The Garden
Note: I wrote this snippet of a story after spending the summer back in Indonesia. The characters have no names and it’s written as a series of letters or emails. I’m not entirely sure if this is a story yet or just a stepping stone to something bigger. But I enjoyed writing the description of the woman consumed by her garden. So, I thought I would post it here as an example of the kind of writing I’m doing now.
Mom’s not doing well. She started the chemotherapy. Which we knew would be bad, but this is worse than anything I expected. It’s ravaging her from the inside out. Her hair is coming out in clumps. She handed me a fistful of silver strands yesterday and then wandered out with only her Bugs Buny T-shirt and underwear on. I managed to stop her at the gate.
“Where are you going, Mom?”
“To get some cigarettes,” she said, blinking at me as if she was just picking up the mail or something.
When was the last time you saw her smoke? Never. I don’t think she’s had a cigarette since, well, since before us.
So, I’ve decided to stay here a little longer. The kids will go back tomorrow for school and their dad will keep an eye on them. I’ll let you know how this goes.
Love,
K
Mom’s not eating anything I cook for her. Which is not a surprise. I never did learn how to cook. But it’s unnerving how listless she has become. She’s lost a lot of weight. I can’t turn the TV on any more. She hates the sound. And the radio. She can only stand it if it’s tuned to a barely audible murmur.
That used to be her favorite time of the day! Humming around the house just after dawn, banging pots and pans for breakfast and listening to those chatty news shows with their hammering, cheerful musical interludes. We would wake up to a one-woman orchestra.
Now it’s quiet.
I read her the paper in the mornings. And I try to get her to do it on her own sometimes but the pages simply fall from her hands. Then, she stares out, vacant. It’s frightening. I’ll keep you updated on how she goes.
Much love,
K
Mostly I just let her sleep. Sometimes I check on her to find that she has peed the bed and, because I don’t have the heart to wake her, I let her sleep on before changing the sheets. Once, I came in and she was sitting upright in her soiled bed, staring at her hands.
She sleeps so much that I have time to walk the garden, big as it is. The gazebo is still standing but in desperate need of repair. I don’t think it’s been taken care of since Nana passed away. The roof is falling in. One of the railings has collapsed. And I nearly fell through the rotted wood when I stepped up to take a closer look.
Do you remember how mom uprooted the garden that one spring? She had started working again and she said she didn’t have time to take care of it any more. So, she hired this landscaper who rolled out a lawn and all kinds of trees and decorative shrubbery? Azaleas and whatnot? It was pretty and I remember some fancy garden parties strung with fairy lights for Dad’s work colleagues. Mom was good like that. But it didn’t have the same love.
The funny thing is, Nana’s vegetables are still here. Even after all that upheaval when we moved out and mom nearly sold the place. I thought the vegetable garden would be gone too.
But it’s surprisingly stubborn. The mint has crawled absolutely everywhere, right up to the back door. Now, long fingers of basil stand tall in the grass and the tomatoes roam wild. Only yesterday, I discovered a brindled eggplant looming large and heavy between thickets of what I now realize is ginger flower.
I gathered up some coriander growing in a patch by the turtle pond and dug up a ginger root. It felt good to get my hands dirty, rubbing the dirt into my fingers like black caviar.
If I can remember the recipe for the chicken soup that Nana used to make us, I’ll try and make some for Mom tomorrow.
Hope you are well. Give my love to M and the kids,
K
Mom smiled at me yesterday, the first time in weeks. It was like a fog had lifted, briefly, from her eyes and the world had come back into focus. We talked for a bit and even turned up some music on the radio. She came out to the back porch and listened to the birds singing for some time. Then her eyes clouded over, her wrists went limp and I had to bring her back upstairs to nap.
When it get’s like that, when you get a glimmer of hope only to see it dashed on the floor, you try and keep positive.
I’ve started to go to the gazebo and let my mind wander. The day before I spent what felt like hours watching the slow crawl of a caterpillar.
I don’t fall asleep, exactly, but I close my eyes and imagine that the garden is reclaiming me bit by bit. The white soles of my feet grow hairy, tender roots, exploring into the dark soil. The strands on my head weave together like vines, sprouting shiny leaves. My ears curl into waxy calyx and my limbs take on the strange suppleness of water-bearing stems.
Ha. It’s getting to me, I know. Let me know when you can come visit again. I think it does Mom good.
Love,
K
The other day, while Mom was sleeping, something odd happened in the garden. I was in the gazebo with my eyes closed and I felt it this strange sensation, a firm pressure on my shoulder, as though someone had laid a gentle hand upon me.
I opened my eyes. The garden was just the same, basking in the sunshine. And the gazebo was still empty, smelling mouldy and slightly sweet underneath the rot. Unnerving. But also comforting.
I won’t tell Mom about it. You know how superstitious she is. She’d forbid me from coming to the garden again and have the whole place paved over.
But I wanted to tell you because we spent so much time here, running around and finding all the little dark corners and holes to hide. I thought you’d appreciate how wonderful it is to feel that magic here again. Sigh. That all seems so long ago.
Love you,
K
Mom is so much better! This morning, I woke up to a commotion in the kitchen. A cheerful slamming of cabinet doors and jangling of pots on the stovetop.
I came out, blurry eyed, shuffling in my pyjamas, and there she was as if nothing had ever happened. As if she had not been lying ill and vacant for weeks.
“I can’t sleep any more!” She exclaimed. “I need to get out! And hungry. I need to eat! I was thinking: curry.”
Her face lit up at the thought. She was wearing one of her bright silk scarves wound around her head. She looked like a queen, honestly, and I think I started to tear up and cry.
But you know, Mom. She can’t stand that kind of stuff and she quickly shushed me up and ushered me out to the back porch with my fluffy slippers still on.
“Go!” She commanded. “Go down to the garden and get me some curry leaf. Lots of it. As much as you can find. And find an eggplant or two. A heavy one. Weigh it in your hands. And tomatoes!”
Of course, I did. I was just so happy to see her back to her old self. I took off my slippers and went barefoot into the garden, repeating the list of ingredients too forage for, smiling all the while.
The curry was beautiful, thick and fragrant. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. But maybe - maybe - she’s coming back to us. Whatever was holding her prisoner has released its grip. I’m praying that’s true.
Love, love, love,
K
Dearest,
It was so lovely to spend time with you and the family this weekend. I miss you already! When will you be coming next? Or is it too soon for me to be asking? You know how greedy your mother can be!
I’m so sorry that K was feeling under the weather. I know you two didn’t have much time to talk. To be honest, I don’t know what’s gotten into her recently. Sometimes, she’s her old self, you know, busily organizing and reorganizing everything, and the next she’s wandered out into the yard babbling about roots and weeds and God knows what.
Did I tell you that I found her, in the middle of the night, crawling in the dirt? She had no explanation for it. And I can only assume it’s similar to the sleepwalking she used to do when you were kids. But it gave me a fright!
Anyhoo, I hope you can come back soon. I promise to make your favorite carrot cake again!
Lots of love,
Mom