THE CENTURY PLANT
Deep
in the canyons and far back in the arroyos of the desert grows the century plant. It is a
very ancient plant with thick leaves and on each leaf is a sharp, needle-like point at the
very tip. More needles line the edge of each leaf making the century plant very dangerous.
It is a quiet, unassuming plant until you brush against it. Then the century plant makes
its presence known.
One quiet, hot afternoon up in the same canyon
where the century plant grows, a hare was making his way through the cactus and the
creosote bushes.
He was tired. He was tired of everything. The
heat of the day seemed to sap all his energy and strength and finding a sprig of green
grass, well, that was almost impossible. The rain had not fallen for months.
"Miserable, hot, dry desert," the hare
muttered. "Coyotes on one side, rattlesnakes on the other, scorpions under rocks,
cactus with sharp thorns: this is no place for a sensitive hare like myself. Besides that,
I'm thirsty. I'm thirsty for a nice pool of clear, calm water with lots of green grass
around it. Is that too much to ask?"
There was no answer, for the hare was right. The
desert was not a gentle place. It was a place of constant danger where the threat of being
eaten was everywhere.
As the hare poked his head out from under a large
rock, he scanned the floor of the desert. Nothing seemed to threaten him at the moment, so
he cautiously ventured out into the open. Suddenly he felt sharp talons dig into his back.
It could only be one thing: a hawk.
"Now, now," the hawk said. "Just
relax. This won't hurt a bit. I'm just going to have some lunch."
"Oh, no," the hare moaned. "Isn't
that just great. A hawk. I didn't even look for a hawk. I tell you, if it isn't one thing,
it's another. What's the use around here?"
"I haven't had rabbit for a long time,"
the hawk said.
"Excuse me," the hare said while the
hawk held on with her sharp talons, "but I'm not a rabbit down here. I'm a
hare."
"Ok, whatever. I'm going to eat you so it
doesn't make much difference what you are, ok?"
"Well, as a matter of fact," the hare
continued, "it does make a difference to me. Excuse me for living, but it does make
quite a difference to me because I am a hare, not a rabbit and if you were a hare, you
would know that it does make a difference."
Now the hare suddenly had a reason to live. He
wasn't sure what changed his mind but he suddenly decided that he did not want to go to
lunch with this imbecile of a hawk. Not without a fight.
"Ok, you're a hare," the hawk said.
"Now, let's quit arguing and eat."
This time the hare struggled mightily but, sadly,
he was no match for the strength and the talons of the hawk.
"Here, now!" she said. "There's no
use, my friend. I am a hawk and your are a rabbit or a hare—"
"A hare," he corrected.
"Yes, yes. That's all beside the point.
You're a hare and hawks eat hares and there you have it. Can you feel my talons? Sharp,
aren't they."
The hare winced in pain.
"Well, that's how I catch my prey," she
continued. "These talons were given to us hawks by the Great Maker and that's all
there is to it. Don't take it personally, my friend. I don't hate you. As a matter of
fact, I respect your kind. That's just the way it is. With these talons, and my sharp
beak, well, let's just say it's all over for you."
"Can any creature escape from your
claws?" the hare asked.
"Talons! Talons!" the hawk insisted.
"Mice have claws, you have claws but I have talons. Much sharper and much more
deadly, as if you couldn't tell. But to answer your question, no."
"Never?" the hare asked.
"No."
"But isn't it possible, somehow, to escape
them?"
"No."
"You mean to tell me it is absolutely
impossible—"
"All right, all right," the hawk
sighed. "I suppose there is the slightest chance."
"How often?"
"Oh, really."
"Once a month? Once a year?"
"Not often," she said. "Look,
we're just wasting time here. I don't like this anymore than you do, but I've got to
eat."
"Please," the hare begged. "I have
to know. How often does your prey escape?"
"Once in a blue moon," she said.
"But honestly I can't even remember the last time it happened with me."
The hare relaxed. And as he relax, hawk also
relaxed her death grip.
"Do you know why," the hare asked,
"they call it the Century Plant?"
"The what?" the hawk asked.
"Right there," the hare continued.
"That plant right there with all the very sharp needles on it. Do you know why the
call it the Century plant?"
"Honestly, I don't, Hare," she said.
"And I really don't care. Hawks can't be bothered with all that. We don't eat plants,
you see, century plants or not."
"I'll tell you why it is called the century
plant then," the Hare said. "As you can see, it is a very hardy plant with sharp
needles. They say it lives a long time, too. Much longer than either of us, Hawk. They say
this plant will live to be a hundred years old. Just when it is about to die, after almost
one hundred years, it sends up a tall, slender shoot that has a very beautiful bloom on
it. I've seen them quite tall. Some of them have been almost as tall as a tree,
Hawk."
"Well, what of it?" she asked.
"Not much really," the Hare said.
"But when you mentioned once in a blue moon, it made me think of that. I'm quite fond
of things that rarely happen, really I am. Because this life is full of the same thing,
day in and day out: danger, death, starvation, accidents, the whole lot. Sometimes it
makes you wonder why we struggle to keep on living, right? I certainly do. And
also—"
The Hare stopped in mid sentence and without the
least bit of warning used his mighty hind legs to flip the unwary hawk off of him and
directly into the century plant.
"Aa-a-agh!" she screamed. "The
needles! I'm stuck. Oh! The pain!!"
The Hare didn't look back as he scampered off
through the cactus, around the boulders and underneath the nearest creosote bush. He
wanted to put a lot of distance between himself and the hawk.
And although he considered going back and helping
the hawk for the Hare was really a gentle creature, he didn't. He forced himself to stay
away from the Hawk and the century plant because it was clear the Hawk had no intention of
sparing him.
Deep in the canyons and far back in the arroyos
of the desert, the Hare took a serious breath of the hot, stale desert air and was
thankful to be alive. He watched the blue sky above him and the white, puffy clouds
rolling by as he licked his wounds and counted himself quite lucky and a little wiser. He
knew he would never be as old as the century plant, but he was pleased, nonetheless, to
have another day in the sunshine.
The End |
