Six Moons Before Mating by H. C. Turk

Author:H. C. Turk [Turk, H. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: H. C. Turk
Published: 2018-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Against The Steel

Feeling that he had walked a tremendous distance before falling on his face two feet from the greenhouse didn’t make any sense. He must have been a bit woozy. No, he hadn’t struck his head, and hadn’t fallen hard enough to lose his breath. So, just get up and maybe cut some of the exposed roots he was always tripping over.

Stan understood that he had been falling down a lot, though he couldn’t remember the last time. But it wasn’t new. He recalled that old saying: “Beneath the sun stands nothing new,” especially if it falls on its face.

Standing inside the greenhouse, Stan was literally scratching the back of his head when his dad arrived.

“Looking for something?” Glenn asked.

“I’m looking for a…body.”

“A what?”

“What? Uh, I’m looking for the wheelbarrow. I promised to take Abby for a ride.”

“She’ll like that if her mother superior doesn’t consider it heresy.”

“Don’t talk so weird,” Stan chided. “You sound like a throwback or something.”

“You’re the one always throwing himself on your face.”

“What do you mean, ‘always’?”

“Every day. At least every day today.”

“You always were a good father. That ended when your senility set in.”

“I’m senile?” Glenn said. “You want some help finding that body?”

“No,” Stan decided. “It’s not in this greenhouse.”

“Well, good luck,” Glenn said while turning away. “I’m going to trim some roots before I trip and break my neck. I’m not practiced like you.”

“Thanks for your service. This grand estate is yours, too.”

“Just remember that buyer guy or whatever he is. He should be on the way. Maybe that’s the body you were looking for.”

“I think you’re right,” Stan replied.

In a way, he knew he was right. That made him scratch his head again. Ouch.

When a man arrived whom Stan had never seen before, why did Stan look for scars? When the guy offered his name, Stan was so misplaced he almost corrected him. But he didn’t know what was right.

“Malvin Badmere.”

“Stan Power.”

The new/old guy looked around.

“This is where you experiment with plants.”

“This is where I grow them.”

“Like a laboratory.”

“I guess you’re right,” Stan admitted.

“All this work must take a lot out of you.”

“The work isn’t hard.”

“I mean the energy. You have to think and concentrate to create. Very tiring.”

“I guess you’re right. I give the plants my energy and they take it to form plant growth. Give and take is a law of nature.”

“I feel you’re right.”

”We’re right a lot,” Stan said. “What the hell do you want?”

He felt like being mean.

Badmere walked away, stepping over mist lines without tripping. He continued past the Ghengis zeider, shielding his eyes as though to avoid seeing their growth. He stopped at a folding table that held concoctions for Stan’s fertilizer formulas, including tincture of absinthe and solverit regia. Bending, he looked at a piece of serpentine glass.

“I gave her that bottle,” he said dully, still staring, still bent.

“You gave it to whom?”

“Sorcerus abigailii. Your favorite plant.”

“How do you know that’s my favorite?”

Reluctantly Badmere reached for the bottle.

“You can touch it,” Stan told him.

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