James Tiptree Jr. - Love is the Plan the Plan is Death

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JAMES TIPTREE, JR.

Love Is the Plan

the Plan Is Death

"Why do mankind flatter themselves that they alone are gifted with a spiritual

and immortal principle? . . . I am persuaded that if a peacock could speak he

would boast of his soul, and would affirm that it inhabited his magnificent

tail," (Voltaire). "My first act of free will is to believe in free will,"

said William James. Illusions, a Skinnerian might reply. The perfect joy, the

perfect love will ensue only if one accepts and embraces one's .destiny. I

choose-because I must. This is a story of joy and love and destiny.

Remembering-Do you hear, my little red?

Hold me softly. The cold grows.

I remember:

-I am hugely black and hopeful, I bounce on six legs along the mountains

in the new warm! . . . Sing the changer, Sing the stranger! Will the changes

change forever? . . . All my hums have words now. Another change!

Eagerly I bound on sunward following the tiny thrill in the air. The

forests have been shrinking again. Then I see. It is me! Me Myself,

MOGGADEET-I have grown bigger more in the winter cold! I astonish myself,

Moggadeet-the-small!

Excitement, enticement shrilling from the sun-side of the world. I come!

. . . The sun is changing again, too. Sun is walking in the night! Sun is

walking back to Summer in the warming of the light! . . . Warm is Me Moggadeet

Myself. Forget the bad-time winter.

Memory quakes me.

The Old One.

I stop, pluck up a tree. So much I wanted to ask the Old One. No time.

Cold. Tree goes end over end down cliff, I watch the fat climbers tumble out.

Not hungry.

The Old One warned me of the cold-I didn't believe him. I move on,

grieving . . . Old One told you, The cold, the cold will hold you. Chill cold!

Kill cold. In the cold I killed you.

But it's warm now, all different. I'm Moggadeet again.

I bound over a hill and see my brother Frim.

At first I don't know him. A big black old one! I think. And in the

warm, we can speak!

I surge toward him bashing trees. The big black is crouched over a

ravine, peering down. Black back has shiny ripples like-It IS Frim!

Frim-I-hunted-for, Frim-run-away! But he's so big now! Giant Frim! A stranger,

a changer-

"Frim!"

He doesn't hear me; all his eye-turrets are under the trees. His end is

sticking up odd like, all atremble. What's he hunting?

"Frim! It's me, Moggadeet!"

But he only quivers his legs; I see his spurs pushing out. What a fool,

Frim! I remind myself how timid he is, I try to move gently. When I get closer

I'm astonished again. I'm bigger than he is now! Changes! I can see right over

his shoulder into the ravine.

Hot yellow-green in there. A little glade all lit with sun. I bend my

eyes to see what Frim is after :and all astonishments blow up the world.

I see you.

I saw you.

I will always see you. Dancing in the green fire,

my tiny red star! So bright! So small! So perfect! So

fierce! I knew you-Oh yes I knew you in that first

instant, my dawnberry, my scarlet minikin. Red! A

tiny baby red one, smaller than my smallest eye. And

so brave! -

The Old One said it. Red is the color of love.

I see you swat at a hopper twice your size, my eyes bulge as you leap

after it and go rolling, shrilling Lililee! Lilileee-ee! in baby wrath. Oh my

mighty hunter, you don't know someone is looking right into your tender little

love-fur! Oh yes! Palest pink it is, just brushed with rose. My jaws spurt,

the world flashes and reels.

And then Frim, poor fool, feels me behind him and rears up.

But what a Frim! His throat-sacs are ballooning purple-black, his plates

are engorged like the Mother of the storm-clouds! Glittering, rattling his

spurs! His tail booms! "It's mine!" he bellows-I can hardly understand him. He

jumps straight at me!

"Stop, Frim, stop!" I cry, dodging away bewildered. It's warm how can

Frim be wild, kill-wild?

"Brother Frim!" I call gently, soothingly. But something is badly wrong!

My voice is bellowing too! Yes, in the warm and I want only to calm him, I am

full of love-but the kill-roar is rushing through me, I too am swelling,

rattling, booming! Invincible! To crush-to rend

Oh, I am shamed.

I came to myself in the wreckage of Frim, Frimpieces everywhere, myself

is sodden with Frim. But I did not eat him! I did not! Should I take joy in

that? Did I defy the Plan? But my throat was closed. Not because it was Frim

but because of darling you. You! Where are you? The glade is empty! Oh fearful

fear, I have frightened you, you are run away! I forget Frim. I forget

everything but you my heartmeat, my precious tiny red.

I smash trees, I uproot rocks, I tear the ravine open! Oh, where are you

hiding? Suddenly I have a new fear: Has my wild search harmed you? I force

myself calm. I begin questing, circling, ever wider over the trees, moving

cloud-silent, thrusting my eyes and ears down into every glade. A new humming

fills my throat. Oooo, Oo-oo, Rum-a-looly-loo, I moan. Hunting, hunting for

you. Once I glimpse a black bigness far away and I am suddenly up at my full

height, roaring. Attack the black! Was it another brother? I would slay him,

but -the stranger is already vanishing. I roar again. Noit roars me, the new

power of black. Yet deep inside, Myself-Moggadeet is watching, fearing. Attack

the black-even in the warm? Is there no safety, are we

truly like the fatclimbers? But at the same time it feels-oh, right! Oh, good!

Sweet is the Plan. I give myself up to seeking you, my new song longing Ooloo

and Looly rum-a-loo-oo-loo.

And you answered! You!.

So tiny you, hidden under a leaf! Shrilling Li! Li Lililee! Trilling,

thrilling-half-mocking, already imperious. Oh, how I whirl, crash, try to look

under all my feet, stop frozen in horror of squashing the Lilild Lee! Rocking,

longing, moaning Moggadeet.

And you came out, you did.

My adorable firemite, threatening ME!

When I see your littlest hunting claws upraised my whole gut melts, it

floods me. I am all tender jelly. Tender! Oh, tender-fierce like a Mother, I

think! Isn't that how a Mother feels? My jaws are sluicing juice that isn't

hunger-juice-I am choking, with fear of frighting you or bruising your

tininess-I ache to grip and knead you, to eat you in one gulp, in a thousand

nibbles

Oh the power of red-the Old One said it! Now I feel my special hands, my

tender hands I always carry hidden-now they come swelling out, come pushing

toward my head! What? What?

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James Tiptree Jr. - Love is the Plan the Plan is Death

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