The Day Bali Ran on Water

Page 1 — The leaf at the canal’s edge

Bali woke with the first warm light, balanced on the broad green leaf of a heliconia at the canal’s edge. The water beneath was the color of strong tea, and tiny rings spread across it where insects skimmed the surface. He was no longer than a grown-up’s hand, and bright emerald from his nose to the tip of his long tail. The rainforest was just beginning to make its morning noises.

Page 2 — Two legs and a hurry

Bali hopped down from the leaf and stood up on his hind legs. Basilisks don’t usually walk — they sprint. He took off along the muddy bank, tail held out behind him for balance, head bobbing like a tiny dinosaur on a mission. The mud was cool under his fringed toes. He didn’t know where he was going yet, but mornings in Tortuguero are for going.

Page 3 — The flower and the bee-bird

A hummingbird hovered above a heliconia flower the color of fire, wings beating so fast they sounded like a soft little engine. “You’re up early, green one,” the hummingbird buzzed. “I drink half my body weight in nectar before sundown — what do you eat?” Bali snapped at a passing fly. “Bugs. And sometimes a flower if it tastes sweet.” The hummingbird laughed, dipped its long beak into the heliconia’s red hood, and was gone in a streak.

Page 4 — The shadow

A long shadow slid over the bank. Bali froze. A green heron was stepping along the mud, slow and tall, its yellow eye fixed on the small movements of the bank. The heliconia leaves were too far. The other side of the canal was a wall of green roots and safe shadows, but the canal itself was wide and brown and full of slow caimans dozing in the warm water.

Page 5 — Running on water

Bali did the one thing only basilisks can do. He didn’t stop running when he hit the water — he ran across it. His fringed back toes slapped the surface so fast they made tiny pockets of air, and the air held him up just long enough for the next foot to come down. Slap, slap, slap, twenty steps a second — his small light body skittered across the canal like a stone that wouldn’t sink. People in Costa Rica call basilisks Jesus Christ lizards for exactly this reason.

Page 6 — The far side

Bali reached the other bank and dropped to all four feet, panting, green chest going in and out. He scrambled up into a tangle of heliconia roots and let his heart slow down. The heron had passed. The canal was glittering. A blue morpho butterfly drifted by, the color of a tiny piece of sky. Bali was small, and the rainforest was huge, but his feet had learned what they were for. What would you do, if you found out your feet could run across water?