bathroom is utility- toothbrush toothpaste toilet bucket. I once saw an artist who was trying to unite the act of eating and shitting, one publicly acceptable and the other not. Its like opening a closet, I like that name- water closet, water board.
I am watching an ant die. He’s big and black with a pointy, bee-sting bottom. The kind of ant that crawled in a line in picnics, in children’s story books.
I am peeing, and I see him on the floor. He’s the largest ant to come in my bathroom so far. He barely moves. He’s lying in the beige grout between 10cm^2 tiles which is roughly the size of my hand. He has three distinct body sections and 6 legs with almost a 90-degree bend in each.
Close to the front, I see him push up with 2 or 3 legs. I don’t remember. The middle one doesn’t move, its not working. The ant doesn’t move very far.
I flush.
I’m showering, there’s an ant walking the outer edge of the (I would say tub, but I’m in India now and we don’t have those). Well. I pour a mug of water on him, hoping he’ll go down the drain. He goes under the pink stool my bucket rests on, and I can’t see him anymore. I start lathering soap and see him climbing up the wall.
Oh well. I pour more water on him.
The itsy-bitsy spider falls down the water spout. Down comes the rain and wash the spider out.
I’m shampooing and there he is again! Made it through the puddle of water and is steadily trying to climb up the other side of the wall. Different. Huh.
There’s something strange about the way the light hits the dark. I take photos. You can’t tell its me.
Before dinner, I’m peeing again. The big, black ant is sprawled on its back, 6 legs in the air. I thought. But its not, its still alive. Still in that same grout, near my dirty underwear. He can barely move. I decided not to ‘mercy’ kill him. I don’t know what ants are like, it seems like a better choice to let him live out the end of his life. Plus, he’s so fat I’d have to clean a mushed ant black spot from the white tile. Usually, I throw ants down the stairs or outside, but I don’t want to break more of his legs.
I don’t know how to help him. I think of the Wazirabad brothers who taught themselves to operate on injured birds and heal them. I never heard of an ant hospital. He’s not dead yet, but I’m watching an ant die.
I try to write like Ursula. But her descriptions are in one instant the gentle feeling and warmth of sunlight on your skin and then meticulously cataloged misery. I try to write symbolically and then I realize Ursula writes long descriptions explicitly.