My affair with Stella

Abstract

I shouldn't feel this way about you. I should give you up, turn you in. But I can't. You really shouldn't be here, you know. “And whose fault is that?”, you softly reply. You step out into the full sunlight and let me look at you, as you've done time and again. You flirt with me. But you trust me, and in giving your trust you become a trap more subtle than any laid to capture you. Do you remember the first time you showed yourself to me? You came out from between the roots of the old tree across the river from my secret fishing place. “I saw you many times before you ever knew I existed”, you whisper, “sitting motionless, staring at a porcupine quill float for an indication of a fish come your way”. I returned every one I caught to the water. Was it that which made you want to conquer me, which made you so sure you would? (a) Stella, the American mink (Neovison vison) who lives on “my” river, in Spain. (b) Looking for Stella along the riverbank. Yes, you let me see you, but you played hard to get. You crafted your seduction. For days you allowed me no more than glimpses. Later, you let me watch you longer, your indifference more than enough for me. But then came that evening when you looked at me, told me you knew I was there, and that you didn't mind. Do you remember the next day, how I returned to the river with a camera instead of my fishing rod? And how you couldn't resist playing to it? I moved slowly, trying to reassure you, but you showed no fear of me at all. I was worried that the camera click would send you running, but you posed and postured, looked straight into my eyes, and allowed me to come within a few feet of you. Later you beckoned me to follow you to your hideouts. Three dens you showed me, looking back all the while, making sure I was following. Are you mink or minx, Stella? My mustelid. Yet they call you an invader. They say your ancestors escaped, or were allowed to escape by people we call activists, from farms where...dare I tell you this?…we raised them to be killed for their fur. Most found that freedom simply meant starvation, but a few found their way to rivers and streams, where their ancient instincts awoke from deep sleep. Some say that our breeding of your kind left you with smaller brains, smaller hearts, even smaller spleens. But you have more than a brain, Stella, you have a mind, and surely your little heart has captured mine. Can there be no justice for you? We who brought you from North America to Europe to profit from your pelt now hunt you down as a pest. We call you a killer of birds, of water voles, of fish; a usurper of your European cousin's dominions; a fearful wreaker of havoc. I have heard you hunt many times, and you are terrifying. The awful squealing of the rabbits and other quarry you have chased down not a few feet from me, the way you drag them into the river (your faithful ally that fills lungs with water and stills them for you), and the silence that follows your attacks all testify to that. For this they say I should hate you, but I want you to survive. What confusion you cause me. Are you any more an invader than the common carp for which I fish? Asia is their home, but few raise a clamor to clear them from Spanish streams. Yet, as the law demands, I kill the wretched American catfish and pumpkinseeds that are driving our native fish to ruin. I am inconsistent. Should I not give you over to the gamekeeper's gun? But was it only for betrayal that you gave me your trust? Today, the winter past, I come again to the river, and you are here, although not alone. Who is he? Is he that fellow who lives on a lake a couple of miles away, the one who herds small carp into that single bunch of reeds? Silly fish, when he comes they flee onto the mud, and there he takes his pick, eating just their tasty heads. Is it him? “See for yourself”, you tell me. I sit, and you bring him to my very feet. You both rear up on hind legs and look at me. Are you asking my blessing, Stella? I give it when I know I shouldn't. You frolic together on the riverbank before you lead him into the warming water, and me deeper into my dilemma.