Cicada photo by Bruce Marlin
Surely one of the best things about living in Beijing has been meeting our driver, Stephen. Although I mostly get around via bicycle (one my other favorite things about living here), I enjoy our encounters and I always learn something new.
Most recently, he bequeathed to my daughter, her first pet. It all started one afternoon when he was driving me to pick her up at school so we could go visit a friend. I heard a distinct chirping noise and thought he had a new ring tone on his cell phone. Finally, chuckling, he looked back at me, “Did you hear that singing?” He then showed me a small gourd with a finely carved wooden top that clearly provided air holes for something. The something, he explained, was a cicada bug. Actually, he described the bug, and I eventually figured out it was a cicada, versus cricket, which had been my first guess.
Stephen said he wanted to give it to Elisa and asked if it would be okay with me. Let’s face it, in American culture, bugs are something that we mostly try to exterminate, but I understood that this was something special to him. Chinese have kept bugs for thousands of years. Because cicadas have the longest life span among insects and shed their skin, they have long represented in China a rebirth of sorts. I have also heard that in ancient times, people would place jade cicadas in the mouths of those who passed to accelerate their ascension to another world.
With this in mind, I told Stephen that Elisa would be honored to accept such a kind gift, knowing that she would absolutely love having a bug, just because it was a bug. Sure enough, when Stephen handed her the gourd, she immediately wanted to see the bug, which she named, “Boxton.” I declined to open it, but Stephen reassured me, saying that the bug would not be able to escape. To demonstrate, he opened the top and we peered in. I have to admit that Boxton was much larger than I had imagined. And I was surprised that I was able to make out so clearly his little eyes looking right back at me.
As we drove, Stephen advised us that Boxton only required a sliver of carrot every so often, which we could slip into the gourd. When we arrived at our destination, though I had been doing my very best to pretend there was nothing I wanted more in life than a pet bug, Stephen said he would take Boxton out of his gourd to show us how safe he was. Unfortunately, his point was lost when, as he dumped Boxton out on to the carpet of the car, our new pet bit or pinched Stephen, eliciting a loud, “ARGHHHH!” Elisa, startled, jumped back. I – in what can only be attributed to an attack of nerves – started laughing uncontrollably. We agreed that Boxton should stay in the gourd going forward (though to my fearless daughter’s credit, she was not deterred by this incident and insisted on removing the lid to show everyone with whom she came into contact her new pet).
When we returned home, I had a talk with Elisa, and we agreed that at some point, we would let Boxton go free. Luckily, she had recently read a book about a butterfly held captive in a jar and understood that Boxton would be happier outside. This perspective was heartily supported by my husband, across whose face passed a look of horror when I opened the lid to show him our newest house guest. With no pretense of machismo, he made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with Boxton. While I, too, was not thrilled with sharing my home with one of the biggest bugs I had ever seen, I was still thankful, once again, to Stephen for sharing a little piece of Chinese culture with my family.
A special thanks to Bruce Marlin, who allows people to publish his photos with attribution, for the cicada pictured above.