HUMOR

Knowledge From Mr. Cactus, Yes, and Perhaps From Grandpa, Too

REMEMBER THE LONG TREKS with my grandfather through the desert surrounding my neighborhood to visit the knower of all knowledge, the supreme being, Mr. Cactus. Excitedly, I would pass his loyal subjects, the cholla, the prickly pear and the creosote bush, each waving spiny arms. But Mr. Cactus stood the tallest of all the saguaro cacti, with arms that scraped the sky, his thorns touched with gray like a seasoned ancient scholar, his eyes and mouth gaping holes dug by Gila woodpeckers long ago.Looking up at the giant, I would mimic my grandfather and wave, as was custom, and then ask my pressing questions. "Why is the sky blue? Why don't we live forever? What are clouds made of?" Because I didn't know cactus-talk, my grandfather would translate, cupping his hand to his ear and modulating his voice to sound deeper.

For several years my grandfather and I regularly visited Mr. Cactus, solving the mysteries of life with each session. One day I noticed a change in the goliath. He was wearing a neon pink ribbon. "That's a medal of honor," my grandfather explained as I eyed the ribbon. I didn't think to ask how Mr. Cactus had obtained such a high honor, but knowing the power of this extraordinary saguaro, I sensed it was for some awesome feat. I noticed other cacti had ribbons of the same color, and I marveled at how these loyal subjects must have earned them by following his example.

Suddenly, I spotted a ribbon caught in some sagebrush. I immediately picked it up, but hesitated to wear it. Was I worthy to wear such a badge? I asked my grandfather to question Mr. Cactus and was elated to learn that not only could I wear it, but that it was meant for me.Our encounters went on regularly for a while after that day until my grandfather suggested we travel a different desert trail. He had learned that Mr. Cactus was on a well-deserved vacation. We must have scoured the whole desert as the months went by, and I began to get worried about Mr. Cactus. The desert seemed to be shrinking, giving way to concrete and asphalt. I started to worry that a cactus should not be away on business for so long, especially with all the construction in his desert. The next morning I grabbed a canteen and slipped out of the house. As I made my way across the familiar desert trail that led to Mr. Cactus, I noticed something odd now about his desert kingdom. Many of his once loyal subjects lay uprooted. Dust devils whipped through vast nothingness.

Running toward the mesquite clearing, I raced past a huge yellow Caterpillar tractor, then stopped dead in my tracks. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Mr. Cactus, the mighty lord of the entire desert, was dead. This once proud giant was reduced to mincemeat, mutilated by a chain saw. As I shuffled forward, sticky cactus blood congealed on my sneakers, and the potent smell of decay hung heavy in the air.

I examined the remnants of his arms, imagining each thundering blow as he fought against invading armies of tractors, each of his loyal subjects rushing to his aid. But, inevitably they had won. The enemies had sliced him into horizontal cactus disks for easy disposal. I began to feel a tightness building in the back of my throat, for the world had lost an endless reservoir of knowledge. His kingdom was condemned by progress on the way to becoming a gated community.

"He was just a dumb cactus after all," I muttered aloud to myself. At that moment I was overcome with sadness. I didn't want to believe that Mr. Cactus, the mightiest of all saguaros, was a fraud. How could such a powerful entity be reduced to ruin? I morosely waved, as it was custom, and started my long journey back home, never looking back.

I know now that what was special about that desert was my grandfather. It took an extraordinary person to turn an ordinary cactus into a king, and a desert into a kingdom, unlocking the imagination of a child. I still recall many of the lessons taught by the noble cactus. My grandfather seemed to know everything. No question was too big or small, no challenge too mighty for him to overcome. He was Mr. Cactus, a fountain of knowledge and resourcefulness, but most of all he was a friend who could be trusted. AH