Calypso

By Lira Palmer

Aria awoke in the hot tent, her fingers gripping the ring that hung from her neck. The necklace’s chain dug into her skin. She had thrown off the sleeping bag during the night and now felt drops of sweat along her body. A large droplet trickled down a bruise on her hip. As she lay in the heat, she reached for her well-worn copy of Guide to the Flora of the Southwest. She opened it to the entry on Calypso and read it, as she did every morning. A rough caress ran over her naked leg, towards her crotch. Her skin crawled. She kicked and sat up, looking behind her. Nothing, save for a shadow in the corner of the tent. The sudden movement woke her painful muscles and recent bruises. She stared into the corner, heart pounding. With a sigh, she steadied her breath and gathered her belongings. 

By the time Aria had packed up camp, the sun was well off the horizon. She was grateful to be walking west as she covered the back of her neck with a small cloth. She assessed her situation: with the water in her canteen, she would have to turn back by midday and head straight to the entrance of the nature reserve. Although it was monsoon season, she had avoided most of the wet weather and her search had continued uninterrupted. Though she would have welcomed some rain for her canteen, her food supplies were doing well, as she had been able to forage more than she had expected and she had not been that hungry anyway. She bargained with herself that, as long as it rained today, she could probably do another full day before heading back. But there were no clouds to be seen on that long desert horizon. Her current path was barren, with only a few cacti between the rocks. She tried not to think about what the lack of rain meant for the flower’s growth.  

The first two areas of the reserve that she had explored, east and north, had been unsuccessful. While a variety of wildflowers had grown during the storms, she had not found Calypso. She spent several days meticulously covering the orchid’s reported range, but the only smell of decay was from the discarded corpses of small animals. She was losing hope that the western section would be any different. After covering each area, she drove an hour to the nearest town to stay a couple of nights at the local motel. She rested and stocked up on supplies before she headed back into the reserve to continue her search. Maybe a few days break wouldn’t be so bad. Her muscles wouldn’t mind a night or two in those creaky beds. 

The scent of wildflowers brought Aria back to the desert. She scanned the horizon and saw a thin green line to the southwest. She adjusted course and followed the cool breeze that brought her the scent of life. Had it rained there recently? She lifted her nose to the wind and scanned within the pleasant bouquet for something rotten. She stopped walking and focused on the mixture of grass, petrichor and bright flowers. Below the earthy smell, something else lurked. Aria couldn’t stop a hopeful smile. The breeze caressed her face and slipped into her collar, cooling the chain resting against a bruise on her neck.  

She yelped as something pulled at her ponytail and tore out hair. She elbowed the air behind her and for a moment felt contact with something. The grip let go, and she was left with a painful scalp. Aria swung her canteen with a hoarse scream. She was alone in the desert. She dropped to the ground, with quick and brusque attempts to take off her backpack. She gave up, collapsed to her side, the straps pulling her down. Her nails dug into her palm as she clutched the ring on her necklace. Aria fought back the tears with long, uneven breaths. Her head hurt. Her muscles hurt. The old bruises and blisters hurt. She was hungry and thirsty. She was so tired.  

Then she smelled the rot.    

She took a deep breath. Intermixed with green scents, the ground carried the smell of death. Aria pictured flies circling the corpse of some small rodent in a field of wildflowers. But was it a corpse they encircled? She lifted herself up on complaining muscles. With even breaths, she adjusted the backpack straps and dusted herself off. She scanned the air with her nose and locked on to the rotten scent. 

The sun climbed to its zenith. The green line on the horizon grew into a thin field of wildflowers from the season’s thunderstorms. She frowned as she followed the rotten scent and ignored nature’s more pleasant wonders before her. She approached a rock formation. Was that a buzzing she heard? Were those black dots darting flies? She quickened her pace towards the rocks. 

The half-eaten and bloated corpse of a hare lay between the rocks. The gaping hole in its stomach had a greenish tint where the fur ended and the wound began. Something wriggled beneath the skin and the hare’s paw twitched with mock life. Aria stared as it jerked back and forth, beckoning. She set her backpack down and drank from her canteen, the smell of death mixed with stale water. She felt a hand crawl on her back, leaving a hot trail on her skin as it groped its way to her thighs. She watched the dead hare’s paw go back and forth.

Aria sat on a jagged rock for a long time. She fingered the ring on its chain and watched the paw’s grotesque motion. She took off the necklace and finally looked away from the beckoning paw to the ring. A thin golden band, narrow to fit her ring finger. She touched the small diamond and the inscription inside the ring but did not read it. She wondered if it would fit over the hare’s twitching paw. Immersed in the rotten smell, she felt nothing but the painful groping at her thighs and the cold ring in her fingers. 

Beckoned by a light breeze, she turned her head at the smell of rotten flora. Her body stood up. Her hands pulled off the tight grip. She adjusted her backpack and walked towards the direction of the smell. She thought of liquified cabbages as she noted the lowering sun in the back of her mind, the lightness of the canteen. Aria pocketed the ring and left the hare’s carcass behind.

Aria was surprised at how small the orchid was. The guide’s photos had been, of course, extreme close-ups which had grown larger in her mind as her search extended. The purple flowers looked withered, close to the end of their bloom. And yet the stench was all encompassing. She wondered if it had attracted any flies this season. And if it had, would they have found another orchid to pollinate? She felt some pity for the ugly little plant. She unbuckled the backpack straps and set it on the ground with a heavy thud. She slipped her hand in her pocket, and as she fished out the cold ring, she felt a tongue lick the back of her ear. She steeled herself, afraid to chase it away at this crucial moment. 

She kneeled towards the little plant. The wet tongue licked her cheeks, and a hand enveloped her neck. She looked for the freshest flower, found it nestled between the leaves. The hand tightened around her neck; the tongue at the corner of her tight mouth squirmed to enter. Despite her care, she dropped the ring into the dense thorns. She reached for it with a trembling hand when she felt the tongue slip into her mouth. Care be damned, she dug through the leaves for the ring, leaving droplets of blood on the thorns. She struggled to breathe, her mouth blocked, her trachea too narrow. She pushed the ring deep into the flower with a bloody finger. She held her hand still as the tongue left her mouth and slithered down her arm. The pressure around her neck let off, leaving blossoming bruises. 

As she felt a last lick on her fingers, she pulled out of the flower. A shadow hung above the little plant. It pressed into the thorns and lasciviously spread the petals open. She scrambled back and stood up. The shadow dug deeper into the flower. She had a knot in her throat. She tightened her jaw, lifted her boot and stepped on the shadow. She could touch it more than she ever could before. She pressed down, hard. The shadow let out a moan that only Aria could hear as it pressed into the sharp thorns and the small purple flower, fragrant and rotten. With a final push, she stepped back. The orchid was battered and flattened, the flower’s hairy petals torn and twitching as the shadow licked them. The plant’s other flowers had lost their old petals, exposing their stinking insides. Aria thought of the mauled hare. She felt her neck ache and a wave of nausea. She grimaced and picked up the backpack. After a long look at the shadowed Calypso, she turned away and wondered how far she could walk into the night.