Well, this is it. Today’s the day. God knows I’ve spent enough time studying--years, centuries, eons. I don’t even know how long. I haven’t achieved any particular advantage, though. All the others study just as much. I’ve done my best. I truly have. But will it be enough? After all, there’s always more to know. Still, nobody can know everything (almost nobody, that is) and I do know a lot.

I know how to weave a web to maximize its area and minimize the spinning time, and I can pinpoint when and exactly where an insect has hit it by the vibrations radiated by its impact. I know how to effectively organize a colony: where to put the storage rooms, how to guard the entrances, how to protect the queen. I know how to find and distinguish between friends, enemies, food, and caves with echolocation. I know how to spot a vole from a hundred meters above and swoop down and grasp it in my talons before it knows I’m there. I know how to pick up a scent and follow it for miles across fields, woods, and mountainsides. I know how to crouch in tall grass and then sprint, leap, and drag a zebra to the ground. I know how to chew cud. I know how to oink.

But all that is secondary, of course. It’s all back-up. I’ve also studied the important things. I know the history of Africa since man first appeared there. I know the history of Asia for the past five-thousand years. I’m an expert on the history of Europe and the Americas only since the Renaissance, but I excel at the details. I can recite Shakespeare’s sonnets word for word in the proper Elizabethan accent. I know the name and face of every casualty in the Hundred Years’ War. I can draw all the branches of Thomas Jefferson’s family tree. I know how Robespierre smiled. I know my sum-es-est, my soy-eres-es, my bin-bist-ist, my am-are-is. I have memorized the first thousand terms of the Fibonacci Sequence. I can solve Laplace’s Equation for a hundred distinct types of boundary conditions. I can distinguish an ether from an ester from an acid.

I’m prepared. I am. I can do this.

Okay, it’s time. I’m going in....

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Well? How did it go?"

"What’s a cantata?"

"A cantata?"

"Yes. They asked me to sing a cantata. Cantata--I’ve never heard that word before. I guessed that it was some kind of bird, maybe a prehistoric one. I whistled a finch song, since that’s the one I’m best at. I did it very well, but I’m afraid I got it all wrong. Well, it’s over now. That’s it. I can’t believe it!"

"Don’t worry. That’s just one question. Everyone must get something wrong. But, tell us all about it. Start from the beginning. Was the examination room glorious?"

"Actually, no. I had expected it to be, like one of the saints’ apartments, you know, all white and luminous. But it was a dreary classroom, with dirty brownish industrial carpet and graffiti-covered desks. I knew at once that they wanted to test my comfort level in a typical human environment, so I didn’t even blink. But I was surprised by its ugliness.

"They asked me to sit and then immediately fired the first question. ‘As an oyster, how and why would you make a pearl?’ It was an easy one. No problem. But after I gave my answer, there was no nod of approval, no confirmation of my correctness. The next question came right away. ‘As an oak tree, how do you disseminate your seed?’ I knew that one too. And the next. And the one after that. But, just as I was gaining confidence and becoming comfortable, they asked me to sing a cantata and I stumbled. I sang a finch song, like I said, but I knew it wasn’t right. I knew it and they could tell, I’m sure. But as soon as I finished, they posed the next question. There was no break. No time to rest. Barely time to breathe. One question after another for what? Five hours?

"And then they suddenly stopped and one of them said, ‘Thank you. We’ll let you know your future tomorrow morning. Or, rather, it will happen then.’

"Then he cleared his throat and continued.

"'Now, we tell this to every examinee, so you should not be concerned. It does not reflect your performance, but we want to make sure you understand that there is very little chance of being incarnated as a human. There are ever so many more insect and plant and fish bodies to fill than human ones. Everyone comes in here hoping to become human. We understand that and have come to expect it. That is why we feel that it is part of our duty to point out that human existence is not as wonderful as you may believe.

"'Many fishes live happier and more fulfilling lives than humans. Ants have an unparalleled support network. Trees live for hundreds of years. Each species has its benefits and each is desirable. Humans are the most popular because they are higher in the spiritual hierarchy. They are closer to God. They have nearly broken out of the cycle of rebirth. But human life is difficult. A small minority of humans, mostly concentrated on the European and American continents, lives a life of material affluence. Most humans suffer and die young.

"'It is very challenging to be human. Closeness to God brings responsibility. A very powerful species has a mandate to be true and good, but the temptations are often overwhelming. Ninety-nine percent of humans spend their subsequent lives as something mean and dirty--a gnat, for example. And almost all of the ones who live comfortable lives are in that class. When you consider that we make every effort to incarnate only the best people as humans, you see how difficult their path really is. It’s very risky, whereas something like a cat is very stable. A cat usually becomes another cat.'"

"And that was it?"

"Yes. After that I left and came straight here. God! I’m so nervous. Excuse me. I have to go find out what a cantata is...."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Boom! You’re a tortoise.