Flyboy Action Figure Comes With Gasmask | Page 6

great. He's so *deep* about the whole thing."
I nodded and smiled, but I was a bit annoyed. It was definitely catering to children, and I had called ahead to make sure it wasn't going to be a kiddie thing. But Ken and I were the only attendees whose feet weren't dangling, and the territory he was going over was very familiar to me.
"They have a tiny kingdom of their own, these little critters, so don't think you own them. They might bring back an army of their friends and attack you some day!" The man's face was pouchy but quite lively, and his little talk was better than average. It was funny (well, eight-year-old funny) and taught that the insect world was to be marvelled at, not just observed.
Ken was watching the kids in the audience, mostly. Making faces at one of them. I was glad he wasn't bored silly, because it wasn't possible to leave that small room without feeling like a jerk.
But it was almost over, and the man was taking questions. One boy, his face engulfed in glasses, asked if it was OK to play with bugs, does it hurt them? Ken, looking at the kid, said *aw, what a cutie* to me.
"I don't know for sure, but I don't think so. I'll tell you what my granddaughter does. When she digs in the garden, she finds these June bugs sleeping just under the surface -- they go there when it's cold, you see, 'cause it's warmer there. She picks them up and puts them in her pockets," he mimed putting something in his cardigan pocket, and patting it very gently, "and then she goes inside and takes them out and plays with them. They're sleepy, but then they warm up and frisk around, and when she gets tired of playing with them she goes and tucks them into their dirt beds." The children brayed with delight at this last image and the kid with the question looked happy.
"Do bugs eat people?" was the next question. It came from a big kid who knew better. The old man's answer was pretty honest, although he made parasites sound like pets.
A few more questions and then it was over. At forums like these I would usually chat with the speaker, get a feel for how adventurous and open-minded he was. Every so often I'd run into a rogue scientist this way, willing to entertain even the most absurd of questions, and I'd offer my lab assistance. I'd usually find out, through gradual prods and such, that their open-mindedness only extended so far -- so I couldn't trust them, ultimately. Not with the questions I had.
But this guy seemed small-fry. I had heard that he was involved with some pretty groundbreaking stuff concerning insect myths, and I knew I had heard his name before, but it looked like he was more into the children angle. Still, I didn't like to think of this as a total waste of time, so I scribbled up a note with my number on it. His fans, a tall girl with a grave face and the little boy with the glasses, had books for him to sign. I passed the note to him over their heads and left. I glanced back through the window and saw the little boy making tiny adultlike gestures with his hand as his mother beamed on with pride.
* * *
"So you're a real bug scenester," Ken said. "I knew you were into them, but you're like a mover and shaker."
"A little bit," I said. We had gone to a restaurant to get out of the cold and to fill Ken's belly. He was a vegetarian, so he was eating some noodley stuff. I hadn't been here before but could read by the backwards name in the window that it was called Kensington Bakery.
"I've been interested in the Little Kingdom since I was a kid. I know most of the people in the city who are involved with the subject, met them over the years. There aren't really all that many. That Crawford guy just moved to the city, so I wanted to check him out."
Ken was deep into his noodles, so as he nodded they bobbed up and down. He was one of the few people who didn't look at my interest in insects as an extended childhoodism or an odd fetish. He had a mind that was free of the dust and grime that most people accumulate over twenty years, quick to dream and laugh and slow to judge. He had old-man hair, white-blond, with crinkly, wide, youngster-eyes.
"I like buggies. They're nice. I think I'd like some to eat right now," he said, gnashing at his noodles.
"Would you eat bugs?" I asked, thinking about the vegetarian thing.
"If they were