The concerts were far more enthralling than James had ever thought possible. He couldn't get enough of the beautiful, haunting music the five musicians made. The skilled troupe took their instruments' notes and created a tapestry of music that wove together intricate harmonies and melodies into a beautiful emotional storm. Each sound lent a different shade and color to each unique piece in different ways, and James had never heard such amazing music before. It transported him to different times in his life, and it seemed like it was guided by emotions. The concert covered a whole host of feelings in the music, but it ended on a high, positive note that rang through the room like hope. James gave a tearful standing ovation at each concert, and he attended all four in Buffalo.
After the concert, the five musicians would go out and speak with the audience. James was startled to find himself included in this ritual, but the children who had attended, most stiff and bored from sitting still for so long, only had to hear he was that James for them to gather around to hear firsthand his exciting adventure with the peach. James hadn't yet gotten tired of retelling his adventures, so he regaled his eager audience with a condensed version of his adventures with the bugs and the giant, magical fruit. He loved the joy on the children's faces as he detailed the icy seas and the billowing clouds and the incident with the rainbow. And then, after an hour or so, the troupe would leave and head back to the hotel, grabbing a bite to eat on the way.
The last night in Buffalo, the five musicians and James went to a very nice restaurant to celebrate the first successful city. They spoke about the next place they were going while James tucked in and ate a delicious meal. Afterward, they headed back to the hotel and said goodnight before splitting off. James and Mr. Grasshopper went into their room.
"I believe I shall take a shower, James," Mr. Grasshopper said. "Then I suggest you do the same."
"Okay," James said. "May I watch a show until you get out?"
Mr. Grasshopper smiled. "Of course."
After a hot shower, Mr. Grasshopper pulled his nightshirt on and smoothed it down then headed out so that James could take his shower. While James was bathing, Mr. Grasshopper packed most of their things, leaving out only what they'd need the next morning. James came out of the bathroom as he was setting aside the suitcases. His reddish-brown hair was plastered to his head, and his skin was flushed from the heat.
"I think I've just about gathered all of our belongings," Mr. Grasshopper said. "We'll just have to pack our nightshirts tomorrow morning. But let's do one more sweep of the room."
After they had made absolutely sure they had everything, Mr. Grasshopper nudged James.
"I have a treat for the two of us," he said.
"A treat?" James's face lit up when he saw the ripe peaches that Mr. Grasshopper held. "Oh! How lovely! Thank you, Mr. Grasshopper!"
Mr. Grasshopper allowed James to take his pick then bit into the juicy peach with great pleasure. It still wasn't as good as the magical peach had been, and they were sure at this point that no ordinary peach ever would be. Still, it was their favorite treat. When he was done with his peach, James squinted and tossed the pit at the trash can. His face broke into a wide smile when he made it, and he turned to see if Mr. Grasshopper had seen it. The insect smiled and ruffled his hair.
"Very nice, James."
Mr. Grasshopper threw his own peach pit at the can and it bounced off the side.
James giggled. "Nice try," he offered, hopping up and throwing the pit away. He sat back down and hesitated, playing with his hands. After a moment, the boy looked up. "May I ask you a question?"
Mr. Grasshopper turned to smile at James. "Of course James. Anything."
"Well, I'm still wondering why you never invite the family to your concerts."
After a pause, Mr. Grasshopper's upper arms dashed up and he nervously cleaned his antennae. When his hands settled back into his lap, he sighed. "I don't want them to be disappointed in me and my performance."
James was puzzled by this admission. "But why would they be disappointed? Your playing is amazing."
"You might think so, James, but Mr. Centipede isn't exactly thrilled with my choice of career. I am loath to give him more ammunition to throw back in my face."
"Why can't you two get along?" James asked. "I wish you would. You both seem so angry at each other, and I don't understand why."
Mr. Grasshopper suddenly stiffened and went very still. James glanced at him and was startled to see a look of great discomfort on the insect's face. Mr. Grasshopper thought very hard, his instincts prompting him to flee from what they perceived as a dangerous situation. But there was nowhere to run. And, most important of all, it was James, not the others, sitting beside him and asking these difficult questions. Questions he had every right to know the answers to.
"Mr. Grasshopper?" James asked, concern in his young face.
"James, what I am about to tell you is very important, and I need you to try and understand."
James's expression grew serious and he sat up straighter. "Yes?" he asked solemnly.
Mr. Grasshopper swallowed and took a deep, steadying breath. "There are things you don't quite understand about being a bug. About being, shall we say, not human."
There was a long pause as James considered this. At last, he spoke. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean."
Mr. Grasshopper hesitated, studying James's face then looked away as he spoke the words that he never wanted to admit to the others. "I'm a Lesser, James," he said, his voice soft.
James stared at his guardian, confused. He knew from the insect's averted gaze and uncomfortable posture that what he'd just said was something he was ashamed of. He also knew the admittance was important and that it was a privilege to be entrusted with this information. But he didn't know what Mr. Grasshopper meant. As the silence stretched on, Mr Grasshopper had to swallow his nerves again, afraid of James's reaction. At last, James spoke, but what he said was not what the insect expected.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand. What are you lesser than?" James asked, sounding a bit guilty.
Mr. Grasshopper turned to blink at James, startled. But as James's kind blue eyes stared up at him, he relaxed and wrapped his left arms around the boy's shoulders and back.
"I should have known you wouldn't understand that. It's not exactly the right term, but it's the best I've found in the English language." He shook his head. "It's so very difficult to translate the insect tongue to human language. They're so very different after all."
"Wait," James cut in. "You speak a different language? I didn't know that."
Mr. Grasshopper laughed and squeezed him. "Let me put it this way, my dear boy. We certainly didn't speak English, or any human language, before we came into contact with the crocodile tongues! Can you imagine what the entomologists of the world would do if they heard bugs speaking in a human language? It would be in all the newspapers! Can you imagine the headlines?"
James couldn't help but laugh at himself. "Of course you didn't speak English. I just didn't know that bugs have a language."
"Yes. It's not the same as English. Fewer sounds, completely different grammatically. It's sort of primitive compared to human languages, but we can convey a lot with it." Mr. Grasshopper shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. But a human could never speak it. Then again, bugs shouldn't speak English either…"
James giggled. "Why did you never tell me before?"
"There was never a need to. You lack the anatomy to speak our tongue, so we can't teach you. Therefore, we just talk to you in English. We weren't trying to keep it from you. If you'd ever asked, we would have been glad to tell you."
James nodded, and they sat still for a few moments. Then the boy kicked his feet and spoke. "So what did you mean? What are you lesser than?"
"Not lesser than, James. Just Lesser. It's a title, or a rank if you prefer."
"So… you're a Lesser?"
Mr. Grasshopper shifted and glanced away. "Yes. That would be correct."
"Okay. But what does that mean?"
The insect nervously cleaned his antennae again. He could do this. "To put it in human terms, I was considered to be an outcast. Most grasshoppers were repulsed by me. Perhaps it was pheromones. But they did not like me. I rankled them. So… they attacked me. A lot."
James stared up at Mr. Grasshoppers face, which was tight with pain. His lower right hand came up to his side, and he began to run his fingers delicately over a small area.
"What happened?"
Mr. Grasshopper shook his head and pressed his lips together. "I eventually left and ended up on the Hill."
"Really?" James could sense that Mr. Grasshopper wanted to change the subject, so he obliged. "Is that why you did it, then?"
"Did what?" Mr. Grasshopper asked, relaxing.
"Lie to the others about how my wrist broke."
Mr. Grasshopper nodded. "Yes, James. I understand why you didn't want to tell them about those boys and what they're doing to you. Being, oh what's the word? Bullied! That's it. Being bullied is something that makes you feel like such a…"
"Loser?" James suggested, looking at the carpet.
"Yes. Like you're lesser than, in a way. And besides yourself, I've never willingly told anybody about what happened to me Before. The things they would do…" Mr. Grasshopper shivered. "It was barbaric by human standards."
James wanted to ask, but before he could, he yawned, covering his mouth as the day caught up with him. Mr. Grasshopper latched on to the distraction.
"What are we doing? We should be asleep. We have to get on the road quite early tomorrow. Come on, James. Bedtime."
Mr. Grasshopper tucked James in then straightened up the room. James watched him through heavy eyelids for a few minutes.
"Mr. Grasshopper?"
"Yes, James?"
"Thank you for telling me that stuff." Mr. Grasshopper paused and looked at James. The boy smiled. "I know it was hard for you. I still don't really understand what Lesser means, but I don't think less of you for it."
Mr. Grasshopper felt a warm burst of affection for the boy, and the anxiety he hadn't been aware of faded away. Looking around, he found himself satisfied with the state of the room and headed over to lie down on the other side of the bed.
"Thank you, James. Good night."
He clicked the light off and listened as James shifted and settled. His breathing slowed as he fell asleep, and Mr. Grasshopper considered the conversation. It had been uncomfortable, sure, but it hadn't gone as poorly as he'd feared it would. James, that wonderful boy of his, was so kind and thoughtful. And now that somebody knew his secret, Mr. Grasshopper somehow felt better. But as he shifted, the fingers on his lower right hand came into contact with his side and he cringed. There was still a lot the boy didn't know. But for the first time, he felt that it would be possible to trust somebody with the whole story. Eventually.
