I flipped over her favorite sleeping folder, checked under my blankets, looked on the floor. But, she was nowhere to be found. You may think this a tad "off", but tonight I miss my little paper wasp curling up next to me as I type away my stories of the week, her little head cocked in slight apprehension at my ponderous mass, wondering at every moment whether this would be when she might be swatted into oblivion. She gave me the benefit of the doubt, something few humans had ever given me. I think my relationship with Hudson heralded a new age of understanding between wasp and human, equal to the first connection between caveman, holding out a bone, reverently accepted by the wolf on the outskirts of a camp fire. The wasp can learn new country western tunes, and stay up late listening to bedtime stories, while the human can project anthropomorphic sentiments upon the wasp, making the writer's life just a little less lonely.
Last night, after being asleep for about one hour, I awoke. I can't say exactly if I woke first to a vague stimulus, and then felt the dull pain in my arm, or if it was the pain itself that woke me. I suspected the obvious, that I had been stung, but I still wasn't sure. Turning on the light, I noticed a tiny red dot at the locus of my pain. "Now I know I'm not imagining that," I thought. So, I got out of bed, looked in my blankets, and sure enough, there was Hudson, looking still and frightened. She did the face wiping motion with her forefeet, as if to say, "I'm sorry I stung you, but you're so goddamned big, and I just wanted to snuggle, but you started to crush me."
The weird thing about perception is how it can change like a flash in the pan. I lost that rapport with Hudson I had earlier. She looked alien to me, like, well, a bug. No longer did I possess that sense of connection that had earlier endeared her to me. I paced about, realizing I was at the crossroads of consciousness. I resisted the temptation to squash her like a bug, which she was, in fact. I decided that this just wasn't going to work, her and I. For as much as I respected Hudson, a paper wasp just couldn't sleep with a human. So, I carefully scooped her into a clean plastic container, and closed the lid on it. I knew she was thinking along the lines of horrible rejection. And, you know, I did acknowledge that the wound she inflicted on my arm was very light, very minor. A dab of Rhuli Gel, and it started to feel better already. Believe me, I have been attacked by her kin in a far more serious manner, many years ago, while mowing the lawn. I recognized that Hudson was merciful with me, and probably hoped for mercy herself. So, I stabbed little air holes in the lid, as I considered my verdict.
Lying in bed, I couldn't sleep. I had a sudden pang of guilt. I got up and opened the lid of Hudson's container slightly, to let in more air. I did this maybe three times during the night, each time checking to make sure the little wasp had enough air. I decided that I would toss her into the backyard in the morning. She could be free, and tell the rest of her kind that the humans were not always their adversaries.
Morning came, and I checked in on Hudson. Seeing her lying on her back wasn't an encouraging sign, legs up in her air, the classic cartoon death posture. Maybe she was just faking it to make me feel bad for keeping her caged like a Guantanamo detainee. But, no, I swirled her around a couple of times in the plastic container, and she didn't stir or twitch. She had given up the ghost, and I don't know what heartache she felt in her last hours. I tossed her into the grass out back. "You know, if you had only waited, I was going to let you out anyway," I scolded. I must get past this now, and figure out what to do with the dozens of ladybugs that seem to be infiltrating my house.
Freelance journalist Gregory G. Lewis was a regular contributor to the West County News of Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts. As a correspondent to several Franklin County towns Mr. Lewis was better known by his Arts & Entertainment contributions, especially On the Marquee, a review of the region's outstanding art, music and drama.
"My assignments took me to dinners and breakfasts with the Governor; and to the 2006 Massachusetts Democratic Convention where I met candidate Deval Patrick, US Senator John Kerry, and even Kitty Dukakis," said Mr. Lewis.
Since the West County News closed its doors in August, Mr. Lewis has pursued the night life and high life of South Florida, in the
Proustian tradition. He now carouses tropical climes and exotic personalities, capitalizing on years of experience thrusting himself in the public eye.
His many published and exclusive stories can be found on his website, The Newsketeer!
You have to be somewhat nutty. To have a pet rock or something is nuts but a live wasp is far out. She was merciful to you though, sometimes those things can put a hurting on you.
Firstly, I am a bleeding heart when it comes to any of God's creatures, no matter how small or invertebrate. While it is true I was at first alarmed to see the wasp in my room, I found this to be an opportunity to find out more about these maligned creatures. I don't pretend that the wasp and human shouldn't have clearly delineated habitats, and I have been stung pretty badly running over their ground nests with a lawn mower.
But, every time I was stung it was because I acted hostile to the wasp society. Honestly, I don't believe wasps are capable of random, senseless acts of violence, and I think I proved to myself that this particular wasp was doing nothing more than protecting itself when there was no way out of a bad situation. Would I repeat this experiment? I don't know, but I don't believe people are the only creatures capable of gentleness or empathy. We have boxed ourselves into a false sense of "better than thou."
The other thing to keep in mind is I lived in a very rural area at the time, in a very old house that had all kinds of varmints trying to find a warm spot for the winter, so you learn to not freak out when these things come out on a warm day.
Gregory, I didn't mean to sound critical or hateful, I was kidding aboout you being nutty. I can understand your feelings towards God's creatures. I do kill wasps or such if they get in our house but I never kill any varmint unless it is damaging my proprty, or endangering some of us. I too, was raised in an old farm house which would allow anything in that wanted in.
I was stung by dozens of honey bees when I was a very small kid. I'd been eating ripe persimmons and passed close to their hives. They were simply after the persimmons smeared all over my face, but I didn't know that and so I fought them and lost the fight. I've also been stung by yellow jackets, hornets, wasps and even one big Bumble bee. Anyway, I try to avoid anything with a sting. Your article was interesting.
Joel, Rest assured I took no offense at your characterization. Notice, I didn't argue with the part about being nutty, that's a given.
Also, I could kick myself for leaving out the most important detail of my story, which is that it was a humor piece. Ah, well, you win some you lose some! ;-)
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