Category: STORIES
or
The Mismatched Eyes
For M&M
West of the goldmines, north of the yellow mine dumps, east of the rail networks and south of the mine lords’ houses, in a vast, lush, teeming veld, lived a wizard.
As wizards go, he wasn’t particularly adept. In his younger years he had shown much talent but he was currently more enthusiastic than skilled.
His enthusiasm lay mostly in the creation of new spells. But, once figured out, he got bored with perfecting them.
Creating new spells is one of many ways to be unpopular with your neighbours, so our wizard had, many years ago, set up his home in this relatively unpopulated area. Due to his often explosive attempts at spell making, game was scarce. Luckily, herbs and wild vegetables tend to stay rooted (close enough to walk to, in any case) and chickens were content to stay cooped – although he had learnt not to keep the coop too close to home.
Successful spells were meticulously written down (often he would succeed at one thing whilst pursuing another, a typical side-effect of those not afraid to fail) and sent to those in the wizarding community who might be interested. Occasionally, recipients of a new spell would visit to gain clarity on an aspect or technique required, but they would never stay long.
And so our wizard lived, observing the seasons change, creating many more ways of not doing things than doing things, alone.
One morning, his spell went wrong.
It’s not that the spell went entirely wrong – rather the spell worked a little bit too well. He had been investigating a potion that would allow roots to grow immediately on a plant cutting, even on plants that weren’t traditionally able to do so. He had obtained hydra skin samples (that famous creature that would spout two heads when one was cut down) and had distilled this into vials of grey liquid. This alone would not grow roots (it was good for growing hydra heads on the plant, but lacking a stomach to sustain them, the heads would soon die which was fine because they had a real nasty bite). The experiment the wizard was engaged in was to find which combination of substance, if any, needed to be added to grow roots. Vanilla and tiger’s claw; toe nail clippings and turmeric; vinegar and cobra spit – all of these had been crossed off the list of possibilities. Ginger and mandrake root, however, seemed to do the trick.
White, sprangly roots sprouted from the stem of the first cutting the wizard tried – a stick from a thorn tree. The second cutting, a mint, also sprouted. On the third cutting, from a peach-flavoured rose bush, nothing happened. At first.
The wizard added a thin slice of purple carrot to his mixture and tried again.
Nothing.
He added beetroot, and spring onion (at this point he figured out that you need roots to grow roots).
Nothing.
But by this point there were hardly any more distilled hydra in his potion so he added another vial.
Little sprangly white roots sprouted.
One other side effect of the brave enthusiast is the ability to focus fully on the task at hand (to the detriment of hungry pets and needy children who might be in the brave enthusiast’s care at the time). When caught fully in the flow of the work, the inventor will often go without sleep and food for days. Our wizard, during the root-growing process, had failed to notice that the roots on the thorn tree had continued to grow, out of the petri dish, spilling over the table and through the carpet into the earth. The tree had grown up and out, branches reaching for the window, the trunk thickening, thorns like spears growing, growing, growing. The mint, too, had become gargantuan, and the two plants were entwined, growing larger and larger as the wizard started to apply his solution to the fourth plant cutting. One of the tree branches became too heavy to support both itself and the mint and it fell, tearing from the main branch, knocking the wizard to the ground.
Now he was aware! But, too late, and a thorn on an overzealous side branch pierced his left arm just above the elbow.
At the sight of his own blood the wizard passed out.
He came to on the overlong grass beside his chicken coop, covered with a pink hounds tooth woollen coat. The vegetation around him had been trampled and he could hear the chickens clucking. He tried to sit up but dizziness and pain struck him down again.
“Oi. Lie still. You can’t move yet.” A brash feminine voice called at him from afar.
Her face soon appeared above him. She knelt down next to him with a pitcher of water. His eyes were blurry and he could only see her as basic shapes.
“You need to drink something.”
Squinting, he could see her bright red hair falling across her smooth cheek. She turned to face him.
“Michelle?” His childhood sweetheart, now a grown woman, but with the same mismatched brown-and-blue eyes.
“Hi.” She smiled. “Here.” She thrust the water under his nose and tilted. He got water on his chin and down his neck and he even managed to drink some.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when she finally took the pitcher away.
“You wrote me a letter inviting me here.”
“But that was years ago, Michelle.”
“Yeah, well, I was abroad. Only got back two weeks ago.”
She pointed to his house. Where windows used to be, branches grew. Shattered glass and wood were strewn everywhere. Peach flavoured roses blossomed in the now closed entrance.
“I don’t think you can live here any more. As soon as you feel less dizzy, you’re coming home with me.”
The wizard closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, Michelle was curled up, asleep, next to him on his right side. She had pulled her coat closer so they were both partially covered by it. Pain like constipated tigers engulfed his left arm. He tried to look but he could not move it. It looked as if the entire arm was swaddled in what used to be a yellow dress. Michelle stirred.
“Are you awake?” she asked.
“For now.”
“How do you feel?”
“Sore.”
“Good. Listen, I don’t know what you were doing, but you were losing a lot of blood when I got here and there was a thorn the size of a horse’s leg through your arm. I’ve stopped the bleeding but I don’t think you’re going to get to keep your arm. I only know first aid and I was sure as hell not going to carry you to a doctor, nor leave you alone here to go fetch one. The thorn is still in there. Do you think you could walk? It’s probably best to get you to a professional sooner rather than later.”
“Can you help me up?”
She got to her feet and stretched, cat-like, before grabbing his unhurt arm and hauling him to his feet. The wizard wonkled but stayed up. She held his arm.
“Did you mean what you said before? That I can come live with you?” he asked her.
She stared into his eyes.
“You are a stupid-ass. You obviously have no idea how to take care of yourself.”
He pulled her closer to him. He was much taller than she was. She had to look up.
“I never stopped loving you, you know,” he said.
“I know.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. “Me too.”
He watches his bride as her calf-length skirt billows in the wind, catching against her legs. Her knees flash visible for a moment. They had reached the summit of a low hill and were enjoying the view of the veld. She turns around.
“We should head back,” she says. “Look.” She points towards dark clouds gathering.
Fat raindrops assault them before they reach the lodge. Her clothes cling to her chest, her hips. Her hair, slick against her face. Her eyes bright.
Lightening strikes.
“What?”
“Hello?”
“Hi! Sorry I missed that last thing you said.”
“I wanted to know when…”
Silence.
She clicks the red ‘disconnect’ button. The program asks her to rate the service.
For two long minutes she stares at her options, stuck between ‘poor connection’ and ‘impossible to conduct a conversation.’
But she clicks ‘next,’ plugs the headphones back in and fires up YouTube.
“Sweetheart, won’t you help me with this?”
“What are the implications if I don’t?” he mumbled. He threw down his pen and stretched from where he had been hunched. He walked to the kitchen for a glass of water and looked out to where his wife was hanging up the laundry. He knocked on the window. She turned around and winked at him.
He opened the door. The cat sneaked up on him from behind. He wobbled as the cat ran underneath his feet.
“No!” he cried out. The cat launched himself into the air – landing smack in the middle of the wet laundry.
His wife picked the cat up and laughed, holding him up in the air.
“Silly kitten.”
Her smile faded. She put the cat down.
“Come here, Honey,” she whispered.
“What is it?” he asked.
She held her arm out and pulled him close.
“Look,” she said, pointing to the Cheshire moon. Next to it on each side was a bright star. Brighter than he had seen since they moved to the city.
He put his arms around her. The laundry remained basket untouched as they watched the stars.
They met at dusk. She with her rooibos skin. Him with his pitch black hair. Their eyes met and her heart melted.
They married at dawn. They were far from his home and wanted to be on their way as early as possible. The entire village showed up to see them off. The priest performed a simple ceremony to seal the agreement of love between the young pair.
They reached a quiet pond.
“Let’s rest and eat the food my mother had prepared for us,” she suggested.
“No.”
Taken aback by his abrupt response, vastly different from the tone he had courted her with, she followed behind him, tired and hungry.
They reached a cool glade.
“Let’s rest and eat the food my mother had prepared for us,” she suggested.
“No.”
“No.”
He turned around in surprise. “Are you defying me?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m tired. My mother had prepared this food for our journey. I’m hungry.”
She sat down and opened the bundle. She looked up to offer her husband a slice of cheese. But in stead of her handsome husband there stood a wild dog, ears as black as her husband’s hair. The wild dog grabbed the food parcel and ran off.
“Hey,” she shouted after him, quick on her feet, her hunger fuelling her pursuit.
They ran.
They ran until dusk. The wild dog curled up underneath a rock. The young wife sat down in the road and tried to sleep. At sunrise the wild dog took the bundle and ran off. She followed him, slowed by fatigue and her screaming belly.
Before long they reached a cottage. The wild dog entered. The girl followed. Her husband greeted her.
“Now we can eat,” he said. She collapsed into his arms.
The pair lived happily in the cottage in the woods and soon she was with child. When the time for birth was near she set out to her mother’s village.
“You shouldn’t go,” her husband said.
“You cannot help me in this time, and there are no midwifes in this forest. My mother will take good care of me and our child and we will return as soon as we are able.”
In her heavy condition the going was slow. She reached the glade where she had wanted to rest when she was just married.
“I’ll spend a few hours gathering my strength here,” she decided. She spread out her blanket and took out some food she had prepared for herself. A frog hopped closer.
“You look hungry, little friend,” she said. She broke off a piece of cheese and fed it to the frog.
“Croak,” the frog said as it hopped away.
When she was rested she set off again. She reached the pond where she had wanted to rest when she was just married.
“I’ll spend a few hours gathering my strength here.” She spread out her blanket and took out the rest of her food. A bullfrog as big as her belly reared its head from below the pond’s surface.
“Oh my,” she said, taken aback.
“You have been kind to my kin,” the bullfrog said, “so I will offer you this advice in return: Drown yourself and the child you carry, for no good can come from an alliance with the Wild Dog.”
She took to her feet as quick as she was able.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, “how dare you…” A roar from the woods behind her, and the next thing she saw was a wild dog pouncing on the bullfrog. They wrestled in the water, the frog defending itself from the dog’s claws and teeth with brute strength. They were evenly matched and after the longest time, both ceased to breathe and sank down under the water. As she watched their bodies disappear, she noticed a glint of gold drifting to the surface. She waded in and with a stick drew it closer.
It was her husband’s wedding ring.
She stood there in the water, holding the ring. The sun set. The moon rose.
Rather than risk the consequences, she decided to heed the bullfrog’s advice.
Hulle roep vir mekaar: Russiese valkies wat die koue ontsnap. Vir hulle is Colesberg nie net ‘n oornagstop nie.
More oggend neem ek ‘n handvol rooibruin vere huis toe.
“Judy! Judy, where are you?” The little girl pulled her limbs in closer. She didn’t want her mother to find her.
“Judy!” her mother called one last time. She gave up. The front door slammed shut. Judy listened as the car pulled out of the driveway. She looked up from under the ironing board. There was a stack of wrinkled clothes, taller than the little girl, and the maid looked furious as she tackled yet another shirt. Judy crawled away, first one arm, then one leg, but the maid didn’t notice her. Judy sprinted out. Freedom at last!
Vanessa was livid. After a day facing angry project managers, she wanted to relax in her garden. Red gerbera buds were just shy of opening behind tall grass. She did not mind the grass. A neighbour did. He had cut it during the day and the gerberas were gone.
It was all she could do to prevent herself from storming door to door until she found the culprit. She vowed never to cut the grass again. If it bothers him that much, he can bloody well do it.
Two weeks later a tiny red bloom emerges from the cut grass.
I’m taking a break from Uniting a Kingdom. I have no idea when I’ll pick it up again. If all goes well, this isn’t a permanent hiatus…
Thank you for reading. Did you like it? Let me know
The only redeeming thing about working late is the view. From the rooftop laboratory the sprawling suburbs look like the scene of a fairy tale. As the sky darkens, the household lights switch on. Air pollution blocks out the stars but the congested highway with millions of twinkling headlights make up for it: a river even brighter than the milky way ever could be.
Staring out of the window will not solve any problems, not about bugs in software nor about people that will not communicate.
The children are probably asleep by now. I have not seen them in days.
The housecat was home all alone – again. After his morning nap he took a stroll to his food bowl to see whether it had filled up by itself, but alas, it had not. He sat next to the window and groomed his long hair. A movement caught his eye. He froze, then with slow, careful, noiseless movements he stalked closer. He paused again. He saw a shadow: a brown field mouse. Careful, closer – but the mouse took off and ran into a gutter before the cat could pounce. Not to worry. It was time for his mid-morning nap, after all.