Preying on the mantis

A praying mantis visited our modest abode the other day. In my kung fu practice I naturally have heard about the praying mantis as a style, and even did some taolu of the abovementioned style, but never in my life had I seen a representative of the species in the immediate proximity. And this hour has come. (gong-g-g-g-g)

The critter was huge at close-up. About 5 inches long, flying around the room like a noisy locust. An amazing sight. My wife says they are nothing special, pretty obvious inhabitants of these areas, and that if you squash their bellies, a stinky gooey goo comes out and it's better not to squash them. Like I would think about it.

The visitor flew around the room for a while, perched on the roof of a wardrobe observing the interior, and made a beeline to the water dispenser. I just looked on, giving in to those momentary flashes of fantasies that it could be my half-tamed house pet, living behind the water bottle and from time to tome giving me an insight into some tricky martial arts movements. I didn’t even come closer to have a better look, building up that invisible bond at a distance.

The climax came deep in the night. I was exiting the kitchen with a glass of water in my hand when I noticed our visitor against the whiteness of the wall. The mantis sat in its full greenness on top of the tipped water bottle, rocking slowly and graciously from side to side. Ever so slowly it raised one of its front legs and put it on the wall, its body still wafting, then its other front limb let go of the surface of the bottle and the mantis stood up on those other many legs that were left, performing exactly that stance that makes this kung fu style stand out form amongst all the others. You know, that praying mantis position, with the palms like hooks, sitting low on the hind leg, the other lightly touching the ground in front of you, rocking gently like a charged spring? That one. I was spellbound and looked it in what I think were the eyes. My head started bobbing up and down to the rhythm of the insect’s movements. I felt like a recluse somewhere in a bamboo grove of the Wu Dang mountains, standing on all fours and drinking in the movements of the praying mantis on a moss-covered path, wanting it to teach me all its moves, wanting to create an invincible style of fight, repeating all the stances.

My wife came by and in the silence of the night started sharing the moment. I love the way she smiles sometimes at me, understandingly, her head a little atilt, an eyebrow raised daintily. She shared the moment a little longer and asked: “Whatever are you doing?”

I felt like saying “May I keep it?”, but the man in me translated this message into a more virile “What will we do with it?”

Turned out it was better if we got rid of it and sent it flying from the balcony into the freedom of the night. Lisa kept looking at me and I started to feel she was expecting something. I looked right back at her with innocent eyes of a Green Peace activist. She raised the other eyebrow, shook her head, sighed out my name and took a napkin. As her fearless hand was nearing the mantis, in a swift move the warrior insect flew up and hung a semi-circle around me. The maneuver worthy of a great fighter. An instant later, as I was turning my head to see where it landed, something shattered my peaceful reality jerking me out of the bamboo grove. A sneaky hand from the outside treacherously crashed the tender walls of the idyllic word and grabbed my leg with its hairy tentacles. I momentarily looked down, saw the mantis who must have erroneously took me for an enemy and, in a jiffy assessing the situation, valiantly shook my leg, gave out a brave yawl meant to scare the adversary, and jumping back into a more advantageous position, caught the glass of water in mid-air, masterfully managing to save the whole half of it. The mistaken mantis landed on the floor not far away from me.

My wife was looking at me in an astonished way, and this time both her eyebrows were showing unreserved awe. She wanted to ask me something along the lines of 'Serge, how could you...', but the doughty mantis was hopping away towards the shoe rack, and the question about my bravery went unfinished. My wife performed the catching of the mantis in an ok way, as far as her female aptness allowed her; but again, it’s hard not to give in to a human in an unequal fight unless you are a cartoon.

The mantis flew on its way from the balcony to be eaten by a female of its species. Or, possibly, to eat a male. And my wife, returning from the balcony, happily laughed, looking at me, this time her eyebrows at a normal level, now that under my directions a worthy but possibly misled combatant was launched into the night.
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* photo of a real mantis by stormahawk