Page 40 - Fables volume 1

How Ten Thousand Termites Escaped from Captivity

plenty of thirsty Peace Corps kids were hanging around their
headquarters, but he had nothing to ask them.
He returned to his office after lunch, heaving himself into his chair
in a beery stupor. Get hold of yourself, he told a barely sentient
remainder of his brain; this can’t be so hard to figure out. I had a class
in life science in high school. I’ll just go in there and do the research
myself. But first another beer.
Fortified with drink and armed with a flashlight, a pad of paper and
his Swiss army knife, Homer unlocked the closet, switched on the
light and closed the door behind him. It was very stuffy; unlike most
Western-style construction in Forolonkolo, the door fit tightly in its
frame. Homer clumsily untied the canvas and let it fall to the floor
around the mound.
Breathing heavily, he chipped off a chunk of hardened mud from
the umbrella-like cap. He peered at it intently and crumbled it between
his thumb and fingers. Then he did the same with a bit of the material
constituting the lower cylindrical mass. Clearly not the same
consistency, Homer said to himself. But how was it different? Did the
termites use a different type of soil? Did they pack it in with a certain
amount of pressure? Or was it simply the shape of the dome?
He sat down on the floor with his back against the mound and
brought his full powers of concentration to bear upon the problem.
Within a few seconds he was sound asleep.
He wakened suddenly. It was dark, his clothing was soaked in sweat
and a tiny voice was trying to get his attention. Another power failure,
he thought angrily. And Amadou hasn’t turned on the generator. Did
I remember to order diesel fuel this month? Where’s that flashlight?
“What?” he said aloud. “Who’s calling me?”
“Look down,” came the reply, so faintly that Homer was not certain
he had really heard it at all. He switched on the flashlight and beamed
it around the interior of the closet. Everything was as before—wait!
There was a termite, standing at the base of the mound, waving its
antennae.
“Yes, yes, get that spotlight out of my eyes. It’s very disrespectful.
Can’t you see in the dark? Answer me!” commanded the barely
audible voice.

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