Those Wild Tropic Nights
from Smoke and Mirrors (c) 2013
“You can call me Rene’ the gecko, or if we are close friend you can call me the Gek,” he leared at me as he bent over my tape recorder. His long tle curled away from his body, his head alert, his tongue ready for the next bug to come by.
I had noticed him when I was dictating my stories into the tape recorder a few days before. If a gecko could smirk, he did as he listened to my tales of journeys into the jungle. It had been a wild adventure and I had wanted to get all the details down before I forgot them.
I had downed a tumbler of rum and coke, when he spoke. “You think you are having adventures? You should see what is happening in your own home every night.”
In my experience, lizards didn’t talk. I had a talking dog once, but I had to get rid of him. There were only so many times that you can can hear “fetch, bone, food, play” before you become bored.
So it was a surprise to me that lizards could talk especially with such a rudimentary brain. I guess I was wrong.
Gek’s long tongue curled out in a superfast moment and caught a bug. He rolled the bug into his mouth and then rolled his eyes with pleasure.
“You know,” he said. “We’all have to eat. Even you big clumsy thing.” Gek muttered under his breath about why the Creator would want to make such a huge ugly creature when lizards were not only beautiful, but also ulitarian and graceful.
I tried to ignore the commentary. I had suspected for awhile that the other creatures were jealous of our elavated status. We had the big brains, although Gek would probably disagree. We also had the agressive need to explore.
After Gek finished his meal, he said, “Recently there has been lesser volume of edible bugs. You must have been doing something to this house to make the bugs stinky and have given me a stomach ache.
I thought guiltily of the insect spray I had recently bought to kill the bugs that seemed to congregate in this house. After listening to Geks tirade about the disintegrating taste, I promised to get rid of it. When Gek would down, I watched him slip into a light sleep.
This would be the discovery of the century. Geckos could talk.
The next morning I turned on the recorder to listen to Gek’s voice. I could hear my side of the conversation with him, but there was a slight hiss where Gek’s voice should have been. Disappointedly I turned off the recorder and glanced at the gecko who dozed on the kitchen window sill.
He winked at me.