The door bursts open and the shouting begins—bring the camera, hurry, hurry! Saying, I’ll call you back, I drop the phone to the computer table and rush for my favorite visual recorder. I walk out the open front door into the blazing hot sun and find Leonel standing on the dry patch of short weeds that passes as our “lawn.” He gestures to the area where he’d been uprooting banana trees. I turn, saying what? And there in all her glory lies a 15-inch long Southern California alligator lizard. I drop to the stoop, camera viewfinder at my eye…zoom, snap, zoom, snap. I fire shots off in rapid succession.
Then she runs, under the gleaming white rocks that line the soon-to-be front flower bed, and with a flick of her long tail, she’s gone from sight. I stand to search for her, and manage to spot her again, jammed against the house, almost sideways, while she scrambles for purchase against the smooth cement foundation. She disappears again and Leonel begins moving rocks to find her. I point to the spot I last saw her; he lifts the rock and there she is. Scurrying into the diatomaceous earth she wriggles under some more rocks.
I panic. Catch her, Leonel, catch her. He looks confused—don’t you want more photos? I reply that I am afraid the diatomaceous earth will dry her skin and harm her—so he jumps forward, and misses. She thrusts herself under some more rocks and her head pops out by the porch. I shout at him, “Here she is!” while dancing around, afraid she’ll run at me. He again jumps forward and she darts down the steps, I stand in her way until she gets close and I jump back. He finally grabs her—and she turns to bite him. He lets go and I start laughing. Hysteria taking over.
Observant neighbors, thinking we’re nutty, ease closer to their phones.
Wearing baggy cutoff sweat shorts and untied shoes and holding the shorts up with one hand and with my hair in knots, I am an interesting spectacle. At least Leonel appears normal in his work clothes. The yard hacked up from the banana removal looks as if giant gophers have been working industriously for days.
I dash (as far as I am capable of dashing—more like lumbering) for a bucket. I rush to Leonel’s side. She’s now trapped under a rock and he’s afraid of crushing her when he moves the rock. I hold the bucket in front of the rock and squint my eyes. I want no part of squished lizard. She flies out from under the rock and he lightly flicks her toward the bucket—she misses. Plop. He flicks again and she lands squarely in the pail. I start to carry her to the side yard to put her in the garden but he comes at me with the hose. Leonel says we’ll turn her loose in the woodpile but first let’s wash her off. The hose sprays with enough force to put out a fire. I screech. Softly, softly, you’re going to smash her. The water rinses her clean of the powdery residue and as I slide her gently from the bucket onto the weed patch near the woodpile, I start snapping again.
The look in her yellow eye, tells me she is less than happy with us; however, she graciously allows me more photos before she slides elegantly and sibilantly into the weeds and disappears under a chunk of firewood to plot revenge.
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