The Seed Collectors (36 page)

‘And what do you get when you cross a bear with a deer?’

‘Er, let me guess, Uncle Charlie. Maybe a BEER?’

‘You are too clever.’

‘Do you know what a mimic orchid is?’

Fleur thinks. ‘The ones that look like bees?’

‘Yes, exactly. But there are lots of others. A number of orchid species mimic things. The bee orchid is in the
Ophrys
genus, where
all the flowers mimic insects. There’s also the
Dracula
genus, which contains orchids with flowers that resemble vampires, monkeys, even mushrooms. This is all pretty easy to understand. The flowers want to be pollinated and so they fool insects into landing on them, one way or another. But our orchid, the lost orchid . . .’

‘It pretends to be religious icons because . . .’

‘Because religious icons attract people who want to be enlightened. And it promises enlightenment, of course, just with this unfortunate side-effect that you die. You see a flower that looks like Jesus. Of course you will want to taste its fruit so you pollinate it, which is what it wants – the lost orchid only has human pollinators . . .’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It relies on humans to pollinate it. You see a flower that looks like Ganesh or the Virgin Mary and you touch it, you learn what it does, you make it fruit, you eat it, you probably die. And the seeds are buried with you. But before that, in a final strange twist, the lost orchid mimics one last thing.’

‘Which is?’

‘If you are destined to eat the fruit of the plant and die – whether this is in the next five minutes or the next thousand years – the lost orchid flower begins to look like . . . Well, it starts to look just like you.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’

‘And this isn’t just a load of . . .’

‘No.’

‘OK, then. Bears. You’ll like this one. This is a good one. More of a life story than a joke.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘OK, well, two guys are camping in the forest in Canada or something. Somewhere there are bears.’

‘Are there bears in Scotland?’

‘No. Anyway, these two guys have just fallen asleep when they are woken by grunting and shuffling sounds. It’s a big grizzly, looking for food.’

‘Do grizzly bears eat people?’

‘Yep. So there is food, but the food is in the tent and has just woken up and . . .’

‘Charlie, this is a bit gruesome just before bed . . .’

‘And one guy peeks out of the tent, kind of gulps, and says to the other, “Do you think you can outrun a grizzly?” And the other guy says, “I don’t have to outrun a grizzly. I only have to outrun you.” Think about it . . .’

‘Here.’

It’s the following day and everything has gone strange, just like when they went to Sylvia’s, with the doilies and the pink wafers. Rain pounds the windows. Fleur feels more hungover than she should after just a few small nips of whisky the night before. Ina passes a photo album to her. Who has photo albums these days? And this one seems particularly cheap: the cover is imitation maroon leather, cracked in places. Inside are prints that look like bad photocopies, each one stuffed loosely inside its crackly plastic wrapper.

‘What am I looking for?’ Fleur says.

‘Just look, and you will see.’

‘I’m seeing some flowers,’ Skye says, ‘but . . .’

‘You can’t see . . . the crucifixion? Ganesh? Shiva as the cosmic dancer?’

Again Fleur and Skye exchange a look. Yes, OK, one of the flowers
does look a bit like a crucifixion. A crucifixion created by a ten-year-old on Photoshop. And the Ganesh flower is ridiculous. A pinkish, orangey blur with a peculiar trunk coming out of it, again looking as if it has been airbrushed on. Shiva is a blue orchid with limb-like petals that make it look more like a common clematis than a cosmic dancer. Fleur feels hollow, suddenly. Everything she has learned here swirls like dirty water around a plughole and is gone. All at once she feels a deep and bitter hunger for something she knows does not exist. It is as if she has turned up to the biggest banquet in the world to find only bread and water. This whole thing is a joke. And it’s not even funny. Are these pictures just projections of what she really thinks of all this? Or is this whole thing just utterly stupid? Fleur feels tired. Tired of this life, of all the others, and of this bloody universe, whatever the hell it actually is. She just wants to go home.

‘You’re not seeing it,’ Ina says. ‘The illusion is blocking it. You have to be able to see through the illusion. You have to learn, somehow.’

‘Right.’

‘Would you want to see it, if there was some way . . .’

Fleur shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I want to see it,’ says Skye.

‘I just don’t think I’m actually very good at sex. Sorry.’

‘But what about your husband? I mean . . . ?’

‘We just got into the habit of not doing it. It’s been a relief. And, oh God, this is going to sound horrible, but he is just so grateful to even see me naked that just lying still and moaning a bit made me an amazing lover in his eyes. I mean, if I gave him a blow job he’d be happy for
months
. But with you? I realise I’m lacking in skills. I am really sorry. I think I’m actually a bit lazy. A bit heterosexual probably. I just want to lie back and let you be the guy.’

‘That is so not how it works.’

‘I know.’

‘Go down on me.’

‘What?’

‘Go down on me.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you want a really good time, go into a church.’

‘Right . . .’

They are still sitting at Ina’s kitchen table. Somehow another day has passed. The rain has stopped. Moonlight is shining on the copper pans Ina has hanging above her range. The smell of peat is there, as always. The photo albums are back on the shelf. On the table is a small medicine bottle containing a clear liquid. This is the last bottle, Ina has been explaining. This is the substance that Briar Rose was trying to re-create. This is what everyone died for.

‘And you say it’s simply the result of steeping a seed pod in . . .’

‘Yes, in the tears of one of the Enlightened Ones.’

‘A Lost Islander?’

Ina shakes her head. ‘Anyone who is enlightened will do.’

‘What, like the Prophet?’

‘Maybe someone a bit more enlightened than the Prophet.’

‘Do enlightened people cry very much?’

‘No. Which is why . . .’

‘I see. So it’s a paradox. Impossible.’

‘Well, sort of. It’s . . .’

‘And you always knew this?’

‘Yes.’

‘And my mother never knew?’

‘No.’

‘And you didn’t tell her because . . . ?’

‘Look. Deep down your mother was a good person, as we all are. But she was trapped in a beautiful body. People would do anything for her. Piyali’s parents’ deaths . . . The Prophet losing his arm. She would have gone on and on trying and failing to create a sort of synthetic bliss. I mean, I’m not knocking it exactly but I don’t think it’s the best way for us to get out of the illusion. Not ultimately. Oleander agreed in the end too.’

Fleur gulps. Breathes. Her mother died for information that was right there all along. But then what would Briar Rose have done to try to get hold of an enlightened person’s tears? Where would she have stopped?

Skye looks at the bottle of fluid. These are someone’s actual tears? This is . . .

‘So what’s special about a church?’ she asks Ina.

‘You simply won’t be able to bear the bliss, at least not at first.’

‘In a church? Like, just a normal church?’

‘Yes.’

‘Seriously? This kind of sounds a bit, um . . .’

‘Try it and see. You’re extremely lucky. I wouldn’t give this much of the last bottle to anyone else, but of course if it wasn’t for your mother I wouldn’t even have it. I mean, she brought the original pods back. And . . .’

‘So what exactly happens in a church?’

‘It’s hard to describe, but basically it doesn’t seem boring any more. In fact, you can look at anything you found boring before and it will now be entirely the opposite. The world will be turned inside out. All the shiny things the ego loves become dull. Shops seem grey, cold and pointless. Success is a big yawn. Everything expensive or difficult to obtain appears cheap and easy. But suddenly just sitting on a park bench looking at strangers is as exciting as watching the latest film
which, in turn, now appears pointless and slow and fake. You won’t be able to go to graveyards at first, because you will get lost among all the spirits still there. But as time goes on you’ll learn to enjoy visiting them, in the same way good mediums do. You will be able to attend their great feasts and hear their incredible stories. But it’s impossible to describe. You really have to try it.’

‘And we won’t die?’

‘No. Well, it’s very unlikely. No one has. Not from this bottle.’

‘OK. Well . . .’

Fleur and Skye look at one another. This feels a little like queuing for hours for a fairground ride and then trying to change your mind at the top. They are here now, and so they might as well . . .

‘There’s just one more interesting side-effect.’

‘Which is?’