Heavenly Garden

I wrote this short story in 2008. I always imagined the lead character as Kathy Bates, with her ability to portray a dangerous dark side, and one who was perhaps a victim of ridicule that took a toll but didn't dampen her spirit.

Heavenly Garden

Flora Bloom had a gift. From an early age she had a way with flowers. Perhaps her interest in gardening was due to the combination of her first and last name, an unintended byproduct of her being named after her maternal grandmother. Whatever the reason, Flora seemed able to commune with the plants under her care with particular skill, speaking to them as if they were aware of her words.

Indeed, she was the true embodiment of what one would want in a gardener.

It was in some way, a compensation for another aspect of her life. Unfortunately, Flora was unattractive, her features stark and unappealing to those of the opposite sex. When she was young, her playmates were often cruel, taunting her because of her looks. Her parents hoped that she would blossom into a desirable woman, and an acceptable mate for some lucky man, growing into her beauty gradually, as some are prone to do.

But such was not the case for Flora, who even in her prime lacked the physical qualities normally sought after by men. She had always secretly wished for good looks, but instead had been forced to endure the embarrassment of other's thoughtlessness. With age, she had been able to dismiss the cruelty of her former classmates, but her lack of a companion and the overheard whispers of those more fortunate were difficult for her to bear.

She had seen the women she had grown up with marry and have children, knowing in her heart that the only children she would ever have would be botanical in nature. And so she remained single throughout her entire life, being known locally as The Spinster Bloom, a miracle worker with plants, and so healthy that she was seen as positively vibrant.

As her friends and acquaintances aged and died, Flora survived and took her pleasure from the beauty she was able to create and nurture in her garden. Now, at sixty two years of age, her lack of a husband seemed inconsequential, and the occasional memories of unkind words spoken by uncaring souls were less important to her.

She had her garden. In all its glory, her garden displayed bursts of color and vitality. Filled with the proof of her abilities, it was a testament to her affinity with plants. Her only regret was that it wasn't larger. Her small backyard couldn't possibly contain all that she wanted to grow, and she had no front yard to speak of. She had resigned herself at last to doing what she could to make her garden perfect, although she was never really satisfied.

It may have continued in that way until her eventual death if it were not for a letter she had received from a college classmate of hers. Gerald Faulkner had shared Flora's love for horticulture and had been her dearest friend during the latter part of their studies. They had remained in touch throughout the years, more like brother and sister, with him entering a career as a teacher of agriculture in a renowned college, and her living frugally on the inheritance she had received when her parents died.

After his retirement, Gerald had been able to pursue his love for exotic plants, traveling the globe in search of new species. His letter intrigued her, as well as the seeds that he had sent along with it. They had arrived in a plain papered package, with a postmark from Peru. Noting the postmark and return address as she opened the package, she had immediately sat and read his letter.

*
Dear Flora, I hope that all is well with you. We haven't spoken in some time, and I'm afraid that I have been so wrapped up in my work that I have neglected to check in with you as often as I should have. As you know, I have been on a mission lately to find and catalogue unknown species of plants. 

My travels have taken me to some exotic locales, but none with as much potential for discovery as here in Peru. Due to the nature of my latest find, and the fact that I am temporarily incapacitated, I felt the need to confide in someone. Your name immediately came to mind because of my implicit trust in you, and because of your expertise in all things botanical in nature. 

I can barely contain my excitement over this newest discovery. Although this will be the one hundred thirty-first new species that I have catalogued, it is by far the most interesting. In fact, the structure of this plant is so bizarre that it must be seen to be believed. I am sending you all of the seeds that I have, seven to be exact, hoping that you will have more luck than I had at germinating them. 

I suppose I should explain how I came upon this unusual specimen so that some of the mystery is dispelled. I'm afraid that my health has deteriorated to a point that I must remain in the hospital here in Chinca to regain my strength. You can contact me if necessary by phoning the hospital. 

Two months ago, while on a trip to a neighboring region of the country, I was approached by a local peasant who told me that he had heard of my interest in unusual and rare plants. He told me of an ancient ruin deep in the jungle beyond the old fortress at Kuelap that was once inhabited by the Chachapoyans, who predated the Incan civilization. He told me of a brilliant red plant that only grows in a valley below an unnamed temple, and offered to guide me there for a price. 

I agreed of course, and we trekked through the mountains for more than a week until coming upon the place he had described. 

When we emerged from the jungle, and I saw the ruins, it was like stepping back in time. I must admit that I was captivated by the ancient temple, which held a commanding view of the isolated valley below it. The valley was heavily forested in its depths, but was surrounded by natural limestone, which effectively precluded growth for some distance approaching the rim, and made for an odd but striking appearance. 

I decided to rest a bit in the shade of the temple before descending to the valley below, and noticed some strange characters carved into the rock wall near where I was sitting. The lack of direct sunlight had apparently protected the coloring of these carvings, which still appeared rich and clear on the stone. The characters and symbols told a story, progressing from left to right in an apparent timeline. I remember the chill I felt as I shone my flashlight on the walls and took in what I was seeing. 

The first depictions showed many individuals bowed down, evidently worshipping the sun, which as you know was common during that period of history. On the next panel there was a flaming object falling from the sky, and the figures of natives were shown running from its impact. The subsequent illustrations were of the object lying in a large hole, and of the building of what must have been the temple where I now stood. The last panels showed several plants, with long stalks and impressive red flowers, with a few natives lying around them, prostrate in death. 

Turning off the flashlight, I stepped back out into the bright sunlight and looked down into the valley. With the knowledge I had gained from the depictions on the temple walls, I could see now that the valley before me could have been an impact crater from a meteorite that fell thousands of years in the past. 

Struggling to control my enthusiasm, I began my descent into the crater, leaving my reluctant guide behind me. The descent was somewhat difficult for someone of my age, but I was determined, and soon found myself on the floor of the depression. What I found there was a botanist's dream. 

The expanse was covered with thousands of very strange looking plants, which were arrayed before me with their flowering heads pointing in my direction. These imposing perennials were about five feet tall with spectacular blossoms of scarlet rimmed in pink. The magnificent flowers rested atop single stalks of deep red, ending at the base with foliage that was pitch black in color. 

The seeds of these plants were strewn at random, evidently having fallen from the center of the flowers as they aged and withered. 

The odd thing was that the many insects that are prevalent in the area seemed to avoid the blossoms. This made me wonder at how pollination occurred, so I examined one more closely. I noticed that the plant had neither male nor female gametes, which deepened the mystery of their reproduction. Could these plants reproduce at will? 

It seems strange to mention the word "will" when speaking of a plant, but the absence of insect life, and the eerie silence of the surrounding jungle was unnerving. I couldn't help but imagine that these plants had something to do with that seemingly guarded hush, which somehow promised dire consequences if violated. As a scientist, I tend to disregard irrational thoughts, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Lying here in bed, it seems silly now, but at the time I felt a sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm my curiosity, and send me running back toward civilization. 

Scattered among these smaller versions of the species were several that were the size of large oak trees. Dark maroon trunks led to a dense crown of ebony leaves, from which sprouted more of the same extraordinary flowers. I approached one of the massive trees, and ran my hand across the pebbled surface of its trunk, which would easily have measured ten feet in diameter. I drew back my hand in alarm when I felt a rippling sensation beneath my fingertips. As I looked up into the spreading canopy I could see that the limbs were gently swaying, although there was no wind to speak of. 

Realizing that I had discovered a new species that would produce shock waves through the academic community, I returned to one of the smaller plants and bent down to remove the field scissors from my pack. Being careful to preserve the integrity of the rest of the plant, I snipped off one of the black leaves at its base. When I rose and turned into the sunlight to examine it more closely, the flower nearest me expelled an almost invisible mist, which settled on my right arm. I immediately felt a burning sensation on the surface of my skin, that intensified as the minutes passed. I suspected at once that this new species had a very novel way of defending itself. 

I vaguely remember scooping up a handful of seeds, stuffing them into my specimen bag, and scrambling back up to the rim of the crater to where my guide awaited. 

Within hours I became incoherent, and the next thing I remember is waking up in this hospital bed. I was fortunate to have a compassionate guide, who loaded me onto one of his burros and took me back into town. He deposited me in the hospital before taking his leave. 

My time here in the hospital has given me time to think about my experience in the crater, and of those plants that beg for classification. I imagined that if something were to happen to me, this work could be lost. That is why I am sending you these seeds. I have taken the liberty of naming the plant, which could be the first in a new Phylum. I would appreciate your insistence in maintaining it. The name, Caelestis, is Latin for Heavenly, and would be appropriate in my opinion because of the plant's apparent origin. 

As soon as health permits, I will join you, although I seem to be getting better and then relapse into bouts of fever and unconsciousness. On a few of my better days I was able to walk, and I attempted to germinate the seeds in soil and water, with no success. Hopefully I will be well enough to travel soon, but until then, I am trusting you to care for these seeds. I will call you when I am back in the country so that we can meet and discuss this find. 

Yours truly, 
Gerald 
*

The date on the postmark of the package when it arrived was six months old, and Flora imagined that it had languished on a shelf somewhere in the back of a Peruvian post office, or had been temporarily lost in transit.

She had called the hospital on the same day that she received the parcel, only to be told that the American had regrettably died soon after sending it. Although saddened by his death, her grief was tempered by her interest in the account he had written. On the morning of the day after receiving the package, she opened the small plastic bag containing the seeds, and spread them out on her kitchen table.

There were indeed seven of them, about the circumference of a medium sized coin, and fleshy to the touch. They were black in color with speckles of crimson. Hair-like threads covered each seed, terminating in a curly orange swirl at one end. Flora couldn't wait to see what the adult plants would look like. Gazing down at the seeds, she spoke softly, so as not to startle them in their new surroundings.

"Gerald named you well," she told them. "Caelestis it is, my heavenly children."

Flora had her own secret method for germinating seeds that ensured success every time. She lined a glass jar with perforated paper that she had previously treated in liquid nutrients, and then filled the interior with soil rich in organics. Regardless of the materials used, the most important ingredient in her opinion was the expression of love. Flora would speak to her seeds as a mother would speak lovingly to her child. She lavished the seeds that she germinated with flattery, speaking to them of how strong and straight they would be when fully grown. She spoke to them about the rich soil out in the garden, and of the way the sun filled her backyard during the day. When the root finally broke through the surface of the seed she made sure to tell it how proud she was of the accomplishment.

In the case of these newest additions, her ministrations were even more extravagant. It was almost as if she was giving them birth. They were larger than any she had ever attempted to germinate, looking impressive between the glass and paper. When the roots eventually appeared and were visible through the jar, they were an angry red, shocking in their phallic resemblance.

Flora removed the seeds from the jar after they had all sprouted, and ceremoniously planted them in a newly cleared place of prominence in the center of her garden. Once again, she praised them for their vigor and beauty, speaking of how splendid they would be when they were fully grown. When she spoke, it seemed to her that the thin red tendrils would shiver and stretch with pride; a foolish notion to be sure, but unshakeable nonetheless.

As the days passed, and Flora cared for her newest charges, it became apparent that these were no ordinary plants. For one thing, they appeared to be impervious to the bugs that plagued the rest of her garden, and grew at an amazing rate. It may have been her imagination, but she began to suspect that they had a basic awareness, and that they moved in unison at times, appearing to follow her voice as she spoke to them while watering.

Within a week the plants were more than three feet tall, with glorious scarlet flowers, edged in a luminous pink. The foliage at the base of each was the deepest ebony, just as Gerald had described in his letter. She had never seen anything like them, and before long, more seeds like the ones she'd received in the mail were scattered about her backyard. She observed that these seeds emerged from healthy flowers, unlike what Gerald had surmised in his letter.

She saw no evidence of withering in any of them, only an ever growing vitality.

Then one day during the second week, she discovered something crucial while digging out a particularly bothersome weed. All of the plants seemed to be sharing the same root system, which she supposed was the explanation for their synchronized movement. Flora also noticed that they responded to her more overtly every day. She would be bent over some tedious work in her garden, and would feel the caress of a colorful blossom as it brushed against her cheek. Looking up, she would see the blooms of every plant pointed in her direction, as if they were all watching her every move.

How delightful it was for her, to be able to finally get an immediate response to her kindness. She had always enjoyed the company of plants more than people anyway, and it felt now that she was in an actual relationship which was more satisfying than any she could have ever imagined.

It was about that time that the complaints from the neighbors started. It seemed that her plants were spreading to their yards and choking out other forms of life. There was also the matter of the missing pets. When it was discovered that her plants were toxic, the authorities were alerted.

A contingent of officials from the County Health Department, and the Department of Agriculture visited Flora at her house when it was discovered that the spread of the plants originated from her backyard. She told them all of Gerald's letter, and of his naming of her beloved plants. When she told them the meaning of the word Caelestis, their reaction was predictable. Caelestis was far from heavenly as far as they were concerned. The initial wonder of the scientific community had turned to horror when it was found that people were actually dying from being "attacked" by this new species.

Within six months it became clear that something was going to have to be done about the spread of Caelestis. Eradication efforts began in earnest when entire neighborhoods had to be evacuated because of the danger posed by the encroachment of the plants. Unfortunately, no brand of herbicide had any effect on the plants, nor did trying to destroy them with fire or attempting to cut them down. It was finally determined that Caelestis was a new species of symbiotic organism. The root structure was all connected, and a perceived attack against even one plant caused an unforeseen reaction. If the organism sensed danger it would release a barrage of deadly spores which was more effective than nerve gas in killing its victims who were exposed in any way.

Whole communities were abandoned as the invading horde spread across the country unchecked. Caelestis crossed waterways and interstate freeways as if they didn't exist, and it was discovered that the organism had the ability to delve under any structure, natural or manmade, spreading its roots and popping up to propagate at will. Caelestis spread easily, employing a two-pronged attack. If the seeds that were shed by the flowers failed to gain purchase and grow, the root structure would ensure its rapid advance. The incursion of Caelestis was ultimately compared to an aggressive army, as billions of five foot "soldiers" sprang up, interspersed with enormous trees that were thought of as "generals" in their unstoppable and deadly offensive.

In a desperate measure, the President of the United States authorized the explosion of several nuclear devices in a desperate attempt to halt the spread of Caelestis. The result was a massive release of toxic spores, and the eventual death of millions of citizens in a thousand mile radius downwind. There was no cure for the infection caused by these spores, and death followed weeks of agonizing fever and delirium.

No one really knew how the organism was able to bridge the Atlantic. Most assumed it had crossed as a stowaway on a commercial ship. Others suggested that it had traversed the ocean under the bedrock. By the time the governments of the Eastern Hemisphere realized the arrival of Caelestis, it was too late. The proliferation of the plant in Europe, Asia, and Africa occurred even faster than in the Americas. 

When the fabric of society had begun to unravel, Flora had been prepared. She had stocked her house with enough canned goods and bottled water to last for years. Since the nearby abandoned grocery store still had plenty of supplies, her survival was guaranteed. If she needed to make the occasional trip to the store, her path was cleared as the plants leaned away from her advance in all directions, as if in deference to her status. Her house was shaded from the harsh heat that beat down during the summer by a massive brooding tree which had sprung up in her backyard. Fifty feet tall, it spread its midnight canopy over her house in a protective embrace.

*

The Spinster Bloom looked out from her front porch and wondered what all the fuss was about. She sat and gazed over her loved ones, as they pushed through the asphalt of deserted streets, and into the broken windows of abandoned houses; former homes for those of an arrogant race, who paid for their pride with the threat of extinction.

A vivid blush painted the landscape as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional structures which emerged like islands from a sea of scarlet and pink.

"My children," she murmured to them in a tender whisper.

A sound like the rustling of a vast corn field swaying in the wind broke the silence, as millions of flowering plants turned to face in her direction. As quickly as it had come, the sound was replaced by utter stillness as they listened for her voice, straining for her praise and affection.

"You, my darlings, are positively vibrant. Just look at you out there, standing so straight and tall!"

A trembling of dark leaves was her only answer, as she sat back in her rocking chair and savored the love that she always knew would be hers one day. The years of being mocked were over for Flora. How poignant it was for her now, being in her exalted position because of her simple ability to offer praise, rather than criticism. Perhaps only she realized that Caelestis had merely been waiting for a bit of encouragement to begin its epic journey across the globe. She understood that all of the plants shared one awareness, and that like her, they had waited patiently for the companion that had finally arrived. 

She firmly believed that all anyone ever needed was a kind word, and loving acceptance. She wondered for the thousandth time what direction her life would have taken if she had been born beautiful. But none of that mattered now; her previous existence was far behind her. She had a much greater purpose. Her responsibilities were no longer confined to a tiny backyard, and miniscule flowerbeds. The entire Earth had become her garden.

A smile played on her lips while she rocked and watched the sun, as it slowly rose on the horizon. Stratus clouds provided a stunningly crimson sunrise. It was going to be a heavenly day.