A Sad Song for a Young Tarantula

This week’s story from P H Lee is one that shares a glimpse of the world’s inner workings, through a miniature and spectacular lens. ~ Julian and Fran, March 11, 2024

This month’s stories are by authors Mary Robinette Kowal, PH Lee, Molly Tanzer, and Zohar Jacobs. The first story of the month is free to read, but it’s our paying subscribers who allow us to keep publishing great stories week after week.

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A Sad Song for a Young Tarantula

by P H Lee

It was raining, so of course Teselle couldn’t find Monathan anywhere. That frog was halfway deaf, halfway blind, and entirely ancient; he couldn’t find an ant to eat without Kastrid stunning it first; he could barely croak a vocalization; but as soon as the rain hit the ground outside the burrow, he’d find his way out and get himself lost. That was as certain as anything.

“Monathan?” clicked Teselle into the egg chamber—no, not the egg chamber, her egg chamber, as hard as it was to get used to that. She didn’t know why she bothered clicking it out loud. It’s not like Monathan could have heard her even if he’d been there, which he wasn’t, because it was raining—but even though he wasn’t there, Kastrid started wailing as soon as she heard Teselle’s click. Kastrid wasn’t Monathan’s daughter, but he’d brought her up since she was a froglet. She loved him, as much as frogs understood “love.” What was to say that every time he wandered off, she’d start crying again.

Teselle felt quickly around the egg chamber with her fore- and second legs, but she already knew that she wouldn’t find him. “He’s gone off again, hasn’t he?” She clicked at Kastrid, who only cried louder in response.

“There, there, girl,” clicked Teselle, and gently stroked the top of Kastrid’s head with her pedipalps. “Don’t worry. He just likes the rain. I’ll go get him—he’ll be fine.”

But she couldn’t promise that, not really. Who knows what might get him, a half-blind old frog out alone in the rain? Half the forest would welcome him with open jaws.

Kastrid kept vocalizing, poor girl. Teselle patted her head one more time, then turned to leave. Talking to her frogs! She really needed to get it together. But here she was, wasting another perfectly good rain on her— Well.

#

“Are you out looking for that old frog again—Monaman or whatever?” Cellika clicked from the branch above. “Teselle, sweetheart, I’m telling you this as a friend: he’s just a frog. I know he was your mom’s favorite, and I know you’ve known him since you were a spiderling. But if he wants to be snake bait, you’re just going to have to let him. Look at you! You’re a young tarantula in your prime. You’re hot, you’re ready, and it’s raining. You should be out looking for a top-quality male to give your frogs some eggs worth guarding, not wandering after your mom’s senile old froggy.”

“It’s not like th—” started Teselle, then twitched away, unable to finish. Cellika was right. It was like that. But she thought about poor Monathan, probably just sitting on a leaf somewhere, totally exposed to a snake, a bird, alone and blind and afraid. She couldn’t just leave him like that.