Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-11-08
"GINA"
BY John Brock


<IOINA of the Chinatown" is the tale of a
dancer who lived out the tragedy of a
grasshopper life in the murk of London
sum. They are happy spirits who carry enough
sunlight in their lives to tighten the hearts of those
about them; enough to help them to refuse the
agony of apprehension, and to bring resolute face
to the inevitable end.
Even now that the trees have cast their gar
ments to the winds and garden leaves droop with
the FROST the grasshoppers still dance beneath the
sun whenever he warns their blood. 1 feel the
chill wind more keenly in peace, to sleep away
the last sparks of that vitality beneath the first
snow?
Then found my Gina. She was one who re-
fused to dance There the edge of a new
ploughed field she sat. She let me lift the frayed
skirts of her wings, reaching her anxious antennae
toward my hand, but she would not move. And
then saw that at this late hour she was rounding
out her life by maternity. She was laying her eggs
In the soft, mellow earth.
Gently 1 loosed the tiny clods above her and
watched. The segments of her body, usually tele-
scoped each other, drawn out to their full
est extent; she was two inches long And she had
thrust this heightened body into the ground, brac-
covering.
Through the transparent skin between the
horny bands l could see her eggs, held together
by white froth, slowly moving. And among them
infinitesimal black worms that wriggled at
each effort on her part, Parasites of some sort,
they were-enemies within to daunt that blithe
spirit well all her enemies without.
/ sat down beside her until she should have
completed her task. There in the stiffness, except
for her singing mates and the cricets that raised
their translucent wing covers and played their
mahogany fiddles, we were the only living things
my eye could see.
gazed off at the distant woods, brown and sere,
with only dash of color here and there where
autumns gorgeous plaid had lately hung: below
ran little stream, nested in russell cat-tails and
the gray cloud of seeded goldenrod. Red osier
stems echoed the lacquered stripes her once
agile legs Then l looked back.
Death stood beside her before her spider had
her. She struggled stubbornly, not to save her.
self, but to finish what nearly accomplish
ed. And he, serious and terrible, showed no rage,
but only doggeG Impotence to have done with
some instinct imposed duty of his own He bowed
his furry body to the strain Juggling her this way
and that unsetling her braced feet as fast as she
got her grip again. There science in the way
he used his weight. Slowly surely he drew her
forth; now she showed her weakness. AS soon as
her spent body left the earth she toppled to her
side, kicking Intellectually at the empty air.
moment more and he had reached his lair,
and backed down it, dragging his burden, limp and
stin The windblown leaves of the grass closed
over it.
So was the parable of Gina life played out
save that only knew where to find her grave Did
her lover still ply his fiddle in the orchestra whose
tune suddenly seemed like the playing Of those
who must play, whatever tragedy was in their
hearts? Or had some sparrow snatched him long
ago? Time matters not but 1 patted down the
earth above those eggs and gave her that last
chance of eternity.