Oh, my lovelies!! Hello!
I’ve missed you all, simply terribly.
At last, I present you with the next installment of The Constellations, which you can [and should] read here.
I did quite a bit of research for “Cancer.” That’s usually what happens when I’m low on inspiration for stories and just generally short on the will to live.
The good news, of course, is that, as a result, I have all sorts of interesting facts to tell you. Pour yourself a cup of tea and settle in.
Crabs are crustaceans
My preliminary research confirmed my long-held opinion that crabs are basically the stuff of nightmares. Consider the facts:
- All those freaking legs (8 legs, 2 claws- they’re decapods)
- Eyes on stalks that can swivel 360° (your swivel mileage may vary, based on the kind of crab)
- There are giant mega-crabs called coconut crabs that will climb up into trees after birds, break their wings, and eat them.
- (No, I kid you not. They also eat coconuts, kittens, and other crabs… and are allegedly why Amelia Earhart’s body was never found. Go watch this video or read this article if you want to have nightmares for the next freaking week.)
There’s clearly only one thing to do with such icky critters: we should eat them!
This is where things get a tad more complicated.
Crab declawing (catch, snap, and release) is…. well, I can’t decide if I’m righteously indignant on behalf of the crabs, horrified that I’ve eaten things that are still freaking swimming around out there, or proud of humanity’s, er- inventiveness. That’s right, folks: some crabs are harvested whole-body (catch and kill), but crab declawing is globally practiced, and involves catching a live crab, snapping off a claw or two, and tossing it back whence it came.
This may sound like a good idea at first, especially since we’re not sure about how a crab experiences pain and they can regenerate limbs- sorta. The thing is, a lot of crabs seem to have too short of a lifespan to actually regrow a mature claw before they drop dead, post-snap mortality is still apparently pretty high, and life is more difficult for a crab missing claws- what and how they eat necessarily changes, and they understandably have a really hard time attracting a mate.
Plus, there’s the lingering problem of dinner still being alive while you eat its appendage.
In that vein, horseshoe crabs are captured and bled alive. [That- that was a truly awful pun. I apologize.] Their blue blood is vital for biomedical testing; if bacterial contaminants are present, even on the mind boggling level of one part per trillion, there’s a substance in their blood that’ll gel around the contaminant. Ever had an injection, or an IV, or an implant like a pacemaker? In fact, every FDA approved drug goes through LAL testing to ensure its safety. The entire reason we don’t die from bacterial endotoxins in any of these things, are because we go full-on vampire (but in a creepy, dystopian sci-fi lab sort of way) on an entire species. The Atlantic ran a good article on this a few years back.
Crabs might be Nature’s nightmarish perfect form, but we’ve figured out how to (a.) eat them alive and (b.) use a property of their blood that sounds like something out of a Star Trek episode.
As it turns out, humans are the stuff of crab nightmares.
….. Not sure if I’m proud of us or appalled. It’s certainly a nice bit of symmetry.
The constellation
Cancer is the faintest of the twelve constellations that make up the zodiac. Astronomically, the zodiac contains the constellations that lie along the elliptic (the sun’s path across the heavens). Astrologically, the zodiac is a bunch of hooey, and I decided to ridicule horoscopes a bit in the story.
Aside from a number of playful anachronisms and my inability to base Karkinos on any one specific type of crab (he’s an amalgamation of characteristics I found amusing or interesting from several), this is arguably the Constellations story that has most closely stuck to its associated Greek myth.
I thought the poor thing deserved to have its story told through its perspective.
The myth
Hopefully, you’ve all heard of the Labors of Hercules.
In short, Heracles [the Greek, as opposed to the Latin version of his name] is a big, muscle-bound brute who wears a lion skin, runs around picking fights with various monsters, and clubs them to death. (That’s a slight oversimplification, admittedly, but it’s difficult to view this neanderthal very charitably). Why was he doing this? Why, he had orders from Eurystheus, whom he was serving for a period of time as penance for an epic fit of domestic violence where he killed his first wife Megara and their three children.
You can always rely on the Greek heros to be the most messed up bastards on the block!
Apparently, Heracles committed these murders in a fit of madness induced by Hera (who, as usual, was furious over Zeus sleeping around… you’d think the ancient Greeks could lay off that particular trope a bit, but nooo– so, throughout Heracles’ Labors, Hera was trying to kill him).
You’ll be hearing more later about both the hydra and this asshole Heracles, since they both have their own constellations…. rather a bit later, since there are a lot of c’s and heavens only knows when The Constellations will reach to the h’s. I’ll give you the highlights.
The Lernaean Hydra was a multi-headed monster-serpent-thing, who lived in the swamps/lake of Lerna. For simplicity in “Cancer,” we’re going with the traditional nine heads, eight of them mortal and one of them immortal. The problem with fighting the hydra was that, every time you cut off a head, two grew back in its place; plus, there was that pesky immortal head.
Fortunately for Heracles, he had his smartypants nephew Iolaüs tagging along, and the kid realized that if you cut off a head and then cauterized the neck, the hydra couldn’t regrow anything. So, they got rid of eight heads this way, and Heracles buried the immortal ninth head under a rock.
A rock.
The Greeks had some very good points about the drawbacks of immortality, you know. Think about Tithonus, Dawn’s lover, who was granted immortal life but not immortal youth.
No, really- think about that.
*shudders* Yeetch!
While Heracles was fighting the Lernaean Hydra, a crab popped up out of the swamp and bit his foot; Heracles stomped on it, and Hera put it in the sky to say thanks (for nothing). The crab’s name in the original Greek was Karkinos (Latin transliteration, Carcinus).
Honestly, it’s a shit deal for the crab, all the way around. What’re you known for? Taking one bite out of Heracles, and then getting stomped into oblivion.
Conclusion
Look, I don’t like crabs, except as dinner (which I’m re-evaluating, given that I find I have a surprisingly low tolerance for, y’know, literally eating something alive). I like them about as much as I like giraffes, really. I can’t get past the legs. Or the eyestalks. Or the freakish hermit crabs popping out of their shells like motherloving walking daisies with claws. Or the fact that one bit me when I was frolicking about in the ocean that one time (not dissimilar to what happened to Heracles, oddly enough) and I was convinced I was about to lose a limb to flesh-eating bacteria. Think I’ve still got the scar. Definitely have still got some emotional trauma.
I’ve got issues with crabs, okay?!
But-
We eat them alive.
We vampirize the horseshoe crabs.
And, Cancer has got just the saddest constellation myth I’ve read yet.
I still think they’re the stuff of nightmares, pets, don’t get me wrong.
……. the very, very tasty stuff of nightmares.
All my research into crabs has made me…. well, rather sympathetic to the crabs, and to the crab Cancer/Karkinos in particular.
Nonetheless, I think it’s probably best for me to conclude my research with an order of soft-shelled crab tempura, though, don’t you think?
Goodnight, my lovely pets.