The Guardians by Ana Castillo

Author:Ana Castillo [Castillo, Ana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-48572-4
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2007-08-19T04:00:00+00:00

REGINA

Soon as it starts to warm up it's always something. Pero los insects are invincible.

Nobody knew about the Moth Destroyer. (Except Gabo, who didn't approve.) That's the name of my invention. With so many animal-rights people about, it wasn't like I thought I could go on the Home Shopping Network with my manual exterminating tool. It's a contraption I rigged one night when I was sure the moths were about to carry away my house and me with it. Although the Moth Destroyer is not patented, here is how it's made: It consists of three fly swatters arranged fanlike and wrapped tight with electrical tape to a paint roller stick.

I had tired myself out swinging fly swatters and rolled-up newspapers, using bug spray, and even going after them with a handheld vacuum. “It sucks 'em right up in midflight,” I had said to my nephew one morning, all excited about my newest line of defense.

“That's cruel,” el Gabito replied, who doesn't seem to be bothered by the moths or any of the other insects that mob the house.

“It's nothing bugs wouldn't do to us if they had the technology,” I said, a little disappointed that he didn't have any interest in joining my crusade.

Above all, ants are my nemeses. Last summer they bit me up so bad in the garden I ended up driving myself to an emergency clinic in Canutillo, where half the time the doctor is out. This time the doctor was in. We don't have doctors in Cabuche. I don't like to think of the war the ants have declared on me, because they are winning. Eventually this will mean the end of my planting.

Next, I'll have the centipedes to worry about. These are not ordinary centipedes, neither, whatever that could mean. Flying ants, mice with bushy tails, low-flying bats, tarantulas, tiny lizards, and underground ranas that only come out after the rains. They quack. Don't even get me started on the arachnids. It's like Jurassic Park. A couple of weeks ago I woke up with a scorpion crawling around in my ear. I pulled it out without realizing what was stirring in there. I turned on the light. It was scrambling along my pillow, injured. I had broken off its tail. With all my screaming, Gabo came running. Before I was able to come down on the scorpion, my sobrino caught it in an empty coffee can. He slapped the lid on it and took it outside. I was pretty sure the scorpion would die anyway, with no tail to defend itself with, but I didn't say nothing to Gabo. My nephew is now calling his coffee can Salva Insectos. Or “Bug Catcher,” in English, if he decides to patent it, he says. He keeps it next to his bed, ready for my next scream.

People have heard about the time of the butterflies—like in Man-zanillo, México, when the monarchs fill the skies with their shimmering flutter. But around here what we have is the Season of the Moths.

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