Zera and the Green Man (21 page)

“Bear, here,” Lily continued, “worked wonders in soil and plant productivity through organic methods. He can communicate with plants, just like his namesake, George Washington Carver. You would not believe the discoveries he made! Drew developed some phenomenal solar greenhouse prototypes, pollution control designs, solar farm machinery,
new fuels. We were working so hard together to start a new revolution. A green revolution.” 

Her eyes glazed with tears. She turned away and wiped them. When she turned back they were dry and
hard. She scowled. “We were simpletons. You see, when we started to get big, VCC was there to knock us down. There started to be little ‘accidents,’ overspray of herbicide onto our fields, so our crops were tainted with chemicals, and could no longer be certified organic. Greenhouses vandalized, computers broken into and files stolen and hacked. Then, a couple of years ago, a fire in Bear’s laboratory. Bear’s wife, Olivia, died in that fire.” At these words, Lily’s eyes were wild with fury and remembered grief. “We were done,” she snapped her fingers. “It was over. Just like that.

“They paid off just enough powers-that-be so that when I tried to do something about it, I ran into brick walls of corruption. What a ninny I was, Ted.
But no more.  Remember how I used to be a pacifist? Well, that’s changed, thanks to people like you.”  She practically spat at him, her face a mask of rage. “If you don’t do exactly as I say, I’m going to let Drew and Bear take you apart, piece by piece. And I’m going to allow myself to enjoy it.”

Bear moved in on Theodore. He bent down over him, dreadlocks brushing against Theodore’s face. Theodore looked down and saw a tattoo on one powerful fist — a planet Earth with the word “
Mom
” printed over it.

“I’d love to take you down, Theo,” whispered Bear.

“Please, no violence,” Theodore said, his heart pounding. “I’ll cooperate.”

Lily looked at her v-phone. “It’s almost eight-thirty. Void will be getting to the office soon. We’ll wait for the call letting us know he’s there.” She walked to a crate-table and picked up a piece of paper. “I have a script here that you’re going to follow word-for-word. You’re going to memorize it, and you have ten minutes to do so.” She motioned to
Bear. “Better cut his hands loose.”

Theodore weighed his options — he was isolated and outnumbered by angry, grief-stricken captors. He didn’t see that he had any options but to cooperate. “What about Tiffany?”

“Hmmm, what about Tiffany,” Lily murmured. “Let’s see,” her voice rose almost to a yell, “You tell Void she’s with you, you idiot!”

“No,” Theodore said, “I mean, what are you going to do with her? She’s been in that van all night. She needs food, water, to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, does wittle Theodore have a heart after all?” Lily mocked. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your girlfriend. Drew’ll bring her in.
After
you make your phone call.”

From outside came a blood-curdling scream. Tiffany.

Despite Nonny’s worry over Uncle Theodore, Zera heard her snoring, sound asleep just minutes after they went to bed. 

Following the call to The Grand Hotel in Los Angeles, Zera was even more awake. Lying in bed, the words rang in her mind.
Mr. Green has checked out.
Zera stared up at the ceiling in her dark bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark constellation seeming so child-like now. She considered waking up Nonny, but decided against it.

She tossed and turned, waiting for the long, terrible night to be over so she could finally . . .

* * *

Standing on a small hill, Zera viewed the meadow below, a blanket of tall, moving grass splashed with vibrant wildflowers. Butterflies floated from flower to flower, suckling nectar. Bees gathered pollen. Birdsong and sweet scents drifted through the air. Peace filled her.

She saw him. A boy with dark, wild-looking hair, about her age, running, whooping with joy as he cut a zig-zaggy line through the vegetation. Zera laughed out loud as he stopped and twirled, skinny arms outstretched, dancing round and round. Her laugh turned into a giggle as he dramatically flopped down, disappearing into the tall, swaying grass not twenty feet away. She walked toward him.

He didn’t look up. She wondered why he hadn’t heard her. She thought of calling to him, but before she could, the meadow around him shrank. Low grass and patches of dirt replaced the tall grass and flowers. He lay in a patch of dirt. His eyes were closed and his expression blissful. He hadn’t noticed the dramatic change that had taken place around him.
That’s weird about the meadow; but what’s weirder is I know that kid from somewhere.

A small spot in the ground in front of the boy silently erupted. The earth vibrated. The boy opened his eyes. He sat upright and looked around, his expression startled, but not afraid. 

He and Zera, who now stood behind him, watched, mouths open in astonishment, as a tree silently and quickly grew from delicate twig to mighty tower
. I know that tree, too.
It’s the one from Tava. The Green Man and Woman tree. What’s it doing here?
They stared at the tree, now grown into a noble giant. A dozen or so birds flew to its branches. They sang in sweet, soothing tunes. The boy smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and lay down again as if what happened was not that remarkable after all. He gazed up into the glowing leafy branches. Zera, too, felt as if there were nothing to be worried about. She wished she were lying under the tree, enjoying the enchantment of the green shadow- and light-filled canopy. She would ask if she could join him.

“Hello,” she said.

He didn’t turn toward her, didn’t move. She tried again, stepping forward. “Hello, hi!” Again, no response.

The day was sunny and calm, and as Zera wondered why the boy couldn’t hear her the tree’s branches began to sway in the windless air. Zera felt the change.
Something ominous. The sun was suddenly too bright. The breeze turned into a harsh, chilling wind. The birds screeched and flew away. Zera shivered. The boy, who had raised himself up on his elbows, looked frightened too. The branches moved on their own with increasing animation. Worry turned to dread.
No,
Zera thought,
no.
She looked from the tree to the boy. He now was changing as the tree had changed. It had changed from a twig to a full-grown tree in seconds; she watched the boy transform, in seconds, to an adult.

Zera stepped backward in surprise and caught her breath — the boy was Uncle Theodore. 

The massive branches above her uncle swayed, and began to whip around furiously. She heard the cries from the leafy branches, watched as he stared up at them, his eyes wide in horror.

“Why?”
came the wails, the wails of
thousands
. “Why did you do this to us?”  Theodore covered his ears with his now-warty hands, his eyes glued to the tree’s canopy.

“My God, it’s the stomatas!” he cried, trying to stand. His legs seemed unable to support him.
He’s going to fall
, thought Zera, forgetting her fears and stepping forward again.
They, those voices, are going to make him fall
. She reached out and grabbed for his arm but her hand went right through him.
What’s happening to me?
she thought. Her uncle tottered but didn’t fall. He steadied himself, stood upright, put his hands over his ears again, and before Zera could act, he ran. The meadow grew up again around him again as he fled. Jeers and shouts rang out as he took off: “You don’t care about us. You only care about yourself.” “You’re sick.” “Leave this place!”

It came to her, the meaning of stomata. She’d learned in
biology they were tiny openings on the undersides of leaves, pores that regulated moisture. They closed when it was dry, opened up in wetness.
Mouth-shaped organs
.
That’s where those voices came from.

Zera stood, immobile, stunned. Not only at what had happened, but because she now felt what the leaves, what the plants, felt; their sadness and hurt, their anger at her uncle’s . . .
betrayal
.
Yes,
she thought,
that’s what they feel.
At the same time, Theodore’s fear and horror coursed through her as she watched him run away. 

“Uncle Theodore!” she screamed, forgetting he couldn’t hear her. She raced down the hillside after him. She tore through the grass, following the path he made, yelling at the tall, frightened man with the wild hair and furiously pumping arms fifty feet in front of her.

And then, he was gone.

Zera stopped, spun around, searched for him in all directions. The wind had ceased.
So had the screeching birds, the angry voices of the plants. The path her uncle had blazed through the grass had disappeared. All was calm again. It was as if he had never been there. She looked behind her. The tree was gone, too.
Where has he gone? He needs my help.
   

A multitude of wildflowers: black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, Indian paintbrush, oxeye daisies, bee balm, yarrow, wild roses, and others, sent out happy tidings to Zera. She could hear them as she walked among them, the grass beneath her releasing its
fragrance. Sunshine. Chlorophyll. The plants murmured in distinct voices, and Zera knew them as individuals; she could tell exactly whose voice belonged to whom. 

“
You
wouldn’t hurt us,” said a scarlet bee balm in a high female voice.

“You understand,” whispered a daisy.

“You know we can help each other,” said a masculine Indian paintbrush.

“Yes, help each other. To live together,” sang a clump of white yarrow in unison.

“We love you,” a purple coneflower declared. 

She looked at them and realized, she did understand, more and more.
But what about her uncle?

Nothing but love radiated from the flowers, yet Zera’s body felt heavy with worry as she walked along. She found a worn, winding path through the meadow and followed it, still hoping to find him. She wanted more than anything, after seeing him as a boy, to help him.

The path took her to the edge of the meadow where she found a brook. 

“We’re all one, Zera,” it gurgled. “The saying is all wrong, you know.
Water is thicker than blood.
Water is the real blood, of
all
life.” It laughed a merry laugh of clear liquid life dancing over round rocks.

For a moment Zera forgot about her uncle.
What a happy brook,
she thought,
so pleasant, and wise!
She gazed at its glittering energy, the sun reflecting off it in a thousand lights.
I can see the brook’s spirit!
She saw her own wavy reflection within it — dark auburn hair, her now-smiling heart-shaped face. Their spirits, she knew with absolute certainty, were one.

“Come in,” the brook said.

With no hesitation, Zera sat down on its mossy bank, took off her red sneakers, and crammed her socks into them. She slid her feet into the water.
Cold. Delightful
.
She grinned at the twinkling water and her submerged feet. She wiggled her toes a few moments before standing and picking up her shoes. She splashed along the edge of the brook, her uncle completely forgotten.

The brook curved around a bend, and she realized she was
thirsty. She squatted, cupped her hands, and scooped a measure of sparkling water. As she lifted it to her lips, she hesitated; she remembered something her parents told her long ago, that no natural water sources were pollution-free. Not anymore. Water from a stream could make you very ill. 

“It’s okay,” said the brook. “I’m not contaminated. Please, drink from me.”

She heard my thoughts
.

The water was icy on her lips and in her mouth. She closed her eyes and splashed some on her face. When she opened them a moment later, she felt the presence of something behind her. 

Above the bank rose another tree. She turned and felt a shock. It was hideously burned, blasted by lightning. Yet, its life force remained so strong a multitude of shoots had sprung up from its roots. These new, tender branches were in full leaf, flourishing, trying to bring life to the tree.
How could it still be alive?

Again, she did not see a face but heard words. In a tired, masculine voice, the tree told her, “If the injured parts are removed, perhaps I may live fully again. Oh, but it is draining my energy.” 

Sadness filled her. Zera wished for a handsaw, something to help the tree.
Maybe I could bring it water,
she thought, but the ground around her did not feel dry. Everything but the dead parts of the tree looked fresh and healthy. She could not think of anything she could do to help the tree.

An assembly of small, singsong voices broke into her thoughts. “See us.”

Around the tree, star-shaped sky-blue flowers bloomed in a sea of airy foliage. Zera brightened. “I know you. You’re called love-in-a-mist,
nigella
. You’re pretty.”

They murmured like a breeze, “Yes, you know us.” 

She climbed up the bank and sat under the tree. She peered into the faces of the flowers, into their tiny, light-green, star-shaped interiors. She saw the faces of the Green Man, the Green Woman.

“Hello,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing to do.

“Lie next to us, rest, and we will talk to you,” they said.

She gladly complied. In whispers they told her of the
wonders to be found in the Green World. She learned how countless gifts — foods, clothes, medicines, and everything else imaginable — were created from their existence. They told her that plants wanted it to be that way, that they willingly and easily gave themselves to those who loved them. To those who respected their lives. 

“
To many humans — because we are not human, because we do not have a human heart or the human five senses — we are seen as nothing,” chorused the male and female voices. “Most humans do not see us as we are. We see without eyes. Better than humans see with them. We are alive. We do everything you do. We breathe, we digest, we reproduce. We carry nutrients through our bodies through veins much like yours. And we move. Much more slowly than you, but yes, we move.”

They told her they did not have mouths yet could speak to those who would listen, but they could not be heard with human ears. They could be heard only through the human heart.

“Anyone can hear us, if they love us enough,” the flowers said. “You love us. You will help us. You are special, Zera. Your family has always been there for us.”

They whispered of a world ready to be explored by anyone who would simply watch, and love. They whispered the names of scientists, artists, poets, and philosophers. The names floated gently in Zera’s mind, like the soft floating umbrellas of dandelion seeds: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Henry David Thoreau, George Washington Carver, Luther Burbank, Emily Dickinson, Rachel Carson,
Georgia O’Keeffe. They spoke of others with the name of Green.

Zera wanted, more than anything, to be one of those who knew, who loved, and who helped make things better.

“We are one,” the female faces spoke. “Together, we can turn Earth back into a beautiful garden.”

“Remember
, Zera, our treasures cannot be revealed to those who are not in sympathy with us,” said the male faces. “You will help us by doing three things: Watch. Love. And accept your power.”

* * *

Muffled words echoed outside her head, “Wake up, Zera. Wake up.”

With great effort, Zera lifted her eyelids. The day’s first sunlight streamed through the blowsy curtains. It shone on the edge of her bed and on the cabbage rose wallpaper around her. She was in bed. The dream images flickered in her mind, still vivid.
Poor Uncle Theodore.
She remembered all of it. Through the open window a gentle breeze caressed her face and bare arms.