The Pinecone Apothecary

by S J Amit

  “What do you want from me?”

  He pointed at the tree opposite me. “In order to ease yourself on your journey to the pinecone apothecary, start practicing on becoming part of the Land of the Mosaic. Throw a rock on that tree trunk, and then draw a target around the mark that it’ll make.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.” He shook the purple flowers. “Do you remember when I told you that the only condition for those who want to remain here is that there are no restrictions? That is the reason why all of the targets in the Land of the Mosaic are made by the throwing hand.” He smelled the flowers and presented them for me to smell too. “After coming out of the storm, and in order to continue sailing through the river, you need to feel at peace with the present moment, even if you don’t know what direction you’re in. It’s a natural stage on the journey to the Mountains of Freedom.”

  He plucked out the flower petals and placed them on my open cuts.

  “We’ll leave the boat here, we’ll only take the bags.”

  It started getting dark, the rain hadn’t yet stopped, and distant lightning bolts illuminated the water.

  Kelemance lifted a bag and put it over my shoulder, then loaded another one on my other shoulder. “Is that alright? Not too heavy for you?”

  “It’s fine,” I supported both bags with my hands, one hand on each side, and shook my back a bit to make sure they were secure.

  He flipped the two remaining bags over his back, one on top of the other, and with them on his back he leaned down, lifted the pile of wet clothes, placed them on top of the bags and cradled the whole stack with his hands. We marched on the wet ground between the trees, and the sound of the droplets on the leaves accompanied us. Why didn’t he tell me to put my shoes on? Just as long as I don’t injure my feet too. The moon dimly lit the dark forest. All of a sudden, ahead of us, a light appeared from beyond the trees, and the sound of drumming could be heard, growing stronger and louder. The closer we got to the light, the more we noticed the smell of smoke intensifying, and other sounds echoing in the air. We proceeded a bit more, and the light began to cast shadows over the thick tree trunks. The audible sound of drumming was joined by singing voices, followed by the clear rolling laughter of children. We came out of the forest and into a large clearing, reaching a massive bonfire. There was a wide black cover above it, tied to the tall branches, sheltering the fire and the people from the rain.

  “Who will say, what’ll be said, who even cares, you are you, I am me, you are me, I am you,” A woman to the left of the bonfire sang loudly, drumming on three toms which hung around her neck. To the right of the bonfire there was a group of kids, laughing and skipping to the beat of the drums. Behind them, a man was standing and clapping along to the beat. At some point the woman stopped singing but continued the drumming, and the man started singing straight away: “Everybody’s running to Lampharsella, I look back and I’m bemused, wondering if most of them really know, or are they just confused?” The second he stopped singing, the children ran over, circled the bonfire, and stood in front of the woman with their backs to her, facing the bonfire and the man at the other side. The singing, drumming and clapping resumed, and the children skipped to the beat, releasing out their rolling laughter. A single little girl, who had stayed standing by the man, ran over on her own and joined them.

  The children’s eyes glimmered with the sparks of the flames. Their looks of enjoyment and their continuous laughter were entertaining, as were the two people who were singing loudly, especially the woman, who had continued drumming throughout. For a moment there I actually forgot about the bags on my shoulders, my aching legs, my rib, the wet clothes, the exhaustion.

  “Come on,” Kelemance gently elbowed me and marched to the right of the clearing, towards the man who was still clapping. I stayed at the edge of the clearing for a few moments longer. The man resumed his singing to the beat of the toms, and the children stood in anticipation by the drumming woman. When the man stopped singing the woman took over straight away, “Everybody’s running to Pontubelle, and I wonder as I turn back and gaze, everyone is equal but also different, so among them all - where is my place?” She went silent and kept drumming, and the children ran over to the man, stopped next to him and turned to face away from him. The same girl stayed by herself next to the woman, looking at her as if she were looking for approval.

  The woman stopped drumming, the man continued clapping. The woman smiled to the girl and stroked her head, leaned down, quietly told her something, and resumed her drumming. The girl ran over towards the other children.

  I went over to Kelemance, who was standing a few feet behind the man, near a tree. The children didn’t really acknowledge my presence as I got closer and passed by them. The woman kept drumming and singing, and they kept skipping. The man nodded at me as I walked by him, but he didn’t stop clapping to the beat. Kelemance placed the bags near the tree, on top of the tree roots that protruded from the ground, and hung the fabrics and wet clothes on a few branches. He helped me unload the bags from my shoulders. I shook my hands and slowly stretched my body from side to side. My ribs hurt a bit, my knees too. The woman went silent, the man started singing, then stopped, and I heard the children running and laughing again. After a few moments the drumming and clapping stopped too, and silence took over. What happened? I turned to them.

  The children were now standing very close to the woman, facing her, and it seemed they were trying not to move while she placed the drums on the ground, then they all sat down on the ground in a semi-circle. The man took the girl’s hand, she had stayed by herself yet again, and quickly walked her over to the other children. When they stopped he leaned down, told her something and stroked her head. Once she sat down with the other children he walked over to the trees, took something from there and walked towards us.

  “My dear Kelemance!” He had a little package under his arm.

  “Pontubelle!” Kelemance called out with joy. The man placed the package on the ground and they embraced, patting each other on the back.

  Kelemance looked at me, and then at the man. “Julian - Pontubelle, Pontubelle - Julian.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” we shook hands.

  The man called Pontubelle smiled at me, leaned down to pick up the package, and gave me and Kelemance embroidered shirts and fabric trousers.

  “Let’s change our clothes.” Kelemance placed the dry clothes on top of the bags, and right there, in the fully lit clearing, took off his shirt, wrung it out and hung it on a branch, then put on a dry shirt.

  I looked back and all around in embarrassment.

  “Here, behind the tree, it’s dark enough and the trunk is wide, and don’t worry, no one will surprise you,” Pontubelle told me while Kelemance took his pants and walked behind the big tree.

  I followed him and situated myself next to him. He took off his pants and hung them on a branch. “Why are you shocked?” he laughed, “Here, I’ll turn around.” He turned his bare behind at me and put on the dry pants. I turned around too, took off the torn pants and the wet underwear and threw them on the ground. I lifted one leg, tried to slip it into the dry pants, wobbled and stumbled. One more time, I hopped on one leg for a bit and stumbled again. “I’m not looking,” Kelemance laughed again and came closer to me. He put his shoulder against mine, and I placed my hand on it to stay balanced. I slipped one leg into the pants and then the other, took off the torn shirt, gave it to Kelemance and wore a dry one. It was long, comforting and thick, with embroidery in the front and a hood at the back. By the time I finished dressing, Kelemance had already managed to hang up my wet clothes.

  We returned to the clearing, to the light and the warmth of the bonfire. The children were still in their semi-circle at the center of the clearing by the bonfire, looking at the woman, who was sitting before them and speaking to them. Only that one girl was sitting by the woman’s side, fac
ing the other children. She was the quietest one of them all. She sat cross-legged, leaning her elbows on her thighs and her head on her hands. Her hair was curly, long and voluminous, her eyes were vacant. She stared out into space and didn’t smile at all.

  “Now Pontubelle is going to hand out papers, you will all share the colors between you, each one of you is going to make a goodbye drawing for Choopster,” the woman told them, and the girl leaned over to the woman’s ear, covered her lips and whispered a secret. “OK, Choopster wants to make a goodbye drawing for each of you as well.”

  Pontubelle handed out papers and rectangular wooden boards to all the children. When he reached the woman, he told her a few words, and gave the girl a few papers. The woman looked over to us, and then got up and approached us. The man helped the girl get up and she went to sit among the other children, who had dispersed throughout the clearing. A few children came over to the little girl and gave her colors.

  “Lampharsella, pleased to meet you,” the woman told me.

  “Julian,” I shook her hand.

  She kissed Kelemance on the cheek and he hugged her and left his right hand on her shoulder. “In the morning, when the winds and rain stop, and with the renewal of the water, Julian and I will be heading out towards the Mountains of Freedom.”

  She looked me up and down. “Welcome to the Land of the Mosaic,” she said. “Julian, I’m happy you came to us. You two will stay the night here with us, and it is our utmost pleasure to provide shelter for you in preparation for tomorrow.” Her voice and her decisive tone confirmed that she really meant what she said, that it wasn’t just politeness. “Make yourself comfortable, you’ve already met the Children of Talent in the Area of the Changing Seasons,” she turned and pointed at the children.

  “Which children? The area of what?” I gave her a little smile back.

  “The Area of the Changing Seasons,” she motioned towards the clearing, then continued to shift my attention with her open palm towards the dark forest behind me.

  “The Area of the Changing Seasons you say…”

  Kelemance lifted and released his eyebrows.

  “It’s alright, Julian, you can ask me anything you want,” Lampharsella continued and Kelemance nodded in approval. He removed his hand from her shoulder and stood next to us, between us. “At the beginning of the Children of Talent’s journey through the Land of the Mosaic, we situate ourselves in an area near the river, and they arrive there. After a few seasons change, we move with the children to a different area of the Land of the Mosaic, situate ourselves there, and so on and so forth. Between one area and another, and with the changing of the seasons, each Child of Talent finds their place. Each decides whether to stay in that area, move on to the next one, or continue their journey on their own.”

  “Is it like a summer camp sort of thing?”

  “Like what?”

  “Are you their teacher?” I tried to understand.

  “Pontubelle and I are their Memory Guardians here in the Area of the Changing Seasons by the river, and will continue to do so until the next area. There are no teachers in the Land of the Mosaic, we only guide them in remembering what they already know, we only bring out that which is already within them.”

  “So this is where the special children come to?”

  Kelemance and the woman exchanged smiles. “What are special children?” she asked.

  “Like the ones you said… The talented children, the children of talent… something like that.”

  “Every child in the Land of the Mosaic has a unique talent of their own, and therefor they all arrive at the Area of the Changing Seasons.”

  “And these are all the children you have here?” I started counting the children, they were still sitting there and drawing.

  “No, Julian,” she laughed, “There are countless Children of Talent, they’re continuously joining us. All along this riverbank there are numerous areas where other Memory Guardians have settled.”

  I stared at her, at Kelemance, and then at the children. “Wait, and how long do they stay here?”

  “There is no time,” she answered, “They come for as many changing seasons as are necessary to find their place, learn to listen to the free spirit within them, and become that which they’re meant to be, a person who is a wholly unique component in the Land of the Mosaic.”

  “And the girl who was next to you?” I nodded towards her. “I understand that you’re saying goodbye to her. Where is she going?”

  “Choopster?” she tightened her lips a bit. “She was born in the Colony of the Lost. Pontubelle and I decided to bring her joy tonight before she leaves, which is why we’re all sleeping this close to the river, to ease her departure. Her parents send her to us every so often for a lengthy time period. This time she spent almost the entire summer here. They don’t know what to do with her,” she raised her hands to the sides and dropped them. “She’s too sensitive to live among the lost people. She can’t manage to go through the transformation they demand, she can’t act in the same manner and behave like the other children there. The people close to her think that something is wrong with her. For some reason, in the Colony of the Lost, they believe that if a child continues dreaming when they near adolescence, their dream will make them crazy. Her parents fear that when she grows up she won’t get along there, and they’re trying to find another place for her. Her mother is willing to leave the Colony of the Lost, it’s her father who’s worried about what the others will say. Kelemance had managed to influence them, just enough so that they’d allow her to come to us, to the Area of the Changing Seasons. She’s more at peace here, because in the Land of the Mosaic, the inability to change in order to seem like everyone else is an advantage.” She took a deep breath. “Tomorrow she returns to them.”

  “And now she’s sad because she has to go back?” I looked at the girl. Maybe because of her voluminous curls, maybe because I had noticed her earlier, or maybe because of what Lampharsella had just told me, I’m not sure, but as she sat drawing with the other children, she seemed to stand out.

  “Shall we prepare something to eat?” Kelemance stretched out his arms to the sides and hugged us both. “I have a surprise here for you, Lampharsella,” he said and walked over to one of the bags. “Tipegg made it.”

  He took the bag with him and we situated ourselves not too far from the kids, near the two little tents on the other side of the bonfire. Pontubelle transferred a few pieces of coal from the bonfire into a little pit, using one of the boards that were there. He added wood and started a little bonfire. Kelemance placed a large pot in the center of the little bonfire, and a smaller pot next to it. He took a handful of herbs out of the bag, put them in the little pot and poured water into it. He poured quinoa out of a little fabric bag into the large pot. “Allow me,” Pontubelle placed his hand on Kelemance’s shoulder, and he sat beside me and pulled the big bag over, placing it between his legs. Lampharsella arrived, holding a long wooden spoon in one hand and a big bowl in the other. “Hold this for a minute,” she gave the bowl to Kelemance. It contained cubed beetroot, sliced onions, chopped tomatoes and a few garlic cloves. She checked to see that the pot wasn’t too hot and shook it, mixing the quinoa around, then she took back the bowl and tipped its contents into the large pot. She threw in two white cubes, filled it with water and slowly stirred it. Kelemance took out a bigger fabric bag and handed it to her. “For you, from Tipegg.” She held the bag and the long wooden spoon in one hand, pulled the tied string with her other hand to undo it, being careful not to drop the spoon, and smiled when she looked inside it. “Alright, we’ll start with dessert.” She took out something resembling a chocolate ball, took a bite and passed it to Pontubelle, then walked around the children handing out one to each child, and eventually gave one each to the four of us too. I tasted it. Dates and crushed almonds covered in sesame. Pontubelle poured four cups of tea from the small
er pot and served them to us.

  The scent of the garlic and the tea herbs, combined with the flavor of the dates, calmed me down. Kelemance stood opposite me on the other side of the pots, sipped his tea and stared at the orange coals that were emitting smoke under the pots. Lampharsella was sitting near me to my right, and got up every few minutes to stir the stew in the large pot. Pontubelle sat to my left, stretched and yawned. I turned to him but he didn’t speak. I turned my head back and resumed staring at the little bonfire and drinking my tea. There were so many things I wanted to ask them. I wondered if there were others like me there, in the Area of the Changing Seasons. If the Memory Guardians had taken the children to a fun night out here, then where did they usually live? And where did the rest of the people there live? Did everyone there know each other? Did Lamphercella and Puntubelle know that Kelemance was meant to arrive? And if so, then why hadn’t Kelemance told me that there were people waiting for us over there? I wanted to thank them for their hospitality, and for the food, just to talk about something, get a little bit more acquainted. Did Lampharsella and Pontubelle only work together, or were they a couple? Actually, I didn’t even know anything regarding Kelemance and Tipegg. We’d been sitting there together for quite some time, as if we had all known each other for years, but no one said a word.

  “I’m glad you came,” Pontubelle said and put his hand on my shoulder. “I know that in faraway lands, the silence makes people feel uncomfortable and embarrassed.” What, did he read my mind? I got worried. “Every time I met people who came from faraway lands to the Land of the Mosaic, I noticed that they couldn’t look at each other, not even at themselves, without talking, even when they had nothing to say. Would you like some more tea?” He took a sip of his own tea.

  “It sometimes seems like speaking is meant to mask their embarrassment or their shame, as though they don’t like what they see,” Kelemance joined in the conversation.