Ahimsa by Josie Tagliente art by Michael Chesworth

Once when I was four, Mom attacked a keyhole with a paper towel,

wiping a spider clear out of existence.

“Stop!” I yelled. “She’s somebody’s mother!”

Mom told everyone. I don’t think it

stopped anybody from killing spiders. She,

however, began to cup paper towels around

the intruders and whisk them outdoors to

freedom.

Mom’s friend said that I was practicing

ahimsa, the belief that people shouldn’t harm

other living things. She told me that Hindus

and Buddhists believe that the lives of even

the tiniest creatures are precious and must be

honored, and we should never do them harm.

EVEN THE TINIEST ESPECIALLY THE LIVES ARE PRECIOUS. TINIEST LIVES!

2

One summer day, Mom and I were at the local

greenhouse. A tall, bushy vine with bright green leaves caught

my attention. A grapevine! I begged Mom to buy one.

“Gol, Lily,” she exclaimed, “where would we plant it? In

our apartment everything we grow has to be in pots.”

“Oh, Mom, we can find something big enough.” I pulled

out my allowance money, which I’d planned to spend on

Rollerblades.

“You want it that badly?” Mom asked in disbelief.

“Yeah! Wouldn’t it be fun to have grapes from our own vine?”

Mom sighed, giving in. “All right,” she said. “But you’ll

have to take good care of it yourself.”

When we got home, we cut away the container with

heavy garden snips and planted the vine outside in the

turtle bin. It would receive nourishment from the soil, and

the roots would have room to grow. I gently tied the lanky

branches to the trellis against the stone wall with brightly

colored yarn.

By the end of the summer, the longest branches had spread

over the wall. The vine was beautiful, the first thing people

noticed as they walked toward our apartment.

In the fall, Mom and I clipped the branches back at the

advice of the greenhouse man. “Not too far back the first year,”

he’d said. “Give the vine a chance to grow.” I missed the trailing

leaves on the stone wall. It now looked as bare as a sheared lamb.

3

In March of the following spring, I noticed tiny shoots of

bright green bursting through the dry wood of the vine. Every

day more glossy baby buds popped their fringed heads out.

They grew faster than we could have imagined.

As the weeks melted into summer, the vine provided

shade for the turtles in the bin. By July the leaves had

started to peek over the wall to our neighbor’s patio as

well. I could measure the buds one day, and the next

they would be almost twice the size, with new ones

appearing overnight. Tiny clusters of grapes no bigger

than a ladybug’s coat began to form near the leaves. The

greenhouse man told us if they ripened into real grapes the

first year, they would be very small.

One day, as I was watering, the most magical thing

happened. A beautiful midnight blue bug landed on my white

T-shirt just below the shoulder.

“Hello, pretty one,” I whispered. She didn’t move. Delicate

translucent wings fluttered into a Y shape, hanging just

behind her body and remaining slightly open. Her antennae

had tiny feathery hairs on the edges, as did the tips of her

wings—a tiny, elegant princess.

I kept talking to her as I walked slowly around. She clung

to my shirt, making no motion to fly away. When she left, I

was overwhelmed.

That evening, I told Mom what had happened.

TRANSLUCENT MEANS SO THIN AND SHEER THAT LIGHT SHINES THROUGH.

4

“I’ve never seen what you describe, Lily. Sounds like a

spiritual experience,” she said.

“It was amazing, Mom.”

One morning, weeks later, I stepped onto the patio to feed

my early rising turtles. In the purple light of dawn, the grape

leaves appeared brown and lacy. Something was wrong with

my vine!

I felt the throb of tears swelling under my eyelids. I ran in

to wake Mom, who stumbled out clutching her robe.

“Oh my,” she said. “What is that?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t notice it yesterday.”

I held up a branch and suddenly felt a burning pinch. Part

of my arm itched badly, and welts swelled on my skin.

5

I called the man at the nursery to describe what had

happened. He called the culprit Harrisina brillians, the Western

grapeleaf skeletonizer moth, who feeds on the leaves in her

caterpillar stage. He recommended a chemical with a long name.

“No, sir,” I said. “No chemicals.”

Later that day I looked up skeletonizers on the Internet,

hoping for information that would keep the bugs away. Scrolling

down, I saw a photograph of the caterpillars, black and yellow

stripes chewing away. I kept scrolling.

Suddenly, there appeared, in full midnight blue, my elegant

princess. A skeletonizer moth! How could this be?

The photograph showed her dark, thin wings spread back—

the same glorious creature, laying eggs on a grapevine.

I was stunned. My moth had laid the eggs. Her babies were

destroying my vine!

I read some more. The hairs on the caterpillar are the parts

that burn. They break off when disturbed, stinging whoever

touches them. This is how the bugs protect themselves. Harrisina

brillians are found in the Southwest, where we lived.

A major problem for vineyards, the article said. An organic

substance called Bacillus thuringiensis, a product used widely by

California grape growers, was recommended for exterminating

the moths.

Back to the nursery for Bacillus. The man smiled. He said we

had made the right choice.

6

I had intended to use the liquid abundantly, until I read

the label. It was organic, all right. However, it needed to

be mixed. After using it, the bottle could not be stored,

nor could you use the rest of the stuff for another spraying.

Recommendations were to start all over again, after throwing

away the previous liquid. The warning label had elaborate

instructions for disposing of the original container.

Mom agreed to help me. We sat covered from head to toe,

each with a spray bottle in our gloved hands. Mom stared into

space, and I was hysterical.

“Mom, we can’t do this. The poor bugs and turtles!”

She nodded and sighed, thinking the same thing.

The next afternoon, wearing long sleeves and gloves to

avoid touching anything, I clipped the vine as much as I

could. It was being destroyed, anyway. And I cried. What

a mess! The cuttings left a pile of lacy leaves and wilting

branches on the patio floor. I stuffed it all into garbage bags

and hauled them to the Dumpster. Maybe the caterpillars

would just continue eating on their voyage to the dump.

Hopefully they wouldn’t be crushed.

Within the week, bright green leaf babies began to pop up

again on the desolate twigs, just as they had in the spring. But

the leaves continued to be devoured, and I just kept clipping.

One day, as I was misting the vine, something flittered

into my vision. There she was! My midnight moth.

7

8

She circled the vine slowly, deliberately, landing in a whisper.

Repeating this ritual several times, she finally chose the right

spot for her eggs, oblivious to me watching her. Her velvet

body steady, shimmering wings fluttering, she leaned in

toward the shiny leaf directly above me.

I moved silently into the house to get a jar from the

cupboard. I pounded several tiny nail holes into the lid and

quietly went back to the patio. I carefully cupped the jar over

my moth, pinching off the grape leaf she had attached herself

to, and slid the lid into place. I added a few more leaves to

make her comfortable.

My heart fluttered. How could such a thing of beauty cause

so much destruction?

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught another moth

slipping into the tangle of vines, just as the first one had. Again I

slid the jar over her, careful not to release the other one. I caught

three that day and sprinkled plenty of water and leaves into the

container for them. Sitting very still, I held the jar, thinking.

“I know where I’ll take you,” I whispered.

That night Mom and I gazed at the lovely ladies in

confinement. They accepted their captivity. They didn’t even

try to escape. It occurred to me that they might be at the end

of their life cycles. It made me sad. I had made a decision

that I was not totally sure of. Perhaps I was interrupting the

natural order.

THAT MOTH REALLY IS A PEST! WHAT CAN SHE COULD ALWAYS

LILY DO? GET HER GRAPES AT THE STORE...

9

I announced my plan.

Mom nodded and said, “Ahimsa.”

The next morning I rode the bus to the desert. I placed the

jar near some bushes and released the lid.

The moths wouldn’t fly immediately. The moisture in the

jar seemed to restrict the movement of their wings. I waited

with them until they were all free.

“Be safe,” I whispered. It was my prayer for them.

Back home, the caterpillars continued their work. I cut off the

leaves and placed them in bags. They went to the desert as well.

Was I doing the right thing? I wondered. Could the

desert handle them? Would I have to continue this for the

rest of my life?

The grapes grew sweet. They were the size of miniature

marbles. I sat under the umbrella shade of the vine, my

beautiful vine. I thought of the first time I’d seen my

midnight blue princess moth. Of the way she’d landed on my

shoulder and stayed. And I hoped with all my heart that she

liked living in the desert.

SOMETIMES IT’S HARD TO KNOW

THE RIGHT THING TO DO. NOBUGGY’S PERFECT! EXCEPT

ME!

10

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Cricket Media® Books for Kids at Every Stage!

Imaginative Stories and Poetry from CRICKET® Magazine

Fiction Realism 710L • 1640 words

Art © 2007 by Michael Chesworth

Copyright © 2018 by Carus Publishing Company. All rights reserved, including right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form.

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ISBN 978-1-64262-146-4