Planting Love
Phyllida always loved her
Botanical studies. This was a fascination which had grown in her since her
lonely childhood, supporting an ailing mother – when seeking out the flora was
her chief comfort and consolation. Seeing the textures of those plants gave her
a wonderful feeling of rootedness and calm. But occasionally, in her methodical
researches, she got twinges of energy and tension – ripples comparable with
those great exceptions to the pacific vegetable norm – like the Venus Fly Trap.
Concomitantly, she valued her concentration and seriousness, but this was
occasionally punctuated by pangs of regret – that fate had somehow deprived her
of the happy fun enjoyed by her distant peers. They would probably be terribly
empty-headed if she got into close conversation with them, but their interface
always retained its charm.
She followed up her
interests, and gained a University place, where she proceeded to build up a
close bond with her supervisor, Algernon. He was the epitome of serene maturity
– of young, well-preserved maturity, tall, slender but muscular, always
measured in his movements and his emotions. He dropped a few oblique hints
about places he had been on his past expeditions. He was an impeccably patient
guide. Yet through her marathons of sustained diligence, she got some twinges.
She was fascinated by him, but he seemed firmly out of reach.
The field trips always
appealed to her pioneering instinct; she relished the rough edges of dust grit
and soil. Somehow that added an extra savour to her bath or her shower when she
cleaned herself up.
She had had some passing
thoughts of being an artist before she opted for serious scientific study. Indeed,
she did many sketches of the plants she studied, but could never afford an
assemblage of art materials; about this, she had some feelings of regret. Then,
exhausted by completing her Dissertation, to take an unwinding break, she picked
up that thread – tried to do a water colour painting from one of her
photographs. In doing so, she was irresistibly drawn into perseverance, so that
she finished with a supremely crafted piece.
Her resultant elation sent
her a little crazy. She would love to see that painting reproduced as a textile
design, for a flowing gown that she would wear – the belle of the catwalk! She
had always been serious and studious, generally navigating the depths of the
serious. But now the shallows exercised on her a hypnotic glitter.
Phyllida felt somewhat
apprehensive as she went to her appointment at the Design Studio. It was in the
most expensive part of town, newly scrubbed sandstone exterior and oh! So
state-of-the-art logo. To a degree, she had tried to cultivate a contempt for
such ostentation – always tended to dress modestly, verging on the dowdy – and
everyone on the premises was decked out in high fashion. Hitherto she had made
furtive glances at fashion magazines – her supervisor should never know! But
now, with a self-admitted pang of guilt, she felt attracted to it. A young
assistant – toned Health Centre Paragon, ushered her along a winding corridor
to the director’s office.
She saw his name on the
door – Pertinax! That name held out a mass of promises, to be fulfilled when
meeting him; was positively yummy – tall, slender, swarthy, shoulder-length
hair – absolutely swish in brushed denim, suede and velvet. She certainly felt
aquiver; he smiled in response to her blush. Nervously, she unzipped her
folder.
“I’ve seen a lot of your
fab creations, and I think I could add to your collection.”
The photos and posters on
the walls overawed her a bit. But then she had a flush of self-reassurance, and
held up the painting before him. His retained smile broadened. “Hmmm! You’ve
got to be a botanical expert to convey such detail as that. So – you are artist
and scientist combined – a person after my own heart. It was a toss of the coin
which determined my direction, but now I am confronted with the flip side.” He
nodded. “Well; I can definitely use this. I just need to get it photographed,
and I’ll get in touch when the test print is ready.”
Over the interim, she
paced headily up and down. At last the phone call: “You can come over right
away; the specimen is here.”
The transposition was
exquisite. Again a bit of a tremble, with yet more bated breath. “Ooh! I’d love
to try it on.”
He rang the bell on his
desk. “Your wish is granted,” he said. “Berenice will take you to the fitting
room.” Phyllida almost felt a sisterly bond, her coffee colour feeling like an
extension of her tan. She pulled the dress on, and saw herself in the mirror –
dazzling in her own eyes.” Berenice’s face lit up when she emerged from the
fitting room. She took the arm of a radiant Phyllida, and negotiated the winding
corridor back to the Director’s office; she gave her a kiss on the forehead and
flounced off.
“Well, you
look like the belle of the ball; you can be one if you like.”
“What do you
mean?”
“I’ve got to go to a
reception this evening, and I’d love to show you off.”
Phyllida felt flooded with
the ecstasy of a new Cinderella. The magic in the mirror would reverberate
through all that throng. The limousine was one up on the ramshackle van used by
Algernon on his field trips. And what a swish venue – jostling, seething
congested catwalk. That sweep of pristine suits, that textured rainbow of
lovely dresses. At last – life’s kaleidoscope! She got caught up in the
babbling repartee, hardly recognising the contact.
Pertinax became aware of
her approaching fatigue. Once the energy of novelty had worn off, her stamina
was not fully geared up to crowded, congested venues; it had been honed in the
isolated out-of-doors. But like a true gentleman, he ordered a taxi to take her
home, as he still had to pursue some crucial contacts. So at that stage,
reality did not impinge on the delicious dream.
If she could somehow make
a fusion of the depths of Algernon and the shallows of Pertinax, she would find
true fulfilment. Yes: those two men were perfect contraries, mirror-images of
each other – what each one was, the other was not. That was the right
combination for her to unlock the essence of her dual self.
A couple of days after the
reception, she felt a desperate need to re-contact Pertinax. He was mildly, but
not excessively surprised.
“What can I do
for you?”
“I know this
is fearfully presumptuous of me; but . . .”
“Do go on.”
“I’d love to have a
rummage in your wardrobe, and try on all the dresses I fancy – so that I can
pick on the ideal one to seduce you with.”
She had a vision of the
flax plants thrusting upwards to match her aspirations – another of the silk
moths, frantically busy to satisfy her.
“You’ve taken the words
out of my mouth. It’s funny: you initially induced a feeling of reticence in
me.”
“I’ll have the
run of the lingerie and underwear as well?”
“How could you not?”
Wow! Surrogate unlimited
credit for the ultimate shopping spree – with the added bonus that she could
tell herself she owned it all.
There followed the two
quick – change acts, one in the fitting room, the other in Pertinax’s designer
chic apartment attached to the studio. His physical prowess matched his
appearance. Oh! What she had dreamed about in all those movies, all those
videos.
***
The following week, she
had to go on her next field trip. Here she must really strive to break the ice.
With Algernon, she would have to break down those walls of inhibition and
reserve.
Algernon registered a
change in Phyllida’s demeanour. “Phyllida; you seem to be a bit on edge; is
anything the matter? Anything wrong?”
“Algernon: we’ve been
going on our expeditions for ages now. And I think we need to relate more – as
people . . . not in any way unprofessional of course.”
“Please explain.”
“I feel that somewhere
along the line you got badly hurt. You threw yourself into your work, in a
courageous attempt to rise above your tragedy.”
He nodded. “Yes: I freely
admit it; and I admire your tenacity in bringing it out. Now we are open to
each other.”
As his spirits began to
rise, a miraculous two-way mutation throbbed through Phyllida’s mind. All of
the flowers she saw and studied evaporated, and re-formed as Goddess robes.
Then there was a flash of lightning. Then they reverted to their natural state
of burgeoning growth.
The layers of his clothing
felt like soil and rock strata. The final revelation was volcanic. Their flesh
paralleled the petals – their secondary layer under the garments, and the soft
leaves; their muscular limbs the sturdy stalks and stems – their fulfilment the
nourishing river and waterfall. All on a springy bed of resilient moss.
So she had experienced the
polarities in full, the shallows and the depths, the rough and the smooth. Now
she was her true self – multiplied by two.
David Russell
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