by Linda Talbot
Toby is arrested for being green in a public place
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"I charge you with being green in a public place!" says the policeman, as the rest of the little green men hurtle round in disorder. "Therefore I am taking you to court."
"But I'm late for school," protests Toby, trying with all his might to look a little less green. The policeman, still dangling Toby by the legs, does not reply but strides towards his black car and drops Toby with a bump onto the back seat.
The grey court house frowns in the middle of the market square. There is not a hint of green near it that Toby might hide behind or merge into. Inside, the court is packed with people with off-white faces, although one of the magistrate's is tinged with purple and another has a blue tip to his nose. But how can any of them understand how it feels to be green as grass from head to foot?
Toby stands in the dock and the magistrates wince.
Toby goes to court
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"How dare you?" demands the one with the blue-tipped nose. "Don't you know that green means DIFFERENT? If everyone went around being different what would the world come to?"
"I was told it means mingle," says Toby hopefully.
"SILENCE!" snaps the magistrate with the purple tinge. "By being green you might indeed mingle with a few of your kind but they are bound to be undesirable and fit only for the hot house. You are committed to Kew Gardens until such time as you either wilt or are prepared to mend your ways."
"But I'm late for school," Toby protests again.
"OFF WITH HIM," shouts the magistrate, "Before I sentence him to perish in a potting shed."
Toby is led away by two policemen, his green hands clapped in handcuffs, his feet with no will of their own. During the drive to Kew Gardens Toby often looks at his hands and feet to see if there is any sign of the greenness diminishing. But its brightness merely bounces back at him.
At Kew Gardens he is led towards a very large hot house, its high glass roof glinting in the sun and huge green leaves pressing, as though anxious to escape, against the windows.
A wizened plant keeper in a baggy black uniform meets Toby at the door. The policemen undo the handcuffs and shaking their heads sadly, stride away to make more arrests.
"What a specimen," exclaims the plant keeper, whose face is like the well-weathered bark of a tree and whose gnarled hands are just visible beneath his long sleeves.
He leads Toby towards a mass of green plants. One waves thick, unfriendly fronds at him. Another angrily thrusts tall spikes towards the roof; a third shyly dangles dozens of shiny leaves from a tangle of stems.
Toby is stared at in Kew Gardens
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"You will sit here," says the plant keeper, indicating an empty piece of rich brown earth. "Watering time is at six o'clock. Until then, it is unlikely you will grow more than half an inch."
"But I'm late for school." Toby is tired of pointing this out.
The plant keeper shambles away and Toby grows hotter until his head droops onto his chest and he begins to sink slowly into the earth as though taking root.
The plant with thick fronds sighs and drops its long leaves in disinterest. The plant with tall spikes mutters at the roof but takes no notice of Toby, and the plant with shiny leaves rustles timidly from time to time.
Toby thinks hard about six o'clock when he will be watered. Suddenly he hears voices. Two people are walking between the hot house plants towards him. They reach and tug at leaves, commenting on each plant in loud voices. The plants, who understand every word, shrink from being tugged and discussed as though they are deaf.
One of the people, an elderly woman with piercing blue eyes, blinks at Toby. "Harold, what is your opinion of this one?" she asks the old man, shambling a few steps behind. He blinks too - but because he is short-sighted, and tapping Toby with his walking stick, says, "A rare species my dear. Possibly of the kind that appears to get on very agreeably with other plants, but when no one is looking tends to grow in an entirely different direction."
Toby is reminded of the magistrate with the purple tinge and shivers, in spite of the heat.
The people pass, prodding the plant with fronds, which ripples irritably.
Darkness slowly seeps through the high glass roof, but the plant keeper does not come with the water. Suddenly one of the small plants in the plot opposite twitches and takes a step towards Toby. Then he sees it is not a plant but one of the little green men he had last seen on the common. Behind him steps a second, a third and a fourth. They stand in a ring round Toby, shaking their heads.
"Mingle, Mingle,
And no one will twingle
We're taking you to school," they sing.
"But it's too late for school now," objects Toby. "Anyway I haven't been watered."
But the little green men pluck at Toby until he wobbles to his feet, dizzy with thirst. At that moment the plant keeper appears with a large red watering can in one hand and a huge plant pot in the other. He tilts the red watering can over Toby. The little green men are motionless. The plant keeper, frowning at them, says, "Dear me, more weeds, I'll dig you up tomorrow."
Water runs in Toby's eyes, ears and over his nose, but very little reaches his mouth. The plant keeper puts down the huge plant pot, waters the other plants and walks away.
"Roll up small
Into a ball
And pop into a pot," sing the little green men.
Toby doubts if this is possible, but taking a deep breath, he folds his arms and legs, which bend easily now like the long leaves they resemble. The little green men lift him and drop him head first into the plant pot.
The plant keeper returns and carries the pot to the door, where he leaves it and disappears for his dinner.
"Out, out,
While there's no one about," sing the little green men, tapping with green fingers on the outside of the plastic pot.
"You see if you mingle,
No one will twingle."
But Toby knows better. Should I mingle or make a difference? he wonders. He follows the little green men over the long lawns and out of the main gates. Then, by the light of a street lamp he sees that his hands are no longer green. He looks at his legs. They too are rapidly turning off-white. The little green men look as well, raise green eyebrows and sighing, sing,
"There are those who are keen
To stay very green
While others just want to be people."
"Yes," says Toby, "I don't need to be green. But I am different."
"Everyone is different, even when they mingle," says one little green man. Until he turned green, Toby had not known that.
The little green men nod, laugh, give several leaps in the air and then are lost in the long grass, calling,
"You'll always be green,
Though it cannot be seen."
And Toby, wondering how long it will take to walk home, knows that after these extraordinary adventures, this must be true.
Author's Note
Linda Talbot writes fantasy for adults and children. She now lives in Crete and as a journalist in London she specialised in reviewing art, books and theatre, contributing a chapter to a book about Conroy Maddox, the British Surrealist and writing about art for Topos, the German landscape magazine. She has published "Fantasy Book of Food", rhymes, recipes and stories for children; "Five Rides by a River", about life, past and present around the River Waveney in Suffolk; short stories for the British Fantasy Society, and stories and poetry for magazines.
Contact blog: https://lindajtalbot.wordpress.com
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