Conversation · Lena, the Cryptozoologist's wife

"Oh... you don't want to hear about some old woman's ramblings..."

"Maybe you imagined it, Lena?"

"How could she? Who imagines this? She didn't know about the phasmid. This is the main thing here, what makes it a confirmed sighting -- she had no previous knowledge of the insect."

So she couldn't have made it up. Or imagined it.

"That's true, yes. I'm almost certain neither my mother nor my grandmother knew of it. It was only when I started telling my story as a teenager that boys would tell me: Lena..." She lowers her voice, imitating a boy.

"'You tryna' tell us you saw the Insulindian phasmid out there in those reeds? Get outta here!'" She smiles. "They'd just give me a cider and ruffle my hair and tell me to stop dreaming -- but I saw it."

"Of course -- I've thought about it. But Morell says my report matches with the others. And I'm sure I hadn't heard of the phasmid as a child. Nor had my mother -- or my grandmother."

"So how did I know what to imagine? It was only when I started telling my story as a teenager that boys would tell me: Lena..." She lowers her voice, imitating a boy.

"You were on a date?"

"Our first, yes." The old woman looks at her husband tenderly...

The glance is tender, yes, but tempered by something else, a thought she can't express even to him... Interesting.

"Our first, yes." The old woman sighs tenderly...

The sigh is tender, yes, but tempered by something else, a thought she can't express... Interesting.

"How big was it?"

"It's hard to say how big things are when you're quite small yourself. To me, it seemed to be taller than I was then... but that's probably not the case."

What if it is the case?

"Kim, what do you think of this?"

"I thought it was a wonderful story, ma'am." He closes his notes and gives her a simple smile.

But I don't believe it. A child, left unattended, on a warm day. Children make up stories and then end up believing them.

"Its limbs are white?"

"Not all of them." He answers for her. "There is some white colouration reported, along with beige, where the camouflage ends."

"Not all of them, as far as I remember. But some of them -- on the inside. Like stalks of marble if that makes sense..."

"Thank you for sharing this with me." (Conclude.)

"You're welcome, sweetie. I do appreciate the chance to relive it, whenever I get one. It was just..." she sighs. "Such an impossibly sunshiny day. So warm."

And she could get up and walk -- right into the reeds on her own. Into the mud. Anywhere.

"'Ramblings'? Nonsense! Your description of the phasmid is the most precise I've ever heard!"

"But darling, I didn't even get the size of it right."

Measuring things is important. How did she get the size?

"You were a child, my dear. Really, it's extraordinary what you were able to describe. Now go on, tell our friend about it. He's proven his interest in the field."

That is a way, way bigger compliment than it sounds like.

Reflexively, the lieutenant readies his familiar notebook.

"Well, it was summer," she starts. "I was building a racing track out of sand on the beach near a tall stand of reeds. Quite a tall one, many times my height, I remember. When all of a sudden..."

"What happened?"

"The strangest moment of my life: I looked up and one of the reeds moved. Not like a plant, but like a living thing -- it stood up and looked at me. Its body unfolded like some antique toy... I've never seen anything like it."

She had no fear. Just surprise.

"I didn't know this can happen, so I reached my arm and touched the thing. It felt just like a stalk of reed, but it moved. Swaying, towering above me..." She looks at you. "After a while -- 20 seconds? a minute, maybe? -- it left. Went into the reeds."

"Did you follow it?"

"I tried, but I was only a child. There was mud and high water, I couldn't see it anymore. I was just standing there, knee deep in mud, looking around me..."

Where did you go? Don't go...

"Then what?"

"I ran back home to my grandmother and asked her if reeds could walk and told her they were looking at me." She chuckles. "Of course, she just laughed at me, but I knew what I'd seen..."

"For years it was a story I told at parties, when I wanted to impress boys, that sort of thing." She brushes her hair back. "Of course, most people just took it as a strange, amusing anecdote. So did I, honestly. But then I met Morell..."

"We were on a date, can you imagine? She tells me a story and it's the most detailed report of the Insulindian phasmid I've ever heard. The sounds -- she told me it hissed..."

So that's how they met. This is beyond significant for them.

"It did, yes -- like reeds in a gust of wind."

"...the way it moved, the colour, how some of its limbs were white like marble..." He breathes excitedly. "It matched perfectly with what I know from other accounts! It was amazing."

"If it weren't for Lena, I might've given up hope years ago. It's no exaggeration to say that she restored my faith in my profession." He looks at her with admiration, forgetting a wide smile on his face.

"We were on our first date when I told him my story. You should have seen his face..." She smiles. "He said my descriptions match the phasmid down to a tee: its white marble limbs, the way it moved..."

So that's how they met. This is beyond significant for them.

"I looked up and one of the reeds moved. Not like a plant, but like a living thing. It stood up and looked at me. Its body unfolded, like some antique toy..." She shakes her head. "I'd never seen anything like it. The reeds turned into a creature."

"Wait. Where was this and how old were you?"

"Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself. I was five and a half. In Betancourt, in the suburbs. My grandmother had a summer home there."

She'd just started forming memories. Real memories, not the billowy haze of infanthood.

Betancourt got bombed in the war. It used to be quite near. Circa 20 kilometres from here.

"No -- I really want to know."

"Let's change the subject for now."

"Yes, sweetie?"

"You must be mistaken. I'm a connoisseur of delusional ramblings."

"That's kind of you, but I've got to demur. It's hard to tell a story you don't really believe in anymore..."

"You don't notice this about me, but actually -- I have lost all memory of the world and myself and I have no idea what I'm doing."