By Dewou Gloria Minza

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A short story taking a closer look into the mind of Adah Ellen Price, a character in the novel “The Poisonwood Bible.”

The village is silent save for the occasional wail of a babe and creatures rustling in the brushes. My family—well, at least what’s left of it—sleeps inside, unaware of my diligent vigils keeping them from harm. Although the sweltering heat of the day has long cooled, the packed dirt where I sit still remembers the sun’s scorching rays. The winds whistle. A lone bird takes flight from atop a bananier, screeching into the inky night.

If Methuselah, our parrot, were still here, he’d flutter viciously in his cage to be set free. One of the few books in the village says that happy birds return to their homes. Methuselah escaped and has never returned. 

I do not blame him. Were I a bird, I would not once look back on these days of imprisonment with fondness. 

But I am not a bird and therefore cannot fly. I need a cane to prop up the paralyzed arm and leg that always drag me down, keeping me from soaring. I am cursed to crawl as if I were no better than the serpent exiled from Eden. 

Even the serpent has a home amongst other reptiles. Where can I, Adah Price, bearer of crude luck, go when even my family looks at me with only saintly pity and empty sympathy? Who would accept a cripple destined to the same fate as a snake?

A sting on my toe draws me from my thoughts. I look down. A single fire ant is struggling to climb my foot. The soldier’s perseverance almost comforts me until I see another rapidly moving towards me. Then three more. Suddenly, the carnivorous army engulfs me.

I need to rouse my family, but my mouth won’t move. A stifled scream threatens to tear my throat apart. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes peeled open as my skin disappears under the swarm, intent on stripping flesh from my bones as if I were carrion.

Immobilized, I sit on the ground while the village awakens with a flurry. People cram the streets, thrashing in agony. Despite the chaos, everyone heads in one direction: the river. 

My father crashes through the door of our mud cottage, clawing at his eyes as ants burrow into his body. 

“The first plague!” roars father. “Calamity has befallen sinners! Repent for the end is at hand!” Nathan Price, this man who sees his daughters as shameful burdens, screams himself hoarse as he runs into the grove. 

As ants march into my hair, I snap out of my stupor and reach for my cane. I will not be left behind. The more I struggle to my feet, the sensation of fire crawls across my skin, already swollen with venom. My body shakes violently; every fiber of my being fights to keep me upright. My scalp is melting off my head as the ants bite and bite.

I hear my mother and sisters emerging from the cottage with wails, the swarm of soldiers incessant in their gnawing.

“River,” I croak out to Leah and Rachel, trying to lead them to safety. But they brush past me, already knowing where to go.

My usually lifeless mother runs to me as if possessed by demons.

“Run,” she pleads. “It’s not safe here, Adah. You must follow your sisters. Let me hel—” My younger sister’s whimpers cut her off.

Ruth-May falls to the ground after a few short steps from the hut, crying and scratching as if to draw blood. 

Seeing her youngest daughter struggle for life sparks something in my mother, in Orleana Price—a rare maternal instinct perhaps. Without hesitation, she scoops her beloved child into her arms, heedless of the ants covering her tiny body. Then she meets my eyes. 

As her eyes bear into mine, I can see what she is thinking. 

With lucid clarity, I witness my own mother weighing the advantages of saving her crippled mistake or her golden child. The world seems to fade as a small eternity passes. Orleana holds her beloved child close to her heart as millions of red flecks writhe on her white nightgown, sealing my fate with grim determination. 

“Follow your sisters,” she says. She runs for it without looking back. 

Live was I ere I saw evil. 

My mother ran from me as if the devil himself were hot on her heels. Looking back, I should have known what her choice would be. 

I stand in the middle of nothing, raging ants forgotten as the final villagers empty out. I watch as plants are devoured in a matter of seconds. I listen as oars splash in the river, carrying away the last remnants of Adah Price.

I sink to the ground on trembling knees, unable to keep myself up any longer.

Were I but a bird, I could escape being a prisoner in my own body. But I am not. I am a snake meant to crawl on my belly, eating dust, eternally punished for the crime of my birth.

Process

It started out as a poem, but the more details I added to it, the more it felt like a short story. I rewrote an event in the novel while trying to put myself in the mind of a character who saw herself as an observer in her own life rather than an active participant.