It Is Better To Have Loved

Loneliness is a difficult emotion to deal with. So it's only natural to want companionship, whether they're human or animal. Humans call them “pets” and they usually choose one that's no larger than themselves. They don't mind if the pet can't speak their language; it's the bond that they share that counts. The perpetual disadvantage is that it's more likely that the human will outlive their pet, and thus time and again they're forced to choose another pet.

However, when one of my species chooses a pet, we tend to prefer one that we can converse with. Which leaves just one species to choose from: humans. And, sadly, their lifespans are not only ephemeral, but considerably less than our own.

I was especially happy with my last pet. He lived more than a century, and we had many wonderful conversations over the decades. Until he grew too feeble of mind and voice to speak. He would simply listen as I told him about myself. I wept the day he died. I also wept for weeks and months after he died.

My brother traveled from southern Egypt to eastern Anatolia and spent a day with me. He hugged me, but the hugs didn't have the power they once had. I felt as empty as ever.

He finally said, “This grief does you no good, Narathi. The wisest thing to do is: choose another pet. Then you can return to the warmth and happiness you shared with your last one.”

“But they won't be the same, Khabu,” I protested.

“Of course; they never will be”, my brother said. “That wasn't a problem before. Why is it now?”

I hung my head, trying to hide it with my wings.

“You didn't,” he said. “Please say you didn't.”

I nodded. “I did.”

“Of all the foolish things to do,” Khabu said. “Why, Narathi?”

“I couldn't help it!” I cried, tears falling from my eyes and hissing as they hit the ground beneath me. “He made me happier than any other human ever did. He cared about me! He really did! What was I supposed to do? Eat him?”

Khabu said nothing. Instead, he walked several feet away and stopped, facing away from me, his wings tucked against the flanks of his body.

“What would you have done?” I asked. “If you'd been in my place?”

“I wouldn't have gotten involved,” he said. “I would've reminded myself that we have outlived thousands of humans. Maybe millions by now. Their lives are brief flashes of light compared to ours. There is nothing we can do about it. To fall in love would be a huge mistake.”

“And you never did it?” I asked angrily. “You never fell in love with a human? I find that hard to believe, Khabu.”

“Once,” he said. “A very long time ago. When you and I were much younger. Before we reached adulthood. When I was less wise than I am now.” He sighed. “She was beautiful. She was very intelligent. Our conversations were long and deep. I probably learned far more from her than she learned from me. I still remember her sitting between my front paws, her back leaning against my chest. Her soft, warm voice. The sound of the River Nile flowing past us, on its way north to the distant Delta.”

----------

“Life is more enjoyable with you in it, Mutassi,” I said one day, immediately wishing I'd kept it to myself.

“Is it?” she asked. “I feel the same about you, Khabu. You've opened my eyes in so many ways.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I said.

“See?” she said with a laugh. “A fair trade. What more could I ask for?”

“But you don't mind?” I asked. “That one day you'll die?”

“We're both mortal,” Mutassi said. “Your life is simply longer than mine. Here in the present, we live the same way, enjoying every moment as it comes.”

“And in the future I'll be alone again,” I said.

“Don't dwell on it,” she said. “Enjoy what we have here and now. When I'm gone, you'll have plenty of memories of me. In the Afterlife, I won't forget you. I will always take my memories of you wherever I go.”

I lowered my head and felt her fingers twine themselves with my beard. I would miss that, too, when the day came.

“I will do what I can,” I said. “Thank you for all you have given me.”

“It's the least I could do,” she said and kissed my bearded chin. “Now, let's return to our discussion of Platonic philosophy and why you think that Plato was a fraud.”

“You disagree?” I asked.

“For now, yes,” Mutassi said. “What good is an argument if both sides agree?”

I laughed softly. “How true.”

“Prove to me why Plato was nothing more than a thief, stealing from his teacher, Socrates,” she said.

“Fair enough,” I said. “After all, once one is dead, there isn't much one can do to stop posterity from pilfering.”

“You won't do that to me, will you?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Never.”

----------

“Perhaps,” my brother suggested, “you could choose a female pet this time.”

“To avoid the risk of falling in love?” I asked. “It could still happen.”

“I was not thinking in that direction,” he said and laid down, his tail curled around his body, his eyes back on me. “All your previous pets were male. Perhaps it's time for something new, something different.”

“Perhaps,” I said, not entirely convinced.

“Don't discard it as a possibility,” Khabu said. “After all, you might find your new pet when you least expect to.”

“Want to bet?” I asked.

“Not against you, Narathi,” he said. “I lost the last time we made bets.”

“You never know,” I said. “You might win this time.”

He shook his head and smiled. “I have a new riddle for you to share with your next visitor.”

“Oh?” I asked, distracted and interested. “If it's about a golden treasure inside a white box, I've already heard of it.”

“No eggs this time,” he said.

----------

Time passed. Empires rose, spread, shrank, and fell.

My brother retreated southward from Egypt and spent time in Meroe. I retreated further eastward, climbing into the mountains that separated Anatolia from Armenia. I was tempted to head northward, but the remoteness of my new territory was more attractive.

It would've been more enjoyable were I not still alone. Most humans avoided the mountains. Their wars took place far from me. Travelers seeking Noah's Ark would pass me, without even noticing me. Perhaps they thought I was nothing but a collection of various-sized boulders. Perhaps they no longer believed that my species still existed.

One day I heard a baby's cry. But there was no answer from its parents. The baby cried again and again.

I followed the cries to their source: a baby wrapped in a pale blue blanket, leaving the face uncovered, lay on a mountain path, far from the nearest human habitation.

Crouching next to the baby, I looked down at its face. The baby clenched its fists and covering its eyes with them. It seemed about to cry again when it stopped. It removed its fists from its eyes and looked at me. As far as I could tell, it was a baby girl.

“You're a very long way from home,” I told her. “Surely your parents didn't abandon you here.”

The baby didn't speak. Instead, she squirmed until she freed her hands and arms. She reached up toward me. Her mouth opened.

“Ah,” I said. “I think I know what you want, little one. You're hungry.”

I carefully picked her up and brought her close to my chest. “Don't bite.” She didn't.

An unfamiliar feeling of warmth and love spread throughout me as she fed. Finished, she smiled, burped, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. Remembering where Mutassi had sat when she was with my brother, I carefully lowered the baby until she lay between my paws and my chest.

“At least you're easy to take care of,” I said. “If your parents haven't named you, perhaps I could name you myself.” I looked at her for what felt like hours. “Althea.”

She wriggled into a more comfortable position and continued to sleep.

“It seems that I have found my new pet,” I said softly. “And such a wonderful, beautiful pet you are. Perhaps one day you'll return to your kind. For now, you can stay with me.”

I made sure to keep myself well-fed so that there was plenty of milk for Althea to imbibe.

It wasn't hard. There were various animals who lived in these mountains. Animals who weren't used to predators such as myself. A few blows from my forepaws was enough to kill them. Then I would drag their bodies back to my hiding place, where I could eat them. I rarely went hungry for more than a few hours.

----------

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years.

Althea grew tall, strong, and beautiful. She didn't seem to mind that I was her only company or that we looked almost nothing alike. Whatever memories she'd had of her parents were probably long faded or buried deep in her mind. I'd been her mother since she was a baby and that was fine with her.

“Mitéra*?” she'd ask.

(* Greek for “mother”.)

And I'd say, “Yes, Kóri**?”

(** Greek for “daughter”.)

“Are there any others like you?” she'd ask.

“Not as many as there are of you,” I'd say.

“Were there more when you were young like I am?” she'd ask.

“That was a long time ago, Althea,” I'd say.

“Were there?” she'd persist.

“A little more,” I'd say. “There were never that many of us even five thousand years ago.”

“And there are fewer of you now?” she'd ask.

I'd nod. “Unlike your species, we don't breed often and even then, we might have only one child during our entire lifetime. I was my parents' only child.”

“Just like I was,” Althea would say. “Maybe that's why we get along so well.”

I'd smile. “Not always so well. Sometimes you're far more rebellious than I ever was.”

“That's probably just because I get bored more often than you did,” she'd say.

“Probably,” I'd agree.

“Do you think we'll ever meet more of my species?” she'd ask.

“Only if we leave these mountains,” I'd say.

“Will we?” she'd ask.

“I doubt it,” I'd say. “We're safer here.”

-----------

As she grew older, I taught her what I'd learned since I was very young, our discussions would grow longer and deeper. It reminded me of what my brother had said of his life with Mutassa. But in this case, there was little danger that I might grow to romantically love Althea. I was her mother, after all, not her lover.

One springtime, we found a mountain meadow filled with wildflowers. I couldn't remember if we'd ever been there before. It didn't seem likely. Off in the distance, we could see small herd animals feeding on the wildflowers.

Althea danced and twirled. She collected a handful of them and held them up to my nose so that I could smell them.

“Don't eat them, Mitéra,” she said. “Just sniff them.”

I did so. “They smell wonderful, Althea. Do you want to bring them back to our hiding place?”

“Don't they need water to survive?” she asked.

I nodded.

She looked sadly at the flowers she'd picked. “I wish I had left them where they were, then.”

“There will always be more of them,” I said. “Maybe we can make something to put water in. Then we can put the flowers in there, too.”

“Maybe,” Althea said.

It was after sunset when we left the mountain meadow and headed home. Althea lay on my back, between my wings, her arm gently encircling my neck. She asked me to sing her a song that I used to sing when she was a baby. I did so, finishing when we re-entered our hiding place.

I crouched, and she slid down my back toward my tail, as she usually did.

Together we found some clay and she made a rough vase from it. Then she carefully laid the vase in the fire pit, where it could bake until morning. Hopefully the wildflowers would still be alive by then.

In the morning, she was quietly lying on her side, looking at the dead wildflowers.

“I guess some things aren't meant to last,” she said.

“Just because they won't live forever, it doesn't mean we shouldn't enjoy them while they're still alive,” I said.

Althea looked over at me. “Like with us humans?”

“You're much more special to me than any wildflower,” I said.

“And when I'm dead and gone?” she asked.

“I'll probably cry my heart out,” I said. “Like I did the last time one of my human friends died. It was like this huge hole inside of me that I thought would never be full again.”

“Until you found me when I was a baby,” she said.

I nodded. “The best day of my entire life.”

She stood up, came over to me, and hugged me around the neck. “I love you, Mitéra.”

“I love you, too, Kóri,” I said.

“Was it worth it?” she asked, looking into my big dark eyes.

“Every single bit,” I said.

---------

Althea grew older. Her skin lay looser over her thinning bones. Her hair was thinner as it turned silver and white. She walked more hunched-over than she used to. She leaned on me as she stood up each morning more than she used to.

It hurt. It hurt to see her physical changes. Knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop them.

And then the day came. The day I'd dreaded. The day I'd experienced so many times before. The day that had reduced me to tears when my previous human pet died.

She lay near the fire pit, shivering under her blanket. I curled up next to her, giving her all the warmth that I could give. Her tired eyes tried to stay open, but kept closing. They finally stayed closed. But she still lived.

“Mitéra?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

“Yes, Kóri?” I said softly.

“Do you regret anything?” she asked.

I looked at her, remembering her as a baby, remembering as she'd grown up.

I shook my head. “No. It was worth it. As a poet once said a long time ago:

It is better to have loved and lost

Than to have never loved at all.” ***

(*** from a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

Her breathing slowed. “I'm glad we found each other.”

“So am I,” I said.

“Don't forget me,” she whispered.

“Never,” I said.

Her breathing slowed further, and then stopped.

I stayed beside her until the following morning.

Over the next few hours, I built a sort of sled out of the wood I found on the mountainside. I laid Althea's body on it, and pushed it to the mountain meadow. The route was harder this way, but I figured that I owed it to her to bring her back.

The wildflowers were there again. I wished she could see them. She loved them so much.

I dug a shallow pit, maybe a few feet deep and long enough to fit her. Then I carefully laid her body in the pit. She looked like she was just sleeping. If only she'd wake again. But I knew she wouldn't.

I covered the pit with the earth I'd removed, patting it down. Picking a dozen wildflowers, I poked them into the surface of Althea's grave, so that they'd stand at least mostly vertically. A breeze briefly played with the flowers and I could smell them.

“Godspeed, Althea,” I whispered. “We'll be together again someday.”

----------

Back in my hiding place, I laid next to the fire pit, expecting to cry. The tears wouldn't come. The ache from the hole inside me was worse than it was the previous time.

I covered my face with my paws.

I could almost hear my brother say, “You've done it again, Narathi.”

“I know, Khabu,” I whispered. “It just gets harder each time. If only I could've been a human instead of a sphinx. Did you ever feel like that sometimes?”

“More times than I care to count,” his voice said. “Sleep well, Sister.”

I nodded and drifted off into the darkness.

In my dreams, I thought I could hear Althea's voice calling to me. “Mitéra!”

She sounds so far away. I'm probably just imagining things.

“Mitéra!” Althea called to me, sounding closer now.

“Kóri?” I asked. “Are you really here?”

“I'm always here,” she said and gently laughed. “Where else would I be?”

“I wish I could be with you,” I said, feeling miserable. “I miss you so much.”

“But you can,” she said.

“I can?” I asked. “But how?”

“Just open your eyes,” she said.