The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

“Not that I know of. He traded in beaver and buff, but I don’t believe he had anything other than a pure business interest in them. Strain this for me, won’t you? Then put it in one of those bottles and label it with today’s date. Perhaps it will improve with time. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

I took the beaker from him and poured the contents through a gauze sieve into one of Mother’s empty Lydia Pinkham’s bottles. Sometimes she could really go through that stuff, especially when my brothers got on her nerves (which was a lot of the time). I stoppered the bottle and marked it with a red grease pencil: JULY 1, 1899. I placed it on a shelf next to its many unsuccessful fellows.

“Then how did you come to be interested in science, sir?” I asked.

He stopped what he was doing and appeared to stare out the window, except that I knew you couldn’t see out through the burlap at night, only in.

After a long moment, he said, “It happened at twilight. Eighteen sixty-five. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Matter of fact, I remember it better than I remember yesterday. Old age is a terrible thing, Calpurnia.” He looked at me and said, “Don’t let it happen to you.”

“Nosir,” I said. “I won’t.”

“I was the commanding officer of a troop of boys dragooned from all over Texas. They were fine horsemen, every one of them raised on horseback. They thought they were going for the cavalry, but it turned out they were meant for the infantry. To spend their days marching. My God, the endless complaining when they found out! You never heard such creative profanity. They despised walking, let alone marching. But despite their protestations, a tougher bunch of boys you never saw.

“The sun was setting. It was April on the Sabine River and we had made a cold camp. Our scout was returning, and I threw my arm in the air in silent signal to him and then, the most astounding thing, something flew—thunk!—into my hand. In my shock, my hand closed around the thing tight, and I was amazed to feel warm fur against my palm. It was a young bat, quite small, lying stunned in my grasp.”

“No,” I breathed. “No.”

“Yes,” said Granddaddy. “I was almost as stunned as the poor animal.”

“What did you do?”

“The creature and I regarded each other for a few minutes. It had an intelligent eye and soft, tender fur. It looked like a miniature fox. The wing was leathery, yes, but not cool or repulsive; instead, it was as supple and fine as a kid glove warmed by a lady’s hand.”

I wondered what I would do if a bat flew into my hand. Probably shriek and drop it. Maybe even faint. I considered this. I’d never fainted in my life, but I thought it sounded like an interesting experience.

“I wrapped it up in my last remaining handkerchief and tucked it inside my shirt to keep it warm. It made no protest to any of these attentions. I took it to my tent. Before I prepared for bed, I took it from its wrapping and turned it upside down and touched its feet to a length of rope I had strung up inside my tent to dry my clothes. Although it still seemed only partly sensible to its surroundings, its feet gripped the twine in what I supposed to be a kind of primitive reflex, and it folded itself with particularity and hung there as if in nature, presenting a compact parcel surprisingly tidy and pleasing to the eye.

“I left the flap of my tent open, and at some point during that long, cold night, I awoke to the air around me quivering, if you will—I cannot describe it any better—as the bat flew around my head and then out into the night. I wished him Godspeed.”

Listening to Granddaddy, I had the strangest feeling. I didn’t know whether to cheer or cry.

“But that’s not the end of the tale,” he said. “Hand me that length of rubber tubing, won’t you? I awoke before dawn. Since we had no fire, my man brought me a basin of cold water for my morning toilet. I had dressed and prepared to leave my tent, when the air whirred around me. My friend was back, settling himself on my clothesline.”

“He came back?” I cried.

“My very own bat,” he said, “or I must assume so. One bat looks much like another to the untutored human eye. He hung there regarding me placidly enough, then went to sleep. I refer to it as he, but, of course, I had no basis in fact for this assumption. As it turns out, sexing the young bat is not a difficult proposition, but I did not know it then.”

“Did you keep him?” I said. “Did you keep him?”

“He slept in my tent as my guest all that day.” Granddaddy smiled, illuminated by the flickering yellow light of the lamps, steeped in delightful memory. Then his face changed.

“I’ll never forget that day,” he said. “The Federals fell upon us two hours after sunrise and kept after us until the sun went down. They had hauled in a couple of twelve-pounders and they hammered the hell out of us until we could not hear for the cannon noise or see for the smoke. The minié balls took a terrible toll. We were hemmed in.