Waldemar and The Caterpillar Nimmersatt and the Leaf of Memories

More about Waldemar and The Caterpillar Nimmersatt and the Leaf of Memories

The trail was barely more than a whisper in the grass. Moss clung to my boots, and above me the branches closed, as if the forest were listening. I walked slowly, knowing that those who walk too fast sometimes miss the wonders. After a while, it grew brighter. A strip of light had burned through the treetops and fell upon a small clearing. There grew a single bush with large, heart-shaped leaves that trembled gently in the sun—as if they were breathing. And in the middle of it sat it. A fat, green-spotted caterpillar with orange antennae and a posture as if it were very content with itself. "Oh," I said. "Good day." The caterpillar didn't look up. It was chewing. "I'm Waldemar. I'm traveling." "I'm chewing," it said with its mouth full. "And sometimes I think about it." "About what?" She swallowed. "Of the stories in the leaves. Did you know that every leaf carries a memory?" I carefully sat down in the grass. "I thought leaves were just... leaves." "Only for those too hungry," she said, flicking an antenna at the half-nibbled leaf beneath her. "I never eat the middle. That's where what lasts lives." I leaned forward. In the center of the leaf was a pattern: fine veins forming what looked like an old eye. Or a tear. Or a question mark. "What do you see?" she asked. "Maybe... a beginning." "Then you have the right eye." She shifted a little to the side. "Sit down. I'm Caterpillar Nimmersatt. But I don't eat everything. Only what must be forgotten." I sat down next to her, careful so the leaf wouldn't tremble. "And the other one?" "The other one is preserved. In the leaf. In the bite. In me." I didn't understand everything, but enough to sense that this caterpillar was no ordinary one. "You're looking for friends, aren't you?" I nodded. "Then remember: every friend is like a leaf with a bite. Not quite, not completely—but full of patterns. And sometimes what wasn't eaten remains the most important thing." I wanted to say something, but she had already turned back to the edge of the leaf. Her body swayed to the rhythm of the chewing, as if she had her own music in her head. I looked at the pattern in the leaf, trying to memorize it. Then I stood up, pulled the red thread from my backpack, and tied a tiny piece to a twig. A sign. For later. "Thank you, Nimmersatt." She continued chewing. "You won't find me again." "Why?" "Because I'll soon be something else." I continued walking, a little more quietly than before. And behind me, the leaf rustled, as if it had smiled. A few steps later, I stopped. At the edge of the path lay an old apple. Wrinkled, fragrant. I picked it up and sniffed. It smelled of early childhood. I placed it on a flat stone—perhaps someone in need of a sweet moment would need it. The forest changed subtly. The patches of light on the ground danced differently, and somewhere further ahead, something chirped in a strange rhythm—like a beat waiting for something.