Have you ever seen a gecko hunt? It is quite beautiful. I sat at my bedroom desk one evening and watched one eat several moths that were mere inches away from my nose. Is this too calm a description? It almost sounds like it must be the most desultory occurrence in all of Asia. Nothing could be further from truth; it was the only time I have ever seen a gecko so close. The sight of a large green reptile should have triggered an instinct of mine to flee, but it did not for a very good reason. You see, there was an understanding of sorts between us. Think about it for a moment: human-reptile communication. I will have to insist that I am not that far off base. Is it not true that many people communicate with dogs, cats, dolphins, and other animals on a daily basis? Well, then the same could be true of large, moth-eating reptiles! I promise that you will be inclined to agree with me once I have told my story.
Every evening after dinner, I retire to the upstairs bedroom of my house and crawl inside a large, green mosquito net. Inside of this net is a desk with an inkwell, pens, candles, a typewriter, and large sheets of mulberry paper (Yes, I am old fashioned. What of it?) I was leaning over my desk and scribbling away at something one evening when I looked up from my work and saw a great green gecko crawl towards the light of the candle. This one was as long as my elbow to my knuckles, and about as wide as my middle finger. It had large black spots running up and down its body, and a fearful looking head. The suction cups on its hands and feet made no noise as they crawled along the wall. I suppose I was not too terribly surprised to see a gecko, for two or three of them are always crawling on the walls of the house somewhere. I know this because they leave their droppings wherever they damn well please, and they make a frightful row when they are mating. The candle on my desk was attracting the moths, which were stuck on the other side of the net. This in turn attracted the gecko. My guest came towards the light, and noticing my presence raised its head to look at me more closely. The black eyes on top of its head reflected the dim yellow light, and it stayed in this position for a few seconds. I remained motionless. It almost seemed like the creature knew that because of my size, the space around me was under my domain. Naturally, it was waiting to see if I would give my permission for it to hunt in this area. Still I did not move, hoping to give it the free reign it desired (I have ceased to like moths ever since one flew into my ear as a child, so the fewer the better). The gecko bowed its head in gratitude, and turned its attention to the evening meal.
After spotting an attainable quarry, the gecko steadied himself. The muscles in its legs and tail quivered slightly and tensed, ready to be released like a spring. With one quick reflex, it lunged, flew diagonally down the wall, opened its mouth, and swallowed a nearby moth. It was all terrifyingly quick, but still I carefully recorded every move. The tail and feet worked quickly to reattach the flat belly to the wall, and soon the creature was adroitly righted. A pink lizard tongue slithered out of the mouth, and licked up and over the teeth. Wasting no time, the gecko turned itself around and continued the hunt. With the same movements, it swallowed two more moths and one insect that resembled a mosquito but could have been something else.
The prey in this region soon got wise to the gecko’s actions, and moved away to other regions of the room beyond the green mosquito net. The gecko moved away as well, and it crawled away into the darkness. From some corner of the room, it began its call; a sort of “Ack Ack Ack Ack!” clicking sound. I interpreted it as a form of thanks. I wanted to thank the creature for getting rid of the moths, but what human sound could I have uttered that could be easily interpreted by reptile ears? The sound of my voice would have frightened it away. Silence was all that I could offer it.
And there you have it! Have you agreed with me? Yes, of course you have; no one could deny such a remarkable thing.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
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