Valentina stood and returned to the table with the giant moth.
He followed.
“Describe what you see, Mr. Green.”
The smell hit him first. It was like burnt dust, that domestic brimstone scent of the first time the furnace kicks on in late autumn. It was old books and mildewed paper. Kitchen scraps and dog breath.
He looked hard at the moth and searched for words.
It was monstrous, but it wasn’t threatening. It was still and silent and approachable. And, somehow, to his own surprise, he found the creature oddly beautiful.
“Well, I’m really not well-versed on animal life, but I think it’s a moth.”
He looked at Valentina for confirmation. Her face was blank.
“Go on, Mr. Green. Describe. Anything at all.”
He licked his lips, again feeling Valentina’s attention as a weight of vague cost and consequence.
“Uh. It has six legs. I think that means it’s an insect. Or bug? I’ve never understood if those were different things. Um. Each of its wings are in two parts. So, it’s like it has four wings in total. There’s dust or something creating a haze over its body. I guess that’s the trash smell I’m getting.”
He leaned in closer.
“The haze seems to be rotating, like a little galaxy. So, that’s…weird.”
“Good. Very good. What else.”
“It doesn’t make sense, but a lot of it looks man-made. Burlap and twine. This gray part here looks a lot like old newspaper, but none of the writing is real. Just squiggles. And maybe I’m missing it, but I don’t see any mouth. That can’t be right, can it? It has to eat.”
“The adult form of most large moth species does not havemouthparts. Luna moths and atlas moths, to name two examples. That feature is quite common. Anything else?”
Green hesitated.
“I feel like I’m about to be told I’m being childish again, but…there’s something about looking at this thing that feels…I don’t know…unclean? It’s sort of beautiful, but the longer I look at it, the more I need a shower.”
Valentina tilted her head.
“Go on. Speak on that,” she said.
Green took off Dancer’s hat and dabbed the sweat from his forehead with it.
“It’s hard to describe. It just kind of feels like seeing it is begging to catch pinkeye or a cold sore. It feels like the idea of rot? Or maybe contamination? I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said that.”
More scolding. Incoming.
There it was again. That treacherous delight like a loose floorboard creeping onto Valentina’s face. She shook her head, but it wasn’t a negative gesture.
“Mr. Green,” she said. “You are a cryptonaturalist.”
He felt gooseflesh creeping up his forearms.
“I…really don’t know what that means.”
Her expression flattened again.
“Crypto. Prefix meaning hidden. Do I need to define naturalist for you? Cryptonaturalist. One who studies hidden nature.”
Green walked away and faced the wall.
