The Bug Collectors

I had my eye set on a centipede that nearly blended into the house’s brown concrete walls, just next to the wooden entrance. Its presence grew more evident the closer I hiked towards it. I left a path of my footprints in the mud, they were soon covered up by the trail the wheels on my suitcase created. I heard the jeep I was dropped off in struggle against the forest’s damp soil. When I finally heard it roar, I looked over my shoulder and watched it disappear the deeper it drove into a crowded mix of trees. I was struck by the thought that might be the last trace of civilization I see for a while.

My head stuck out of the window, my elbows resting on the sill as I searched for the sunlight. I realized I was out of luck when Liri mentioned that even when it wasn’t raining, I’d never see the bare sun because of the trees shading the house. Liri, I learnt, had been there weeks longer. The moment I walked in for the first time, she began bombarding me with things she swore I needed to know about the rainforest. I couldn’t bring myself to focus, only managing to pick up a few broken pieces of advice.

“Dinner’s ready!” Liri shouted. That’s when I decided to give up on catching a glimpse of sunlight, I straightened up and finally gave my elbows a moment to breathe. Liri gestured to me to sit on the lengthy side of the table, she wandered off into the kitchen and returned with two bowls of stew.

The wet chewing noises and the thunder outside clogged my eardrums. Aside from that, there was silence. I waited for Liri to start a conversation, but nothing occurred beyond eye contact and nervous chuckles.

“What got you into entomology?” I asked, straightening myself up.

“Just general interest. I’ve always liked insects.” She answered with a smile accompanied by an awkward chuckle.

Suddenly, I remembered why I hated small talk: it doesn’t lead to anything.

“Really? What was your favorite insect growing up?”

“I used to really like praying mantises.” She smiled.

“You’re religious?” Was my lame attempt at a joke about praying mantises.

“When I miss my mom, yeah.” She laughed. “It’s a basic answer but, yeah.”

“I don’t even think I had a favorite bug as a kid so, can’t judge.” I shrugged.

“I owned so many of them when I was younger, like as pets.” She compared. “I had a bunch of praying mantises and one of those ant farms when I was younger and my mom owned those butterfly habitats and I also owned a few tarantulas.” She listed before adding, “My mom was allergic to dogs.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“You should answer your own questions.” She suggested.

“Uhm, I guess my favorite bug would be like… scarab beetles.”

“A dung beetle?” She covered her mouth, trying not to let the stew she was eating escape.

“Yeah, a dung beetle.” I shrugged. “Their past is interesting. They used to be utilized in Ancient Egypt for jewelry and decorations.”

“...And now they’re known for eating their own feces.” She added with a sly grin.

“It’s tragic, really.” I said apathetically.

“Is that what got you into entomology?” She asked.

“No, no.” I shook my head, “When I was in high school I wrote a few research papers on insects and environmental science, it got a few awards, the awards looked good on applications and they got me a few scholarships and I just thought ‘might as well’.”

“All those essays brought you here?”

“The middle of nowhere studying bugs? Yeah.”

“You’ll get used to the isolation, just keep yourself indulged in something.” She advised me.

“I doubt it, but I won’t go all ‘Here’s Johnny’ on you.”

About three months passed, and I couldn't indulge in anything. Every night, I sat at a typewriter instead of a computer due to the unreliable electricity I should’ve expected from a rainforest. I tried to write the report I was assigned and keen on getting over with, but I was disinterested and it was evident in my work. The images I’d taken were awkward and the sentences in my report would get obsessively repeated in a different manner.

Late nights often involved me hunched over my typewriter, wondering what I’d be doing if I’d written those research papers about anything else. Would I still be getting awarded? Instead, I was stuck in a muddy rainforest following this routine everyday: looking at bugs and trying to muster up new information about them. There was no deadline on my report, so I put it off. I did as I was told and nothing more.

I’d given up on writing anything that night. I stood up, dodged Liri’s potted plants and my crumpled papers scattered around our office. Liri enjoyed the isolation and I envied her for it. I walked past her bedroom, her door was slightly open. Her window was open, her elbows resting on the sill and her palms pressed against each other as she muttered some soft words with her eyes closed.