The magic garden

“O-Once upon a time,” she started, her eyes luminous from the light gleaming from the large window of the small room. Her quick expression darted around, looking about carefully, and then, longingly, at her family. She said much clearer and with a resounding nod:

“Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful maiden who lived alone in a Spanish cottage. She kept the most beautiful garden. Beloved by all. She supplied the small village with the juiciest, ripest produce they had ever tasted. It tasted heavenly—-better than anything on earth.”

Suddenly, a loud interruption.

The youngest. “Tell me just how beautiful she was! Explain in detail,” Alexei whined.

The sister dutifully telling said tale stuck out her tongue at her brother.

“I’d like to snap that tongue into one position the way you always stick it out so much!” The oldest sister, Olga, smirked.

The orator rolled her eyes, elbowed Olga, and at the protest of her and a few other of her siblings, she continued the tale.

“She was tall, lanky. She was smart,” The sister story-teller said cheekily. “She had long flowing brown, hair. She had intelligent, green eyes. She had been born into creating the most delicate and delicious fruits and vegetables, her lightest touch helped seedlings grow huge and perfect. Not only that!” She pointed her finger in the air. Everyone looked up and then back at her with a smile.

“She always gave it all away, never expecting anything back.”

“It sounds like you describe yourself!” Maria, one of the middle children laughed. “How arrogant!”

Tatiana shushed her sister. “Let her finish!”

Their parents had left the room.

The story-teller would keep them busy until they returned. She knew she could. She usually did, she believed in her innate ability to make her family and peers laugh.

She always put on skits and made jokes and put on ridiculous, over the top scenes for others. Even the meanest guards would laugh at her charades.

She placed her rough hands over her nose and her mouth. She looked upon her siblings, and felt a sinking, dropping pain hit her stomach. It missed her chest entirely.

Her heart wasn’t there anymore, she concluded. It just—disappeared.

Or so she thought. She kept telling her family the story.

She saw their eyes expectantly watching her every movement, their expressions listening intently to her every word, and something inside of her swelled. Like an orchestra tuning up for the performance of their entire life.

And that was it.

That was all the proof she needed.

Her heart was beating.

“One day, the maiden was feeling poorly,” she sighed, “And the garden fell into a state of undulating stasis. It was growing still… and glowing. The people around her looked upon it with a growing jealousy and a fear.”

“They decided to go into the night and destroy it,” She continued.

“Why?!” The youngest, Alexei, cried.

“She just told us, you dolt!” Maria scolded.

“I don’t understand it! Why would they hurt her garden!” He cried, tears forming in his eyes. He looked tired.

She got up from her seat and scooped him up in her aching arms.

“Quiet now. Listen,” The story-teller whispered. “The magic is coming.”

He calmed down.

Olga leaned in, “Better hurry up with that magic.”

They all nodded. They heard someone come in. It was their parents.

“Well, it was a night where the moon was full when the villagers decided to wreak their havoc upon the young maiden’s garden. They described the over blooming garden as witchcraft and would later say it was because they were bewitched with a madness that caused them to destroy it.” Her eyes opened wide. She sighed with a bit of a shaky smile. “They tore into her sweet peas. Her rose bushes. Her sweet pear tree that she used to make pies. Her gardenias. Her sweet, perfectly shaped carrots and zucchini. They destroyed every root and every seed. Every single young plant and old, ripe fruit and flower—-they left none left for even a mouse to nibble.”

She made a face, scrunching up her nose and made a little noise to resemble a mouse trying to eat crumbs. She sniffed in the air looking around for “food,” as she clawed in the air.

They all laughed softly.

“The morning came quickly,” As she continued, she heard some arguing and some loud noises outside the room. Her father excused himself from their mother and went out of the room.

They had been quietly muttering amongst themselves on the other side of the room.

“Th—the morning came…” she repeated.

“Quickly?” Her brother continued.

She nodded, feeling a bit sweaty. “Yes. And she awoke feeling better. She went into her garden, to find tea leaves to make tea for her breakfast. But… when she saw what had happened to her beautiful garden, she almost fainted.” She sat up more. Everyone sat up with her. “A dear friend of her—-a gentle barn owl she had healed due to a broken wing, came down to her level to coo and cry on her shoulder. It made her feel strong again to see her dear friend fly so steadily to her give her support. So, she told herself—-I will not let this happen to me. I will be strong. Her passionate, fiery will made a burst glow throughout the garden—-a beautiful green light! But, it did nothing to help it grow.”

Maria sighed. “Then what? Did the villagers learn a lesson?”

“They all saw the young maiden fall into despair. Of a deep, quiet melancholy. Her garden did not grow.” The story-teller paused and held unto her young brother tighter.

“The villagers saw her, and whispered and cried. They lied to her about a bull that escaped a large farm and had been running about, destroying property and land.” The noises got louder. Her father was shouting. Her sister’s faces were red in the cheeks and their chests were heaving.

“But the maiden knew it was not true. So… she fell apart thinking of humanity in such a sad, dreary way. She could no longer believe in love.”

“The villagers decided to stop this pain. They felt absolutely awful for what they had done. They saw her magic was not evil or wicked. It was through something selfless.” The story-teller started talking a bit faster. Everyone leaned in closer to her. So close, it made her uncomfortable.

“A local artist decided to make her a beautiful, handcrafted wooden bull. The bull would have divets and slots available for plants inside to tumble and crawl out of. The bull was an apology. Everyone else brought seeds, plants and flowers to her home. They planted the seeds. They watered and tilled the soil. The artist placed the bull next the sunniest part with the most beautiful sunflowers and marigolds planted in it. ‘The Flower Bull’, it was deemed.”

“But…still, nothing would grow.”

Everyone gasped.

“Until,” she started, standing up, “she saw the bull.”

“The magic of everyone’s love and astounding warmth—-helped her grow her deep, welling sadness into something strong and malleable. The next day—-she heard a tapping and she saw something breathing on her bedroom window. It was the bull—wreathed in flowers! The love—-the magic had brought it to life! And—-the garden was beautiful and growing once again!”

They all clapped. The story-teller curtsied but as she lifted her head, the door her mother was trying jam was breaking. Her father was yelling for them to hide. Her other sisters were trying to help their mother.

The story-teller imagined her sisters and her together as they once were.

She imagined herself as she had once been, as well. These stories she told her family meant so much to her. And to her siblings, they all meant so much to them, too. How can something out of thin air be so important? She just knew that stories like this helped keep hope. Hope to live, to dream, to hurt, to cry, to thrive and even be angry.

“If it had been you, Anastasia, you wouldn’t have let them hurt you. You wouldn’t have let anyone destroy your garden. Your home. Right?” Her brother asked. “You’d be angry. You’d fight!”

He coughed. He was ill. She held him tight, kissing his hair near the top of his head.

“No, Ally, I wouldn’t. I know you are strong enough to protect me. To protect us.” She kissed his cheek. “We are all strong enough to be together. No matter wh-”

Her words are cut off. The guards move in.