Wanita looked longingly at Yayo, who was foraging for sea weed on the leeward side of the rock on which she was sunning herself. She could see him, smell him, hear him, almost touch him, but Yayo was blind and deaf and impervious to her presence, the sea having come between them forevermore.

It had been so long ago. So long, that she had lost her sense of time. This estrangement could have happened when the earth heaved up a huge ball of fire, propelling it through the depths of the sea till it expanded into an orange ring shimmering against a pale blue sky, only to settle down and solidify into a black crown of jagged rocks. Then again, it might have simply crept and crawled its way through the dense morass of time. Or perhaps it was not a question of time, but of intent. The fact is that her fear of water had been stronger than her love for him and she had stayed behind on dry land.

"Yayo," she yelled from the top of the rock over his head and long back, "remember how you would outstare all the other males in the colony and then start thumping your chest up and down until they all dispersed! I would then look forward to your scampering up to me and mounting me with all the energy you had soaked up from the midday sun. I never told you, did I, Yayo, that I thought you were the bravest and most awesome creature in the whole island. How I curse the day when you fell into the sea and swam away!"

Wanita's voice was drowned by the lapping of the sea against the rock.

As Yayo sifted through the weeds, a tingling sensation along his spine compelled him to lift his head and look straight ahead. Blurred and faint images solidified into old memories which sent his heart racing. There, lying on a rock right in front of him, lay Wanita, the mate whom dry land had taken away from him. That had been far away, in another world. It had been so far away, that he had lost his sense of distance. But then again, it might not have been a question of distance, but of lack of intent. Had he really wanted her to follow him? After all, when he fell into the water, he found himself swimming and swimming without a backward glance to make sure that she was following him.

"Wanita," he screamed at her over the water beating against the hot rock, "did I ever tell you that you were the most luscious of all the females in the island? Did you know that when I thumped my chest up and down in front of all the other males, I was hoping that you would deign to look at me? How I curse the day I fell into the water and got a taste of the wide open freedom of the ocean!"

Yayo's voice was overwhelmed by the cries of the seagulls hovering over the rock.

So goes the story of Wanita and Yayo, two doomed lovers who remembered how to talk to each other, but were unable to touch. For Wanita had remained on land and Yayo had taken to the sea. It is written in the book of wisdom that no marine creature can mate on land for it will die of thirst. And no land creature can mate at sea, for it will drown.

As this tragic tale unfolded, an Englishman stood on a promontory and held a pencil in one hand and a notebook in the other. As he observed the two iguanas, he jotted down a few lines in his notebook. Being a scientist and not a poet, he was oblivious to the tragedy of their destinies. He was succinct.

"Having observed that this island has land as well as marine iguanas, and that they appear to be related, I hereby conclude that the theory of the immutability of the species propounded by some of my learned colleagues is specious. Full stop." He then shut his notebook, and scribbled a title on the thick cardboard cover. "Notebook on the Theory of the Transmutation of the Species."

The Englishman then allowed himself a smile before walking away and disappearing behind the rocks.

THE END

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