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Voices of My Friends
Antonio soon learned that his animal friends all had distinct voices and ways of speaking.
When the toucan landed on his arm, he tilted his head in an inquiring manner and chattered out a question. Hello? You understand?
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, I understand you,” Antonio replied. The bird took off then, just a few inches above him. I have friends He landed back on Antonio’s arm. They come? He turned his head, which Antonio knew meant he was asking a question. “Of course, they can come!” The bird then flew around to Antonio’s other arm, making him laugh, and called his friends.
Body language, Antonio quickly found, was as important in understanding animals as sound. For Pico and the other toucans, tilting their head meant they were asking a question, turning it meant asking permission. Just like with humans – and most other animals – a flinch indicated surprise or fear or both. Also like with humans, shaking meant fear. Flapping wings quickly often meant excitement, but could also mean fear, especially if accompanied by loud squawking. Tilting the head and holding it there meant interest.
After his ceremony ended, Antonio’s first night in his new room, he crawled into his hammock and clutched the stuffed jaguar Mirabel had made him. “I’m calling you Javi,” he whispered. His first toucan friend, who was sitting on a branch just above him, tilted his head and squawked softly. Who? Or maybe What? They were the same sound with toucans.
“My cousin Mirabel made him,” Antonio explained. The bird tilted his head again, and gave another squawk, one he wasn’t sure he had a human word for. Animal languages were a lot different from human ones, but Antonio knew what he meant. “Javi’s what I’m calling him,” he explained. “It’s his name. Like I’m Antonio. What’s your name?”
The bird gave another squawk in response. “Beak?” Antonio laughed. “But you all have beaks.” The toucan – Pico – squawked again in response. First nest squawk. “Oh, you were the first in your nest to squawk?” Antonio asked. Yes. Sister Alas flap first, so Alas. Brother Pies stand first, so Pies.
Antonio giggled. “What about you?” he asked the real jaguar. “What’s your name?”
Jaguars have no names, came the reply. Live alone, don’t need.
“Well, I have to call you something,” Antonio said. “How about Parce?” It was something his papi and Tio Agustin often called each other, and that a lot of other men he knew called their close friends.
The jaguar made an approving sound. “What about you?” Antonio asked the nearest tapir, who replied with a click and a squeak. “Morro?” he said. “How’d you get that name?”
I lead, Morro replied. Like nose, in front. Antonio nodded to show he understood. “How about you?” he asked the hummingbird, who trilled in response. “None?” Antonio asked. Alone, she trilled. There was a lot packed into her sounds, and Antonio understood more from the simple sound than just “alone.” He felt the meaning: “Hummingbirds live mostly alone. There’s no need for names.” “Well, I’ve got to call you something,” he declared. “How about ‘Brillante’?” She chirred in contentment. “Okay, what about you?” he asked the coatimundi, who chittered. “Ladrón?” Antonio repeated. “That’s a weird name.” Ladrón chittered again. Thieves important to us. I’m proud to be a good thief. “Okay, Ladrón,” Antonio said again. He turned to the capybara next. “What’s your name?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he correctly understood the sound she had made. “Chispita?” he repeated. Chispita meant sparkle, but she didn’t seem very sparkly to him. She made an affirming sound. “Okay,” he said. “Well, I’m calling you Chispi.” Fine, she replied.
Finally, Antonio looked at the giant otter resting nearby. “What’s your name?” he asked. She made a sound that he knew instantly could mean “strength”, “grace”, “courage”, or simply “strong swimmer.” “Gracia,” he declared, and she made an approving sound.
. . .
The group of animals woke to the sound of Antonio coughing. They raised their heads in surprise.
Chispi and Gracia, the two mothers in the group, approached him. Chispi pressed her nose against his face. Too warm, she pronounced. Gracia immediately pulled herself onto the boy’s bed beside him and curled around him like she might one of her pups. Parce, get his parents, she directed. Ladrón, get Food-Healing-Mother, Chispi instructed. Pico, get Mirabel, Gracia added.
The three messengers trotted off on their respective errands.
. . .
Antonio was surprised to find Gracia curled around him when he woke up. Don’t stand, she ordered when he raised his head. You are sick.
Antonio thought. His throat felt sore. His head hurt. His whole body ached. He hadn’t felt like sleeping in his hammock last night, like he usually did, so he had slept in his regular bed instead.
“I need t’ use th’ bathroom,” he croaked. Morro came over and stood beside his bed. Sit on me, the tapir instructed. Antonio sat up further, then climbed onto Morro’s back. Lay forward, Gracia told him. Arms around Morro.
Antonio again did as he was told. Morro carried him to the bathroom, then back again when he was done. Now lay down, Chispi commanded. No getting up. You need rest to heal. Parce getting mother and head male. There was no sound in capybara language for “father”. “Head male” was the best Chispi could do, and Antonio wasn’t sure if she understood that his papi was really no more the “head” of the family than his Tio Agustin and Tio Bruno were. At first, she seemed to think that, since Antonio spent more time with him and got told what to do more by him, that he was the “head male” and his tios were the “follower-males,” as she called them. Now she still called them that, even though he’d tried to explain to her. Ladrón getting Food-Healing-Mother. That was his Tia Julieta. Pico getting Girl-Mother. That was Mirabel. Girl capybaras also took care of their babies together – they even could be nursed by any of the females, not just their own mothers – so, to Chispi, all the women in Casita – his Mami, his Tia Julieta, his Abuela, Mirabel, Dolores, Luisa, and Isabela -- were all Antonio’s “mothers.” She called Mami his “Mother”, understanding that she had given birth to him. Abuela was “Head-Mother”, or “Herd-Mother,” although she wasn’t as much in charge as she used to be – now, it was sort of all the grown-ups in the family together. Tia Julieta was either “Other-Mother”, “Spare-Mother”, or “Food-Healing-Mother.” Isabela was “Tree-Mother”, Dolores was “Mother-from-Mother,” as Chispi knew she and Antonio (and Camilo) had the same mother – “Mother-from-Mother” was also how capybaras described older sisters – Luisa was “Strong-Mother”, and Mirabel was “Girl-Mother.” Those were the closest he could come to what Chispi called them, anyway. It was easy for him to understand, but it still made him a little dizzy to think about right now.
Pico and Mirabel are nearly here, Gracia said now. Sure enough, a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Antonio croaked.
The door swung open, and Pico flew in and perched at the head of Antonio’s bed, followed by Mirabel, who looked at Antonio, then plopped down beside him and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Not feeling too good, hombrecito?” she asked.
Antonio nodded and coughed, leaning against her. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead, then kissed the top of his head. “Your Tia Julieta will be here soon, but remember, she may not be able to heal you,” she whispered. Antonio just nodded. Tia Julieta couldn’t heal colds or the flu, and that’s what this felt like. Still, the soups and teas she made usually helped him feel just a little better.
There was another knock at the door just then, and Mirabel got up to answer it. This time, it was Tia Julieta, along with Ladrón and Parce. “Antonio’s not feeling good, Mama,” Mirabel explained.
“I wondered,” Tia Julieta said. “No one is, I’m afraid, mija, apart from you, me and Abuela.” She came over to her nephew and brushed his hair from his forehead. “I’m making soup for everyone,” she said. “Why don’t you try and sleep, Tonito? Mirabel, will you stay with him until he falls asleep?”
“Sure,” she said, and burrowed closer to him.
. . .
Mirabel was gone when Antonio woke up, but the little boy wasn’t alone. Gracia, Brillante, Ladrón, Morro, Parce, Chispi, Pico, Alas, Pies, and several of their herd- or flock-members were surrounding him. Gracia was still curled around him, with Parce on the other side. “Hey, guys,” he croaked out.
Don’t speak, Chispi scolded, not unkindly. Save your voice.
We talk, Pico jumped in.
No. He needs rest, Chispi said firmly.
I think he wants company, Gracia put in. Do you want company, pup?
“Yes,” Antonio answered truthfully. He *did* want company.
That doesn’t mean *talk*, Chispi said. He doesn’t need *talk*. Needs *rest*.
“I want talk,” Antonio argued. “I can still rest, with you talking.”
Chispi huffed. Fine. But only one talking at a time. Not everybody talking.
Brillante flitted onto his hand. She was the quietest of his animal friends, and Antonio wasn’t sure she understood what “sick” meant. She used the fewest words of any of them.
Ladrón darted up to him just then. Took things for you, he said proudly. He handed Antonio a blanket belonging to his Abuela, tied shut. He untied it to find his Tio Agustin’s and his Papi’s watches, his Tio Bruno’s salt shaker, a spoon from the kitchen, Isabela’s bracelet, Dolores’s necklace, a pair of Luisa’s earrings, a handheld mirror from Camilo’s room, and a pair of knitting needles belonging to Mirabel. “You stole something from everyone except Mami,” Antonio said.
I didn’t get everyone? the coati demanded in shock. I’ll get her.
“No,” Antonio said quickly. “That’s alright.” He was still having a hard time getting Ladrón to understand that he shouldn’t steal, at least not from people. He knew his family was getting tired of it, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He sat everything on his nightstand for now. He didn’t feel like getting up.
“Do any of you know how everyone else is?” Antonio asked.
I’ll look, Pico said, and flew off.
Antonio broke into a coughing fit. Poor pup, Gracia said, moving closer to him. Parce moved closer, too, trying to keep him a little warmer. Parce was really weird for a jaguar, Antonio thought. The others he’d met weren’t quite as friendly as he was. The little boy coughed some more.
Pico flew back into the room just then. Food-woman, Morro, other coati, carry food, he said. That meant Tia Julieta wanted Morro and the other coati to carry food. She and Mirabel and Abuela must be really busy with everybody else sick, Antonio thought. Morro looked at him, and the little boy nodded and reached over to pet his head before he and the others took off. Antonio buried his hands in Parce and Gracia’s fur and burrowed a little deeper underneath his blankets with a sigh, which instantly sent him coughing again. You poor pup, Gracia said again, nuzzling her face against his. Coati will bring food soon, make you feel better.
Antonio nodded, continuing to cough. Brillante began to chirp, which made Antonio feel a little bit better. She landed on his hand, and he could feel the vibrations, which tickled a little, making him giggle. “Stop that!” he laughed, and she did. She then flitted to his shoulder and began to chirp again, which led to him leaning back further into his pillows and giving a happy sigh. At that moment, Morro and several of his coati friends returned, with Morro carrying a tray strapped to his back. He brought it over to Antonio’s bed. The little boy untied it and lifted it carefully. It contained a covered dish, which, upon uncovering it, he found to contain vegetable soup, a covered cup of tea, and a bottle of ice-cold water. Antonio placed the tray on his nightstand, removed the spoon tucked under the handle of the bowl’s lid, and began to eat. “Thank you,” he told Morro. He glanced over at the others, and saw that they were carrying treats for his animal friends. He’d have to thank Tia Julieta for them later.
There was a knock at the door. “Room service!” Mirabel’s voice called. Antonio was puzzled, since he’d already been brought food and water. When the door opened, though, he found she was carrying a bottle of medicine and two spoons in one hand, and half-supporting Camilo with the other. “You shouldn’t be alone when you’re sick,” Mirabel explained. “You need someone to look after you.”
“I’m not—” Antonio coughed. “I’m not alone. I have these guys.” He gestured at all his animal friends.
“I was talking to Camilo,” Mirabel replied.
His older brother wordlessly climbed onto the top bunk to lay down. “Now, medicine,” Mirabel stated firmly. “I had a long walk to town to pick this up, so I expect you both to take it. And afterward, I’ll bring you some fresh-made apple juice to wash it down with.” She poured some into each spoon, handed one up to Camilo, and passed the other to Antonio. “Now, I want that medicine gone when I get back,” she instructed.
“Can’t I wait till you bring the juice, so I can drink it right way afterward?” Antonio asked.
“Well, okay.” She ruffled his hair. “But I expect you to drink it the second I get back!” she called over her shoulder.
Food you drink? Pico asked when she was gone. Antonio shook his head. Most of the animals didn’t usually drink anything except water, and, for the mammals, milk when they were babies. Some of them, he learned, seemed to think that juice was a food, since it tended to smell a lot like some of the foods they ate. Others seemed to think it was some weird kind of water, since, well, people drank it. He also knew that many of them used the same sound, or a similar one, for “medicine” as they did for “food”, since they ate certain things to help them get well when they were sick or hurt. Brillante and Pico and the other hummingbirds and toucans just called it “food”, for Morro and the other tapirs it was “weak-food”, food for when they were weak (they also used the same sound for “weak”, “hurt”, “sick”, and “in pain”). Ladrón and the other coati called it “sick-food”, Chispi and the other capybaras “heal-food”, and Gracia and the other otters had their own sound for it, but it was similar to their sound for “food”. At least one or two kinds of animals just called it “danger-food” or “protect-food”, since they had the same sound for “danger”, “dangerous” or “in danger”, “hurt” or “injury”, “sick” or “sickness”, “pain” or “in pain” and “weak” or “weakness.” He’d explained to Mirabel some of how different animals talked, and how some of them had one sound for a bunch of different things, and you had to be able to tell by what they were doing, and what was going on when they said something, to know what they meant. “Wow. Okay, so, their languages are really simple and really complex at the same time,” she had said. “And a lot like ours, because you have to read their body language, and what’s going on around them, and what they and everybody else has been talking about to know what they mean.” Antonio had agreed.
Names were also tricky. How animals got their names wasn’t always the same, and they might have more than one name. A mother might use the same sound for all her babies, but make that sound once for the one who was born or hatched first, twice for the one who came second, third for the third one, and so on. Their father, if they had one, usually made the same sound, but it might sound different coming from him. The siblings often called each other the same thing their parents did, but not always. A lot of animal parents just used those same names again when they had their next litter of babies, after the first one was all grown up. Others, though, kept counting all their children, calling the first baby in a second litter “fourth baby”, the second “fifth baby”, the third “sixth baby”, etc. What was more, other sets of parents often used the exact same sounds for their own babies. And some only used those names to call their babies, while making different sounds when looking for them, and they might be almost the same or not, some not even seeming sure how to describe their children to others. They might also just have one sound they made when they wanted all their children, and that was almost always the same in every family for that type of animal. What was more, hardly any of the animals kept using these “nest-names”, as Antonio called them, after they had grown up and left their parents, except sometimes with the parents in question, and less often with their brothers and sisters. Instead, they would eventually be given names that had to do with something about the way they looked, or talked, or walked or swam or flew, that stood out, or something they did, or something that happened to them. Surprisingly, even if it was something like “Bent-Leg” for an animal who limped, or “Crash” for one who accidentally crashed into a tree while flying once, in many cases, it never seemed to occur to either the animal who had the name, or those who gave it, that it could be an insult. It was just a simple, quick and easy way to tell them apart from the other animals. Plus, when different groups of the same animals interacted, they might not learn each other’s names at all, just calling the leaders of other herds/packs/flocks/etc. something that meant “Leader” and not really bothering to learn the others members’ names, instead making up names on the fly that they hoped whoever they were talking to would recognize as meaning them, often while gesturing at them, or calling them, basically, “you-there”, again while gesturing toward them. What was more, even members of the same species sometimes spoke different dialects, or, occaisionally, even different languages if they did not live very close together. Understanding them all came naturally to Antonio, and seemed to for the various animals who’d first shown up to his ceremony, especially ones like Pico and Chispi and Parce and Brillante and Gracia who’d bonded with him the first night, but that didn’t mean it came naturally for all of them. Or that it was easy to explain to his family. Mirabel had actually begun to learn some of the easiest parts of the language of the ones closest to him, but most of the rest of the family had trouble with that.
“This is medicine,” he explained to his assembled animal friends now. They understood what he meant, if not the exact meaning of his words. They always did, with Antonio. “Mirabel’s bringing apple juice to help get rid of the taste, since it doesn’t taste very good.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t care,” Camilo grumbled from the top bunk. “’M not taking it. Stuff tastes terrible, doesn’t matter what you drink or eat afterwards.”
Pico squawked a question at him, tilting his head sideways. “He says he’s not taking it,” Antonio explained. “He doesn’t like the taste, and nothing gets rid of it.”
“That is, literally, what I just said,” Camilo stated.
“Yeah, but Pico doesn’t understand you,” Camilo explained.
“And yet, he understands you when you say pretty much the exact same thing.”
“That’s part of my magic,” Antonio said. “Like, you can magically change your clothes into someone else’s when you turn into them. I can’t change clothes that easily.”
Pico squawked out two more questions. Antonio explained, first, what they’d been talking about. The next question was a little harder to answer, though. Pico wanted to know why Camilo wouldn’t take medicine, or rather food, which is what he understood the medicine to be, that would help him get better. “This medicine doesn’t help us get better, really,” Antonio explained. “It just helps us feel better for a little while.”
Why not want? Pico repeated. “It doesn’t taste good,” Antonio explained again. “Like, you have foods you don’t like eating, right? This is like that.”
Pico finally gave a squawk of understanding.
Mirabel finally returned, bearing a tray with two glasses of apple juice. More-Than-One won’t drink heal-food, Chispi trilled out, tilting her head up toward Camilo. Mirabel looked at her curiously. “I have no idea what that meant, apart from having something to do with Camilo,” she said. Chispi in turn looked at Mirabel questioningly, and Antonio explained what she had said. The capybara made an approving noise at Mirabel – she appreciated bluntness. “Chispi says, Camilo won’t take his medicine,” Antonio told his cousin. “Tattletale,” Camilo grumbled. “What? It’s not like she wasn’t gonna find out when you refused to take it,” Antonio pointed out.
“How’d you even know he was talking about me?” Camilo asked Mirabel.
“Chispi’s a she, and she was pointing at you,” Mirabel said.
Camilo coughed. “Now you can—” he coughed again. “Now you can understand animals, too?”
“Not like Antonio can, but he’s been teaching me a few things,” she said.
Camilo climbed down. “Maybe you can teach me, too,” he said. His brother and cousin both looked at him, and he shrugged. “What? I’m bored.”
The other two exchanged looks. “It’s not really that easy to teach,” Antonio said. “But, sure, I could show you a little.”
Camilo half-slid, half-plopped onto the bed next to his little brother, and Gracia moved to Antonio’s other side. Somehow, she and Parce managed to move themselves carefully in such a way as to still be around him while on the same side. The bed was surprisingly big, and managed to fit all four of them. Mirabel handed Antonio his medicine, and he gulped it down, making a horrible face, then quickly drank half the juice she had brought. Then she looked at Camilo and sat the juice tray down. “Medicine and juice are there if you want them,” she said. He nodded, and she left.
“Okay, so, where do we start?” Camilo asked. All the animals made questioning noises. “Camilo wants to learn to understand you guys a little better,” Antonio explained.
Not sure we ever understand him, Chispi grumbled, and Antonio giggled. “What?” Camilo asked. “She says she’s not sure if they could ever understand you,” Antonio explained.
“Would it help if—” Camilo coughed. “Would it help if I was someone else?” He turned into Mirabel. Chispi groaned. “Now what?” the older boy demanded. “She says that just makes it worse,” Antonio replied. Camilo rolled his eyes but turned back into himself. “So, where do we start?” he repeated.
“It’s easier to just tell you what some of their body language means, and what feelings some kind of sounds mean,” Antonio said. “It’s kind of hard to explain exactly what every different sound means. A lot of them can mean a lot of different things.”
“Right. Okay,” Camilo said.
Antonio explained how to tell when some of the different animals were asking a question. When they were excited or scared or nervous or happy or angry or hungry. When they needed something. When they wanted to be left alone.
They were partway through their lesson when a huge shadow flew overhead. Then two huge birds landed in front of them, both black with a white ruff on their necks and white on parts of their wings and dark red heads, one with with a red comb on top.. “Oh, hi, guys,” Antonio said. “This is my brother, Camilo. Camilo, this is Alerón and Oscura.”
Camilo nodded and shrunk a little closer to his little brother. “Okay,” he said, nervously. “Um, hello.” Antonio grinned a little. He couldn’t blame his brother for being a little nervous. Andean condors were big birds, in fact, these two were both about the same size as Antonio. “It’s alright,” he told Camilo, kindly. “These guys are friends.” Camilo nodded, but he didn’t look any less nervous. Why here? Alerón asked, indicating Camilo, and the older boy looked even more nervous. “What’s he saying about me?” he whispered. Antonio patted his brother’s hand. “It’s okay. He just wants to know why you’re here,” he whispered back. Camilo still didn’t look reassured. “We’re both sick,” Antonio explained to the two birds. “He’s here so—” he coughed. “He’s here so we can keep each other company.”
Oh, Alerón replied.
“What’d he say now?” Camilo whispered.
“He said ‘oh,’” Antonio explained.
“‘Oh?’ What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“It means he understands.”
“Oh.”
“When we’re better, maybe I can introduce you to Zumbido and Chasquida,” Antonio said.
“Who are they?”
“River dolphins,” Antonio explained.
“Wow, you’ve got a whole lot of animal friends now, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Any chameleons?”
“There aren’t any that live in South America,” Antonio explained. “But there are some other lizards. And Alerón and Oscura can change colors to show what kind of mood they’re in.”
“Oh. Cool.” Camilo coughed again. At this, Gracia climbed over Antonio so she was between him and Camilo. He should take medicine, she informed him. “What’d he say?” Camilo asked. “She, and she said you should take your medicine,” Antonio replied. “Well, tell her she sounds like Mami,” he retorted. “He says you sound like our mami,” Antonio informed Gracia politely. Tell him that’s good, she replied. Mothers know how to take care of pups. Antonio repeated this to Camilo. “‘Pups?’” his older brother echoed. “That’s what baby otters are called,” the younger boy explained. “Yeah, well, we’re not pups. We’re kids,” Camilo said. Antonio shrugged. “It’s the same thing to them,” he said. Then he explained the conversation to his animal friends as best he could.
Gracia lay between Camilo and Antonio now. “What is she doing now?” Camilo asked.
“Being a mom,” Antonio said. “Chispi’s that way, too, but she’s a little more like Abuela. Gracia is more like Tia Julieta.”
“Neither of them is our mom,” Camilo pointed out.
“Well, close enough, though.”
“But our mom’s a good one, we don’t need extras.”
“Yeah, but they’re nice to have around, anyway.”
We need nest-place, Oscura said suddenly.
“What’d *he* say?” Camilo demanded.
“She, and she said she and Alerón need a place for a nest,” Antonio said. “Yeah, here’s fine, if you can find a good tree.”
They immediately flew up into a nearby tree. Nest here, Oscura declared. They immediately flew around, finding twigs and grass and whatever else they could use to build a nest. “They’re gonna be noisy,” Camilo groaned.
“They’re not that noisy,” Antonio retorted. “And, anyway, the egg won’t hatch right away. They take, like, five months.”
“So, they’re just going to sit there all that time?”
“They take turns sitting on the egg,” Antonio explained.
“Wait, they only lay one egg?”
“Yep.”
Enough talk, Chispi warned. You both need to *rest*. Tell you not talking, Antonio. Do not talk so much.
“What did *she* say?” Camilo demanded.
“She told us not to talk so much, and that she already told me not to,” Antonio explained. “But I told you, Chispi, Camilo doesn’t understand any of you,” he reminded the capybara.
Then no talk at all, from anyone, she ordered. Need rest to *heal*. Capybara pups do what mothers tell. Human pups do not do what human mothers tell. Girl-mother say eat heal-food, More-Than-One doesn’t eat heal-food, says *bad taste*. Girl-mother brings apple-water to take away bad taste after pups eat heal-food, but More-Than-One still doesn’t eat heal-food.
“Okay, I can tell she’s talking about me now,” Camilo muttered.
“She said you wouldn’t take your medicine, because you don’t like the taste, even though Mirabel brought apple juice to get rid of the taste after you took it,” Antonio told him. “And that capybara pups do what their mothers tell them, but human pups don’t.”
Camilo blinked. “Mirabel is *definitely* not our mother,” he pointed out. “I don’t know what would make anyone think she was, she’s not even old enough. In fact, she’s younger than me.”
Antonio shrugged. “They can’t tell how old we are. And Chispi calls Mirabel my ‘Girl-Mother’. All the girl capybaras take care of their babies together, and the babies call them all their ‘mothers’, so, Chispi thinks Mami and Abuela and Tia Julieta and Dolores and Isabela and Luisa and Mirabel are all one of my ‘mothers’.”
“But you just said she calls Mirabel your ‘Girl-Mother’. So, she knows she’s younger than all the others, at least.”
“Yeah, but that might be just because I told her that.”
Camilo blinked in confusion. “Animals are weird,” he muttered to himself.
“Not really,” Antonio said, defensively. “They grow up a lot faster than we do, remember.”
“Well, that’s true, I guess,.” Camilo admitted. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes, then laid down on the pillow. “I’m going to sleep,” he declared, closing his eyes.
Chispi, who recognized Camilo’s plan from his body language, made a noise of approval at this decision on his part. You sleep, she suggested to Antonio. The little boy knew from her tone that it was a suggestion this time, and not a command as her insistence that nobody in the room talk had been. He sunk his head down into the pillow, nonetheless, but he didn’t close his eyes just yet. In truth, he didn’t really feel like falling asleep right now, probably because he’d only just slept a little while ago.
A story, Gracia suggested, apparently picking up on this. Antonio smiled. Stories were something most animals seemed to have, at least. “I’d like that,” he said. “Like what?” Camilo asked.
“A story,” Antonio replied. “Gracia’s going to tell one.”
Camilo just groaned and rolled over.
Gracia’s story was barely five minutes in before both boys were sound asleep.