I was the oldest member of the island. Galápagos tortoises can live for 176 years. I had many stories from my time on the Island. But it is the day I left that I remember most.
The sea was a deep blue, speckled with birds. The seals were yapping, and the lizards were crawling through the rocks. A white dot on the horizon was all the birds were talking about.
“It’s giant. They call it a ship,” a dove twittered.
“There are noisy things called humans on it,” the grey mockingbird chirped. Two hawks nodded. I looked up at the birds.
Every passing day, the ship came closer. At the end of the week, it had docked.
“It’s here,” the animals squealed.
HMS Beagle, I read off the side of the enormous white ship. The humans screamed weird words. All the animals scurried away, but I stayed frozen in amazement.
Then, a large human they called Wickham, with the help of his crew, picked me up. “Harriet,” he grunted. The animals watched. I put my head inside my shell. The ship left as fast as it came, and I was on board. I didn’t want to go.
The rest of my time on the ship was a blur. But in the end, we came to a place Wickham called Australia. The rest of the humans brought me through a gate lined with flowers. It was hot. They brought me to a small fenced in clearing with grass, water, and rocks.
Every morning, I got the same old green leaves. It was lonely and nothing like the Galápagos. In tanks and other enclosed areas, rare animals looked sad. Sometimes Wickham would visit, but mostly I saw other humans with their children snapping photos. I wondered if the other animals missed me in the Galápagos.
One day, they brought in another tortoise. She was small and had a rough black shell and brown eyes. At first, she would hide in her shell. But one day, she came out.
“Where are you from,” I asked, looking at her.
”Asia. One day I will go back,” she spoke bravely.
We told each other of our adventures. “The humans had taken over the sea, and I had to leave my family behind and my rainforest, ” she said. She looked at me with longing eyes.
Years passed. We told each other of our lives. Mine in the Galápagos, hers in the forest off the coast of Vietnam.
She got older. The humans took her out of the fenced area one day and brought her back the next morning.
She spoke, “I’m almost free.” She looked into my eyes. “What do you mean?” I asked, meeting her stare.
“It’s time.” Gently, she closed her eyes.
I looked at her limp form. “Goodbye,” I whispered. I imagined her running around her rainforest. I imagined myself in the Galápagos. I knew someday I would be free too.
We would meet again. I was sure we would.