From the Field Notes of Colonel Aubrey Fitch-Harrington, FRS

Observations Upon the Fauna of Southern Africa — Volume III (In Preparation)

“The Firefly (Luciola and related genera) produces bioluminescent light through a chemical reaction in the abdomen that generates near-zero heat — the most efficient light production known in nature. The light is a mating signal. Different species flash different patterns; females respond from the grass with a species-specific flash at a species-specific interval. The timing is precise: the male and female have established, between them, a protocol specific enough to reduce interference from other species and from predators that mimic the signals. The author noticed the fireflies at the camp’s edge this evening for the first time. He notes that this is incorrect: they have been at the camp’s edge every evening. He had not been looking.”

He looked up from his notes at nine o’clock and found the darkness was not dark.

Not the general not-dark of moonlight or distant fire. Specific points of cold light scattered across the grass beyond the camp’s edge, appearing and disappearing in patterns he could not immediately interpret. He had been writing his field notes by lamplight since dinner and the fireflies had been out there the whole time.

He wrote: Fireflies. Camp edge. Multiple individuals. Bioluminescent. First observation this visit.

He crossed out first observation this visit and wrote first observation this evening. Then he crossed that out too and wrote simply: present.

They had been present every evening. He had not looked.

He watched for an hour.

The flashes were not random. With patience he could see that specific lights had specific intervals, specific durations. Each flash was a question. Each response from the grass was an answer in the correct interval. The conversation was happening in pulses of cold light across the dark, and it had been happening every evening of this camp and every camp before it, and the author had been writing field notes under a lamp.

Cetshwayo brought the last tea of the evening and stood for a moment looking at the lights.

He said nothing. Some things did not require saying.

The Colonel wrote: They were here last evening. And the evening before. They will be here tomorrow evening. The light is cold and the most efficient light produced by any living thing. The pattern is language between a male and a female who have never seen each other and are finding each other in the dark by the specific timing of a pulse. The author was writing his field notes. He notes that the field notes were about things observable in daylight and that what was happening in the dark was more interesting, and that the order of priority has been consistently wrong and is being revised for the last time this evening.

He put the notebook down and watched until the lights went out one by one.

He did not write anything else that evening. The lights had said what needed saying.