Chapter Nine: Slumber & Soccer
As was usual in the morning, Colin, Spike, and Melissa did their chores. Today’s task brought the three of them together in the kitchen.
With a cloth torn from an old flannelette sheet, Colin smoothed paste over the surface of a large silver tray. The tray was but one piece from a mountain of silver on the kitchen table waiting to be polished. Spike sat next to him and toiled away with a small foam paintbrush, working liquid silver cleaner into a border of tiny grape bunches that rimmed a chafing dish. Melissa finished buffing the last of twenty-four wassail cups and placed it alongside the other gleaming cups and the large, footed wassail bowl. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she elbowed Spike who rolled his eyes up at her and said, “Yeah, yeah, you’re a whiz kid, Sis.” This was one of the very few utterances made that morning; they were content to work in relative silence while Ofelia listened to her favorite morning radio show and made their favorite, oatmeal cookies. Colin’s thoughts were occupied, uppermost, with worries about his aunt’s health.
She was an emotional mess. Waves of silent agony emanated from her every waking moment. She would hover around them, distribute a blanket of intense unhappiness, then leave and wander aimlessly through the house before returning to them to repeat the depressing cycle.
Colin had decided he must change his attitude about Grizzelda; he wanted to honor Grandfather Thunder’s request of him to take care of her. It wasn’t as hard as he’d imagined it to be, especially with her in the pitiful state she was in. He was surprised that he felt calmer and more at ease around her only because he had shifted his thinking about her.
Rhea had dropped by the house the day before to remind him that indoor soccer was starting up. Registration was taking place tonight and he had to be there in order to get assigned to a team. It hadn’t exactly been dominating his mind, but it would give him a chance to spend time with Rhea and it would allow him the opportunity to get away from the house for a few hours. A part of him couldn’t wait to make his escape; however, after his experience in the summer, he’d convinced himself not to go, until Rhea coaxed him to change his mind. He couldn’t be as bad at the indoor game as he was at the outdoor game, or so he hoped.
He had never seen so much silverware in his life: candle sticks, flatware, serving sets, tea and coffee services, charger plates, punch bowls and cups, champagne and ice buckets, even medals and engraved plaques--so much silver that he thought his aunt must have gathered in all the silver from kilometers around. He even tried his new abilities to the task of removing tarnish from the silver, but immediately discovered the process added more tarnish. It was back to good old polish and elbow grease to get the job done.
“Have another one, old man,” Spike said, as he offered Colin the plate of Ofelia’s warm oatmeal cookies as a consolation.
Aunt Grizzelda was relentless in her restlessness, a mass of nerves bordering on hysteria. Presently she was staring aimlessly out the tall window that fronted the kitchen, eyes red and swollen, face stained with tears. She gave a great sobbing sigh, turned and padded past them. On her way out of the kitchen she asked, “Ofelia, could you get me a glass of pomegranate juice? I’ll be back in a few moments for it.” Her request was almost kind in tone.
“Yes, Miss Grizzelda, right away.”
Colin was quick to his feet, heading Ofelia off at the refrigerator. She looked at him curiously but he stalled her with a smile. He had already prepared the root, using a mortar and pestle to grind it into a fine powder. At this point he was willing to try anything to get his irascible aunt back; anything was better than this.
“What do you have there?” asked Ofelia, suspiciously looking down at his closed hand.
He knew it was impossible to hide anything from Ofelia; she had this way of seeing right through conspiracy and plot. Colin opened his hand revealing the powder in a corked glass vial. Truth was the best defense here.
“Rhea’s Grandma gave me a root to grind up and give to Aunt Grizzelda. She said it would help her.”
Ofelia didn’t say anything but continued to watch judiciously. Colin reached into the refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of the red juice and poured it into a tall glass. He mixed in some of the powder, stirring it until it dissolved.
“What?” said Colin guiltily to Ofelia who glared disapprovingly at him.
“Now, when you say it’s going to help her, what exactly do you mean by that?” She picked up the glass and examined the liquid.
“It’s all right, I’m sure it won’t hurt her,” said Colin not having any idea whether it would, or wouldn’t hurt her, or whether it had any side effects.
“I see,” said Ofelia dubiously. “You don’t exactly know what it does, but you’re willing to experiment on your aunt?”
“It’s not like that. You’ve seen her lately. Ever since the party and Marcus’ disappearance she’s been a basket case! She’s not sleeping any more. Every night, you can hear her crying and talking to herself. (He didn’t tell Ofelia that someone else was talking back to her.) I think she’s going crazy, honestly.”
He waited for the verdict, Ofelia’s sanction or veto, but neither was needed because Grizzelda strode back into the room, took the glass from Ofelia’s hand and drained it in one summate gulp. She handed it back to Ofelia, and looked, strangely enough, on the verge of saying ‘thank you’, but instead closed her eyes, gave a long grateful sigh, and collapsed onto the floor.
After a quick but thorough examination, Ofelia announced, in a relieved voice, that Grizzelda was only asleep.
“Your aunt is in a deep, deep slumber, young man. I will have the rest of the powder, now!”
Colin dug into his pocket for it and handed over the remainder of the root. He had never seen Ofelia upset and he didn’t like the sensation at all. Having Ofelia’s smile, her bubbling effervescence, denied him was like having the sun turned off.
She turned the root around with her fingers, carefully examining it from all sides, sniffed it, then wet her finger, dabbed it on the dried root, and touched her finger to her tongue. With her chin angled to the ceiling, her face changed from one of contemplation to that of wonder. A big flashing smile illuminated her face.
“Where did you get this? Do you know what this is?” she said, rushing on not waiting for him to reply. “It’s the root of the plant Narcissiflorus Somnifera. Do you know what it does? If you consume it, it evokes a euphoric coma that allows you to see yourself only in a positive light.” She continued to stare at the root. “Amazing,” she said. “And you say Rhea’s Grandma gave this to you?”
“Yes,” answered Colin cautiously, “when we were at the market. She was the woman with the giant radishes.”
“Oh, yes, she has the best vegetables in town. Do you know what’s so marvelous about this root?”
“No.”
“It only grows beneath the Phoenix Tree, the tree where a Phoenix has her nest.”
“Wow! That’s totally awesome!” injected Spike. “But isn’t the Phoenix just a myth? There is no such place where the Phoenix tree grows.”
“You are absolutely right, because, you see, no such place exists, or, at least, not in this world.”