by Sandra Smith
Before she could finish, however, she noticed the wall of the apartment building. Trellises of lush, verdant vines bearing large, green tomatoes covered the wall. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Those are your tomatoes?” Dante asked, having seen them.
“Sure are.”
“But, but how can you have them out here in the open?” Clare asked in astonishment.
Gruff motioned the children to sit on the porcelain stools and wooden boxes. He sighed. “Nobody really cares about New Jersey. Least of all this town, or this part of town. Perhaps you noticed.” He waved his hand toward the dilapidated and vacant neighborhood.
“Just to be safe, I pick the tomatoes before they turn red and let them ripen inside. Not that it matters. Not much enforcement goes on around here. For anything. Hmph.” He stared straight ahead. “Society has given up on us.”
The children listened in quiet disbelief as Gruff told his story. “In the beginning, when the regulations for urban gardening first began, we were careful. But the truth is,” he paused, and his eyes grew hard, “by the time seed saving and gardening became illegal, most folk didn’t notice or care. They had grown used to processed and packaged food. In time, people forgot food came from living things.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Most folk, ‘specially city folk, knew nothing about producing their own food. But some of us weren’t so easy to get rid of. We went underground, so to speak.” The light was coming back to his face. “We networked. We called each other Seed Savers.”
He smiled. “We’re strong in number, even now. Yes, Clare, I used to be careful about where I grew my food. And then one day it dawned on me: nobody has plant knowledge anymore. People see a bush, a tree, a flower, but they don’t know the names. They don’t know what’s edible and what’s not.
“GRIM doesn’t drive through this neighborhood. Little by little, I began replacing my ornamentals with edibles. And nobody noticed.” He let out a long sigh and stuck out his lower lip.
The children’s eyes wandered from the storyteller to the plants, bushes, and even trees, on the balcony. “All of these make food?” Dante asked.
“Nah. Some are just flowers. But they are flowers you can eat,” he said, winking.
“What!?”
“Sure,” said Gruff. He reached over and picked a bright red flower and handed it to the boy.
“Try this.”
Dante held the soft flower in his hand. He giggled and then bit into it. He chewed it up.
“Well?” Clare asked, “How is it?”
“Good,” said Dante. “Have one yourself.”
“Are the yellow ones okay to eat?” she asked Gruff.
“Certainly. Be my guest.”
Lifting it to her nose, Clare first smelled the flower. Then she brought it to her lips and nibbled a tiny piece. It wasn’t bad. A little spicy, but not unpleasant. If she had known, she might have described it as a slightly nutty flavor.
25
GARDEN IN THE SKY
“Mr. Gruff,” asked Clare, “will you teach us?”
“I’ll do what I can. But I think you kids could use a shower and a good night’s sleep before we talk more—am I right?”
Clare and Dante looked at each other. Yes, Gruff was right, they could wait.
Gruff left the children on the balcony while he returned inside to clear a space for them to sleep.
That night Clare and Dante slept long and deep. Dante dreamed of juicy, red tomatoes and sweet, tangy blueberries, while Clare’s dreams were of books whose pages opened to green vines that grew on and on like Jack’s beanstalk.
Waking late the next morning, Clare was stunned at how long she had slept. A slight sound from the floor indicated that Dante, too, had overslept. She gazed at the peaceful face of her young brother and breathed a prayer of thanks that they’d come this far.
A delightful aroma filled the apartment. Following her nose, Clare discovered Gruff in the kitchen, cooking.
“Good morning,” he called cheerfully. “How are you this fine summer morning?”
“Good,” said Clare, peering at the pan on the stove. “What are you cooking?”
“Eggs.”
“Eggs? Like bird eggs?”
He laughed. “Yeah, like that. It’s like your Protein meals. Without the processing.”
She sat down and was presented with a plate of eggs and Carbo squares smeared with a gooey, golden-brown substance.
“I wish I could give you some actual bread with honey,” the old man said. “But this will have to do.”
“Should we wake Dante?”
“Let him sleep. We’re in no hurry.”
“Are you going to eat?” Clare asked, noticing only one place was set.
“I ate hours ago. Go ahead, my pleasure.”
Clare cut the egg with her fork. It was so different than the Protein squares she was used to; the texture was soft, almost slimy. But the taste was rich and distinctive. Before she knew it, she’d finished the eggs. Clare looked at the Carbos—she knew the taste from memory, the brittle hardness. After the lusciousness of the egg, she had no desire to eat it.
Gruff saw her hesitation. “Go ahead,” he urged. “I know bread would be better, but the honey is fresh. You have to try it. Oh, I almost forgot the fruit.” He ducked into the refrigerator and brought out a bowl of brightly-colored cubes. They looked like Sweeties, only three dimensional.
“Melon,” he said. “Three kinds.”
Just then, Dante stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Gruff said. “Melon?”
Dante was catching on fast about the tastiness of real food. His small hand shot to the bowl of fruit. He scooped up a couple of squares with his fingers and was surprised at how wet and sticky they were.
Gruff again invited Clare to try some.
Dante bit into one of the green cubes. It was sweet, juicy, and crunchy all at once. It was a miracle. He wanted to slow down his chewing, but at the same time, he wanted to taste the other colors—one a light orange, the other a deep yellow.
“Mmm,” Clare said, tasting a yellow one, “it tastes like Juice, only better somehow, fuller. But it’s a new flavor. And it’s so cold.”
“It’s been in the fridge,” said Gruff. “I suppose you don’t have a refrigerator.”
Clare and Dante shook their heads from side to side.
“Not really,” said Clare. “There’s one in our apartment, but it doesn’t work. We just keep stuff in there. It’s not like this one, not cold inside. This food is really good, Mr. Gruff. Thank you so much.”
“But you’re not finished,” he insisted. “There’s still the honey—”
“I really have had plenty,” said Clare. “We aren’t used to eating so much.”
Dante nodded affirmatively, rubbing his belly. He’d emptied half the dish of melon squares.
“Mr. Gruff,” began Clare.
“It’s Gruff, sweetheart, not Mr. Gruff.”
“Gruff,” she began again, “when we got here yesterday you said you knew we had run away. How did you know?”
Gruff let out a long sigh.
“It was on the Seed Savers Network that you and your brother had fled after your mother’s arrest. Someone named Lily sent the alert.”
Clare and Dante looked at each other.
“Lily!? So she must have figured out what happened. But why would she post our pictures?”
“Oh, no, she didn’t do that. I looked for pictures of the two of you separately. I figured if you were missing, your photos would be up, and they were. You knocked on my door just as I found last year’s school photos of you on the Monitor.”
“What about Mama?” Clare asked.
“I knew you would ask, so I looked that up last night. Unfortunately, there is no mention of the arrest in the news, and the Network alert did not elaborate. GRIM likes to keep its business as hush-hush as possible.”
“But L
ily was able to let the Seed Savers Network know about us?”
“Yes,” said Gruff, “and I’m not familiar with anyone by that name. Who is she?”
The kids exchanged hesitant glances. An old wariness had crept up on them.
Gruff read their fear. He spoke quietly. “It’s okay. I’m your friend. But if you don’t want to talk about things now, I understand. It can wait.”
“Come on, Dante, let’s get dressed,” Clare said. “Thanks again for breakfast,” she told Gruff. She set her plate in the sink, mumbling an apology about the untouched Carbos.
Gruff kept busy in the kitchen, giving the children time alone together.
“I wanted more food,” complained Dante when they were in the other room.
“But you ate all that fruit! And you said you were full.”
“Yeah, but I could smell whatever you had and it smelled good.”
“It was good. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure you get some later. It was eggs,” she whispered. “Can you believe that?”
“Eggs??” His eyes grew wide. He wondered how long it would take to find and steal so many bird eggs. Their host was certainly unlike anyone they had ever met.
Clare nodded her head. “Gruff has so much real food. I think we can trust him, don’t you?” They kept their voices low.
“Yeah,” said Dante. “He seems real nice. Even on the street, I sort of liked him,” he reminded her. “Clare? What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. New Jersey isn’t what I’d hoped. But in a way, it’s a little like it. I mean, it’s not full of gardens like in Ana’s books, but Gruff’s balcony is sort of a garden. Saving seeds and growing food is still illegal, but it doesn’t seem to matter much here.”
“Can we stay?” Dante asked.
Tears began to roll down Clare’s face.
“I don’t know. I was trying to keep everything safe—the seeds, the books, Mama, Lily . . . I was trying to find a place where people still have gardens . . . maybe this is as good as it gets. I just don’t know.” She pushed the tears away.
Dante put his arms around his sister. “It’s okay. We did the right thing. We’ll find a place where regular people still grow food—look how close we are now. I know Mama’s okay. I had a dream about her last night. And Lily has already helped us! Everything will be fine.”
Clare sniffed and smiled weakly. She heard a noise and looked up. Gruff stood in the doorway.
“And there are still places where gardening is legal—many places. Just not in this country. You’re actually not far from one of those places. Now,” he said, “how would you like to learn about my garden in the sky?”
The children were eager to continue the schooling started with Ana months before. They unpacked the half-filled spiral notebooks, their pencils and colored pencils, and joined Gruff on the deck.
Clare recognized many of the plants. Lettuce and chards spilled from some of the pots. Herbs, such as oregano, thyme, basil, and mint lent their comforting fragrance to the apartment garden, while the blossoms attracted both honeybees and bumblebees. Mingled with the trellised tomatoes were pole beans—clusters of heart-shaped leaves and long, green, worm-like fruits dangling from the vines. They were Dante’s favorite; he couldn’t help giggling when he saw them.
Next to the beans, on smaller vines, hung round balls in shades of green. The children were amazed at how the vine held the weight without breaking. These were the wonderful melons they’d enjoyed for breakfast.
“You hit a good year,” Gruff said. “The weather’s not always so cooperative. I can’t always grow melons.” This comment started a conversation on how the timing of warmth and rain in the spring and summer affects the bounty of various fruits and vegetables. At times, the amount of knowledge the children still needed to learn seemed overwhelming. But they enjoyed sketching the plants and taking notes on the names, growing cycles, harvest, and preservation of each fruit or vegetable. Gruff seemed as eager to teach as they were to learn.
As promised, Dante got two eggs for lunch. When questioned, Gruff explained about chickens. He said he had plenty of friends who not only owned illegal seeds, but also illegal animals. Gruff brought out the Carbos and the jar of the dark sticky substance he called honey (which made the children giggle, since their mom had often called them “honey”).
“But what exactly is honey?” Clare asked before she would taste it. “Is it from a plant?”
“Sort of,” Gruff answered. “Taste it.”
Dante tasted it first. “It’s like Sweetie in liquid form,” he said, “but different than Juice. It’s kind of like eating a flower.”
Gruff laughed. “Not bad,” he said. “What great taste buds for someone raised on the crud called food these days.”
Clare bit into her honey-covered Carbo, chewing hesitantly. “It’s okay. But I’m not sure I like it.”
“Fair enough,” said Gruff. “Even with natural food, people don’t like everything. Different strokes for different folks.”
The children laughed. Gruff had a lot of strange expressions they’d never heard.
As they finished lunch, Gruff stood up. “Okay kids, follow me.”
Out the door and up the stairs they trotted. After three floors, they arrived on the top of the building. Strewn before them were bits and pieces of former times: stacks of clay flower pots lay on their sides like fallen trees; a rusty bicycle missing a tire poked out from beneath boxes brimming with old magazines; a car seat placed precariously near one edge of the building.
But it wasn’t all so bleak. Some of the tenants had claimed little portions of the roof—a clothesline here, some flowers there. There was no time to stop and gander at any of these things, however. Gruff walked at a forced march. Suddenly, and without warning, he stopped. A few feet away was a stack of square wooden boxes. A humming sound emanated from it, and small dots hovered over and around the crates.
“What is it?” Dante asked.
“Bees.”
“Bees?”
“You’ve heard of bees, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
Silence.
“Um. But why are they here? I thought they liked flowers.”
“These are my bees,” said Gruff proudly, standing a little taller.
“Your bees?”
“Yep. My bees.”
The children stood momentarily tongue-tied, working on the next question.
“I provide the boxes for them to live in, and they help pollinate my plants. They also provide me with honey—which I love, Clare.”
“I like honey, too,” said Dante.
They sat on some crates, and Gruff explained about bees and honey.
That evening, Clare and Dante had difficulty falling asleep. The day had been so full and rich. They talked into the night about chickens and eggs, bees and honey. They laughed about the round melons with the bright, sweet insides and the squiggly green beans.
“And how much better real gardens, big gardens on the ground, must be,” Dante surmised. “Places with fruit trees,” he said, thinking of the stories first Ana, and now Gruff, had told them.
“Sometimes it sounds too good to be true,” Clare said. “Like heaven versus earth.”
“But this actually for sure exists.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe heaven exists?!”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean, heaven’s like a whole ‘nother place, like the next step . . . it’s not like somebody could go there and come back to tell us . . . it’s more like we have an idea of heaven, but maybe it’s not quite like our idea . . . know what I mean?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“And the thing about a place with trees full of fruit, well, Ana and Gruff have actually seen those places.”
Clare nodded her head on her pillow. She closed her eyes. She dreamed of a garden bursting with flowers and trees hanging full of round, colored fruit.
26
CLARE AND DANTE’S DECISION
After lunch on their second full day in the apartment, Gruff asked again about Lily.
“Lily is my best friend,” Clare said.
“Do you mean to say that Lily is a child?” Gruff seemed surprised.
“Yes, she’s twelve, like me.”
“Then,” his eyebrows raised up on the outer edges, “how did she get out the news about you? How did you kids get involved in seed saving?”
Clare looked at Dante. He nodded his head up and down. Clare told Gruff about how she had first met Ana in church, their subsequent friendship, and how Ana had taught all three children. She told him about how GRIM had questioned her mother, and how the kids had continued their activities—not really frightened. She explained about Ana’s increased concern with GRIM, and about how Ana had disappeared. And finally, choking up, she told him how they’d come home from camp to a pilfered home and the phone call from jail.
“Your mentor’s name was Ana?” Gruff asked.
“Yes, do you know her?”
“No,” he answered. “No, I don’t. But she sounds like a wonderful lady.”
Gruff decided the children had relived enough trauma and not to distress them further by asking more questions.
“Whaddayasay I show you around the neighborhood?” he offered. The children jumped at the idea. They missed riding their bikes and were itching to get out of the apartment. But then a dark cloud crossed Gruff’s face.
“On the other hand, that might not be the best idea.”
“Why not?” asked Dante.
“Your pictures are all over the Monitor.”
The children looked at him curiously.
“Look, kids, you didn’t say what you were planning to do, only that you didn’t want GRIM to catch you. Unless you’re ready to return home and face consequences, you shouldn’t go showing your faces in public. Although your chances of being turned in here are fairly low or you probably would have been picked up already. Let’s stay here and play games, or read, or hang out on the roof, just to be safe.”
