“I'll take him if he gets too much,” Yummy said.
Cass rotated her body in a way that meant no, but that also felt a bit like dancing. She loved the bouncy weight of the baby on her shoulders and the warmth of his ankle in her hand, sturdy and plump. She kissed his bare foot. She held on tight.
She could see Lloyd and Momoko sitting in the very front row. Lloyd looked anxious, but Momoko sat perfectly still, hands folded, waiting. Their seed customers and friends sat in a tight cluster around them, balancing coffees and napkins and doughnuts on their knees. They seemed nervously aware of the young people who eddied about them, as though they were afraid of being swallowed up, and for good reason, because the young people were like a great massing body of bare flesh and flashing colors and bells and musty smells of incense and sweat.
Yummy was scanning the crowd looking for someone, and then Cass caught sight of Elliot Rhodes. He raised his arm and waved, and Yummy waved back.
“Oh, Yummy,” Cass said. “You didn't invite him, did you?”
Yummy had the grace to look embarrassed. “I wanted to help,” she said. “The Seeds were trying to get more press to come. He's going to write an article.”
Cass bounced Poo a little more. “They're not really going to damage Will's crop, are they? He's still real upset about that. Threatened to call the sheriff again this morning, but I made him hold off.”
“They better not. I warned them.”
Frank had come back out onstage with Melvin. They each were carrying a long pole, connected by a swath of dark brown fabric, which they laid on the ground, then raised and lowered, making waves that rippled across the cloth as though the earth itself were moving. A gentle drumming sound grew, low and insistent, as people filled in the back of the stage, carrying bongos and bells and gourds with beads. Then the drumming stopped and the cloth settled, revealing a small bump in the middle of the fabric. A clear, high bell sounded, and a little boy with matted blond hair came out on the stage, carrying an enormous watering can. He was wearing tattered overalls and a big straw hat, chewing on a long piece of grass. He stood next to Frankie on the edge of the brown fabric, shading his eyes as though surveying a vast acreage.
“He's adorable!” whispered Cass.
“His name is Bean,” Yummy said. “Makes my kids' names sound almost normal.”
Lilith stepped onto the stage holding a mike. “It starts with the earth,” she intoned.
The drumming resumed, and Frankie gave Bean a shove. The little boy stumbled forward, then walked over the bump and held the can above it.
“For thousands of years farmers have been cultivating this earth and nurturing their seed.”
Bean leaned down and gave the bump a hard swat on the behind. Frankie and Melvin slowly pulled the slithery fabric back to reveal the bump in a burlap sack.
“Now, imagine you are that seed, tucked deep within the earth. Slowly the sun warms you, tickles you awakeâ”
The bump started to writhe like a sackful of cats.
“Oh, so tentatively you send out a threadlike rootâ”
The bump stuck one leg out of the sack, and then another.
“While overhead, your pale shoot slowly pushes upâ”
The bump got to its feet and waved an arm overhead, wiggling its fingers.
“Nudging your tendril toward the warmth of the sunny sun sun.”
The drum rhythms started to build. The bump doubled over as though seized by a stomach cramp, then, at the crash of a cymbal, it straightened, and out of the burlap burst Ocean.
She was dressed as a sunflower in a green leotard, a little tutu of leaves, and a big yellow ruff of petals around her neck. Her cheeks and forehead were painted with brown spots. She glided over to Bean, who sat dumbstruck on the edge of the stage, hauled him to his feet, and started swinging his arms up and down and dragging him in a circle.
“We are here this weekend to affirm this sacred dance of life that has sustained us for millennia in harmony with our planet.”
The drums gave a final flourish. Ocean and Bean abruptly stopped circling and stood in the middle of the stage panting and holding hands. After it was all done, Ocean came running over.
“You were great!” Yummy said, giving her a hug. “Such a pretty little bump.”
“I wasn't a
bump.
I was a
seed.
”
“Of course you were,” said Cass. “A seed that turned into a beautiful flower.”
“Yeah?” Ocean's little flower face was smeared with brown, and her petals were wilting. “They wanted to make me a potato at first, but I said I couldn't make up as good a dance as a potato.”
“Really?” said Cass.
“I mean, a potato just rolls around on the floor, right? That's not a sacred dance of life.”
“No,” said Cass. “There's a limit to potatoes.”
“Yeah,” said Ocean. “They're okay. But sunflowers are prettier.”
“I don't know,” Yummy interrupted. “I'm sure you could do very creative and beautiful things with a potato.”
“Mom,” Ocean said, rolling her eyes, “you have
no
idea.”
“That's right,” said Cass. “She has no idea.”
By noon the rally was in full swing. There were information tables set up all around the perimeter of the farmyard where you could learn about worm composting and gene splicing, the secret to effective protest letters and the ethics of patenting life, the latest in biotech research and European boycotts of American GMOs.
There were workshops, too. “A New Niche MarketâUnprecedented Profits in Organic Potatoes” had attracted a few of the local farmers' wives. Others were taking garden tours with Momoko and Lloyd and learning their seed-saving techniques. Charmey was offering “The Art of the Sprout,” a cooking workshop using sprouted seeds. At three there would be a performance of
The Tragedy of Cynaco the Evil Cyclops: A Morality Play in Three Acts.
In the meantime the painted backdrop of the Cyclops had been turned into a pitching concessionâa hardball in his eye won you a tofu crème pie.
Frankie was making seed bombs at the “Guerrilla Gardening” workshop when Geek caught up with him. They were planning to bomb the chemical fertilizer plant just outside of Pocatello at the protest march the next day. Geek watched as Frankie spooned some Showy Larkspur seeds in the middle of his large mud pie.
“He's here,” Geek said. “Erodes.”
“Who?” Frankie asked, adding some Yellow Monkey-flower seeds. He looked up at Geek's glum face. “Oh, you mean Yummy's boyfriend?”
Geek nodded. “I need you to keep an eye on him. I want to know why he's here.”
“That's obvious,” Frankie said. “Yummy invited him.”
“She thinks he's a reporter,” Geek said. “She was just trying to be helpful.”
“Dude,” Frankie said, “she just wants to get laid.”
“Whatever. Just keep an eye out for him. And anybody else acting weird.”
“Can I make one more of these first?” Frankie asked, eyeing the mud bucket and a jar of Rosy Everlasting.
“Sure.” Geek sighed. “Glad to see you're enjoying gardening.”
Duncan had been right, Elliot thought. He needn't have come. An event like this did not require his personal attention, and there was no way they were going to get any significant media coverage. But as the morning wore on, he began to reconsider. It was an interesting mix. At first glance all you noticed were the kids, the usual collection of activists and hippies who showed up at any protest, but there were others here, too, a few farmers by the looks of it, local businesspeople, and a large number of just plain folks. Where did they come from? Elliot wondered. Just plain folks didn't usually attend events like this. It was worth a look around. He had spotted Yummy during the opening performance. He caught her eye over the heads of the crowd and waved, then, remembering that her father might be watching, wished he hadn't. He smiled. The thought of hiding from someone's father made him feel ridiculously young, and after all, the chances of the old man's recognizing him after twenty-five years were pretty slim.
A little after noon he realized he was being watched. The kid from the Mexican restaurant, the one with the pregnant girlfriend, was tagging him, keeping his distance but keeping him in sight. How amusing, Elliot thought as he approached the kid.
“Take me to your leader.”
“Huh?”
The kid's eyes were a pale slate gray, with flecks of yellow just beneath the surface, like stones under water. Empty. Unwavering. Where did he pick that up? Elliot wondered. Duncan had it, too. A gaze like that was worth a lot, one of those tricks that life teaches you early on, or it doesn't and you have to learn to fake it. Elliot had acquired his later in life, and he knew it lacked conviction. He always felt self-conscious, whereas you could tell that this kid never did. He was the real thing: a loser with nothing to lose.
“I'm a journalist,” Elliot said, averting his eyes to look for a business card. “Friend of the Fullers. Is there someone I could talk to about what's going on here?”
The kid shrugged. “Yeah.” He turned away, and Elliot followed.
Geek was at the registration table, talking to a middle-aged couple with a terrier on a leash. “Today's mainly an information-sharing day,” he was saying. “Tomorrow's the day for putting what we learn into action.”
“We're customers of Fullers' Seeds,” the man ventured.
“Right,” said Geek. “We're leading tours of the Fullers' garden every hourâI'll be doing the next one, starting in a few minutesâand then we have a seed-saving workshop right afterward with Momoko and Lloyd.”
Elliot moved in closer to listen. Geek ignored him. “They'll be giving away free seeds at the workshop as a protest against capitalism and the privatization of food production by greedy multinational agribusiness corporations, if you're interested.”
“We'd love some more of the cucurbits,” the woman said. “The Fullers always had the finest cucurbits.”
“I'm sure that would be fine,” Geek said. “I know they'll be very happy to see you. Please take a look around before the garden tour. There's some very interesting information on our government's failure to enact labeling laws that would help protect citizens and consumers from the hazards of genetically engineered foods.”
“Oh, my goodness,” the woman said. “That sounds very interesting.”
The couple and the dog moved on.
Geek turned toward Elliot. “So what could I possibly help you with?”
“It certainly does sound interesting,” Elliot said. “And you know what? I agree with you completely. GE foods should have been labeled from the get-go.”
“You don't mean that.”
“Sure I do. Full disclosure. It's the only way.” He held out a business card. “Elliot Rhodes. Journalist.”
Geek took the card, looked at it, then handed it back. “Don't bullshit me.”
“No bullshit. I said I agree with you, and I do. Where we disagree is about the effect labeling would have. You think the public will choose not to buy the stuff, and I say consumers are idiots. Give them the choice and they'll buy it anyway, regardless of any label you might put on it.”
“Like cigarettes,” Geek said.
“Exactly. Consumers are dangerous only when they think they've been cheated of their right to exercise free will.”
“This being America and all.”
“Exactly. Or when they think they've been duped.”
“Right,” said Geek. “You would know.” He straightened the papers on the table. “I'm surprised to see you here. At a small local event like this. We're honored to have you, of course. I assume you'll be attending the entirely nonviolent protests tomorrow?”
“As a member of the press, I wouldn't miss it. Will there be other press members there?”
“I have to go lead a garden tour now,” Geek said. He came out from behind the table and stood directly in front of Elliot. “Listen, Mr. E. Rhodes. This is not a big press event. I wish it were. This is a small educational get-together. One reason we're doing it is to help the Fuller family. The parents are old. They're going to die, and they're worried about the future of their seeds. That's all we're trying to do here. Help the family by getting more people interested in taking on the seeds.”
A cheer went up from the pitching concession, where someone had nailed the cyclops in the eye. They both looked up to see Yummy heading toward them. She was wearing a loose white muumuu with a ruffle around the neck. She looked stunning.
Geek lowered his voice. “If you're really a friend of Yumi's, you won't interfere.” He walked away, passing her and exchanging a few words before he cut over toward the garden.
And then she was standing in front of him. “Hi,” she said. He realized he was staring at her. Embarrassed, he looked down at the ground. She was wearing Japanese sandals on her tanned feet. She had silver polish on her toenails and dust between her toes. She was wearing a toe ring.
“You look nice,” Elliot said. “Very Hawaiian.”
“It's hot,” she said.
“Yes. It is.”
They stood there, not looking at each other. He didn't know quite where to take the conversation. He had vowed he would not make a fool of himself, but he just couldn't help himself.
“That was nice last night,” he said.
“Will this make an interesting article?” she asked at exactly the same time.
They both stopped abruptly, and he laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I think it might.” Again he paused. “Of course, it's just a part of a larger story.”