|
START 1, 2, 3, >> GO TO NEXT>
STORY ABOUT UNEXPERIENCED LITTLE FLOWER BUD
by FalconLee
[Written in 10th of December 1997, translated in July 2008]
It was a beautiful spring afternoon, the insect was flying outside, the trees already
started to show some green, air was saturated with revival and happiness. Snow went
already somewhere else, well; spring was at its full speed. Let me tell you, the whole
thing started in the greenhouse of Mr. Peony’s Garden Store, at the edge of one little
town.
Old Mr. Peony, who become legendarily famous in the whole local region by his
magnificent flowers and who didn’t have gardening only as a livelihood, as it was to it
with local baker Loaf, who didn’t care about his bakery much, but as his most beloved
passion. Well, and because he was old bachelor who doesn’t have any one, he devoted all
his free time to the flowers, which were like his own children. He weeded them out,
watere them, pruned them, grafted them, breaded; he really pampered them. Sometime
he even talked to them.
To some he devoted his time shortly, to others on contrary longer and with some he
could be forever, but all of them he loved with full of his heart.
He just finished watering Carnations, by which he broke the crust on the soil and add
some manure. Than he put water can down on the stone path, right next the old cranky
Cactuses, which use to bring him merchant Scrooge anytime he was in far Mexico, or
Africa; he took scissors and for a while he was pruning Roses, which as if would divide
the greenhouse into two large gardens.
In one would be, to the local people well known plants, organized tools, place to rest,
entrance, and that is why here was enjoyably warm fresh air. In the other half were
tropical plants, Orchids, Palms, Creeping Lianas and also terrible heat and because here
were as well little ponds and always running irrigation, which sprayed water from the
ceiling down, which looked like rain, it was here real swelter.
When he finished by the Roses, he went to the front part, where he returned water can,
scissors, little rakes with the hoe; took a small paper boxes with dried insect, some
fertilizer, little shovel, than turned around and with the smile he went to feed Orchids,
which were growing in the tall grass behind the footbridge, right next the Fichus trees and
tall Palms. Here he stayed needed time while delighted he viewed his protégée to eat.
Because it was getting darker, he thought to himself, that he already has to go by the
Tulips. Than he went, took all the tools to the front, exchanged them for another ones,
turned the lights on, and started straight with them. The flower bed was right between the
Gerberas and Roses over the path and on opposite side of the Carnations.
First he started by the white ones, than by the yellow ones and green; striped he did
today earlier, before the black and white ones with colorful ones, than he did those with
tasseled ends between the violet ones and spotted ones, but at the end he finally made it
by the beautiful red ones, which he had out of all the plants he grows throughout the
whole year, as the most favorite ones. It was only few of them there. These Mr. Peony
didn’t sell only to anyone. These were only for an extraordinary opportunities, because
these, surely sure unusual type of red shade, was breaded out only very recently in the
best gardens of the Netherlands. For those, old Mr. Peony traveled him-self.
When he was finished with pampering them, he stayed another half an hour, dazing in
excitement with a view of such majestic beauty. Than he went, returned the tools, turned
off some of the lights and left the greenhouse.
The silence spread. The lights in the house standing by, went on. With the coming
night, the darkness grew thicker. When the clock on the town hall tower hit seven
o’clock, the lights in the house went off. Peony came back to the greenhouse, to make
sure that everything is in its order, water turned off and only for a while to take look at
the exquisite red Tulips. He knew well, that once their blooming is over, he will not see
them for next year. Than the little door clapped behind him, and he was on his way to the
near by pub called Happiness, where he use to go regularly for a dinner with perhaps a
beer and game of chess. Those nights he usually didn’t go back to the greenhouse
anymore.
And again, the deep silence has begun.
Than suddenly a lady, actually it was Mrs. Pelargonium started chip chat with
unidentified Chrysanthemum and his wife about her new prune-cut and how nicely is she
spaded today. In that moment the Lily next to them started to argue with the Asparagus
Fern, who will be the more important in the bouquet once they will be picked and for
what purposes or opportunities people should choose them for. In to that argument added
Daisy’s with their thoughts and all of them were in choir babbling: “Well, I; would not
stand to be on the funeral bouquet”, in to that, the other one added: “I would not be able
to live with my-self, laying somewhere at the cemetery.” Third one into that: “I wouldn’t
survive it that would be my death.” Than someone else: “I would have to wither by the
shame.” Over all that, old drying Daisy kept repeating: “from my seeds will be beautiful
strong Daisies, from my seeds will be beautiful happy Daisies,” and all over again the
same. In to that tall Shrubs and Palms: “I wonder what the aunts in Africa are doing.”
“As a small girl I use to grow in the shadow of Banana Palm Trees on which use to
parrots and monkey sit.” Well it sounded there like on the market. They argued, asked
questions, told stories, taught each other, another’s were bragging about.
Night was the time when plants could peacefully talk about what happened to them
through the day. Through the day they can not, because Mr. Peony is there, and they can
not talk in front of Mr. Peony, because it is understood, flowers of course in reality don’t
talk. It would be unwise to make fool out of old man, when he is taking such a good care
of them. And of course at night they have plenty of time.
All the plants were talking, even the small sprouts, which no one knew, and even they
them-selves didn’t know who they are, because they still didn’t recognize themselves.
Lady’s Eardrops were talking with Gentleman’s Eardrops. TuLips were talking to
Crab’s Eyes, Mather-in-Law was talking to Touch-Me-Not, Double Trumpet Begonias
with Prima Donnas and Trumpet Lilies were laughing with Elephant Ears. Some of them
were showing off their bright colors, others were mentioning their new stripes and
annealing, the rest of them were in agreement with old TuliGrandma when she was
saying, how the new fertilizer, what Mr. Peony fertilize them with, is doing tremendously
well for her bulb. And was she right. For her age, she looked more as if she would just
loose blossoms.
Well, and what about red ones? Those, to which their grower, wouldn’t allow harm on
them?
It was actually right twenty one of them there. All were standing, blooming in their
stateliness, they were listening majestically and because they were of high descend, they
didn’t interrupted others in their flower talk, on contrary, they almost didn’t talk. Actually
except for one disobedient bud, which kept putting it self above the others, kept bragging
about it-self and were telling to everyone: “I am not like you. I am of noble descent of
new family. I’m beautiful. Not like you, old, ordinary, everywhere to be seen.”
And other flowers were nodding.
“In very truth, you are magnificent. We, ourselves would like to have once such as ancestor as
you are.”
The other Red Tulips didn’t like it and from time to time lecture it, telling it to be
ashamed of itself and how improper it is to put oneself above others. Little Tulip didn’t
pay attention, and it went on saying what a noble high Holland descend is it of.
Next day, as soon as it got lighter outside Mr. Peony came to the greenhouse, took some
tools by the door and started to walk all the way back, behind the Palms in the Ferns.
He spent here the whole morning. Some time he told the little ones what a crumbs and
hairs they are and without such a crumbs and hairs can hardly only few bouquets make it;
which they were rightly proud of.
After the lunch he brought to the greenhouse some sort of flower box. For a little while
he looked around and then he put it down on the empty spot next the Carnations, across
the path and against the Gerberas, and those were right next the Tulips. They were little
inexperienced Begonias. He spent some time with them following with near-by Muskets,
than for a while across them with Chrysanthemums to the right of Lilies, than he turned
around, looked over Daisies next the other Muskets, than he smiled softly and said: “Now
to water you and that’s it.”
And as he said, he’s done.
At three o’clock he took a scissors, begun to prune through the shrubs and flowers,
dancing and singing.
“Today has birthday Rosemarie,
Tomorrow is Annemarie,
Next day is Helena
She is like Gerbera, nanana, nanana….hmmm, hmm,hm…hmmm, hmm,hm.”
Than he put them on the table, by the door; where he begun to make a bouquets out of
them while he kept whistling the same melody again and again. At the end he exclaimed:
“Well, now I will bring you to the flower shop next door, to Miss Flora, where they will
pick you up at four.”
After a while he came back, took a small stool, sat down on it and lengthily looked
down to the Tulips. When it got dark he took the stool to the front, put the lights on,
turned around and sadly said:
“So, already tomorrow.”
Then, the door closed right behind him.
That night he didn’t come back anymore as he use to.
With the first hit of eight o’clock it started to look there like on the market again.
Hibiscus flowers were calling on Hyacinths, Cactuses were arguing with Roses. Well
simply put, it was there as always.
The most of course you could hear small proud Tulip to swagger about.
“Can you see it, already tomorrow we will be in the bouquet decorating table at some
very exceptional event. Can you see it? Us, whom Mr. Peony loves the most, we are not
any shy flowers. We are not any fragile plants as are here Crossandra infundibuliformis.”
By then, the other red and much admired Tulips would be brushing him down.
But pompous, proud little flower bud wouldn’t care what they were advising him.
Next day in the morning, old man came to greenhouse with a song.
Took scissors, danced by the Roses, cut the whole armful of them, on the table make
bouquets out of them, and this way he would do it the whole morning long.
He rushed by some flowers again, cut armful of them, on the table make a bouquets and
jump back by the other flowers. He kept humming his song: “When I was getting wed, I
cried full of happiness…”
Right before the lunch he came up by the Tulips, he start cutting them one by one and
telling them:
“You know, today, right on her twenty firs birthday….,” by than he was already tying
them to the bouquet...” little Marketka from across the street is getting wed, with young
Kristopher, who as a little boy, threw a stone right through this glass.” He looked by the
ceiling.
After the lunch Mr. Peony and Miss Flora came back for the flowers. Those than took
from them the parent of the bride with admiring words, who than put them to the vases on
the wedding table.
In a while the celebration started.
Firs they were eating, than they were drinking, singing and dancing.
Well, as people were enjoying themselves, they were pushing and bumping to the tables,
and proud little bud managed force his way all the way up, so he could take a look, what
it look like at such a wedding.
First he saw silver candleholder. Plenty of drinkables. Bowls full of food. People were
merry. Here he saw old known Gerberas, behind them Carnations, behind those Daisies
over which could see Chrysanthemums and Lilies, behind the Roses, and behind the
Roses..? “What? Noo, noo.”
Exclaimed the Tulip.
“That’s impossible. They had to make a mistake. That is not acceptable, so us, nobles
Tulips would be at the end of the wedding table, so far from the Groom and the Bride.
I demand us to be exchanged with the Roses and public apology for such as incident.”
Swaggering little flower but was screaming at everyone around.
That got attention of Happywin Golddigger, the son of merchant Golddiger.
For a while he was observing how the sticking Tulip quakes. No one could hear it in the
hullabaloo. For a moment, so it would catch a breath, got quiet.
Happywin noticed that it wasn’t shivering anymore.
He ripped one petal out.
That was to little Tulip very painful and started screaming and cry.
Happywin liked the way it started quaking again. When it stopped, he ripped another,
than another and this way he did it again, and again, till he torn off all the petals.
Poor little Tulip was there sticking completely naked. It could not talk anymore, because
it did not have anything to talk with. Only cried and wither, wither and wither till he
completely withered away.
The rest of the flowers, who were smart and didn’t talk, were now watching how the
little Tulip is dying next to mischievous Happywin, who was by now already poking with
his fork to the roasted duck on the table. | 
