Zollocco: A Novel of Another Universe (5 page)

The birds sing for other, varied reasons too. When one bird roosts all alone in a tree, it sings until another of its kind joins him. Then the two sing in duet, until a small cluster are coaxed to join them. This small chorus sings, with one, two, then three more birds hesitantly joining the group. So enlivened by the addition of these converts, the chorus sings so cheerfully and incessantly that suddenly hundreds of birds fly from their tree to the new sparsely settled one, filling the tree with the fluttering of wings and chirps. Sometimes the birds content themselves with such a tree change once a day, sometimes they move in this manner from tree to tree throughout the day. In this way do they establish territory and leadership. On really hot days, the birds are silent until, at the coolness of dusk, they sing in relief.

Before the onslaught of a big storm the birds chatter and swoop more and more frantically as the winds grow. For this warning, I was many times grateful. After a storm, I often saw two birds together chirping in response to each other, seemingly chatting about the damages the storm had inflicted. When berry bushes hit their peak of ripeness, a taste testing bird twitters the succulence of the fruit, and out of nowhere masses of birds soar to the bushes until it seems the bushes bear birds not berries. The feasting mayhem of the birds shakes and flounces the walls of greenery. One bush, I remember, writhing under bird gluttony, uprooted itself and ran off; a flock of birds harassed by hunger followed in noisy, trilling pursuit. I followed also, gathering the scattered, dropped berries.

Since different kinds of birds preferred different berries, I could tell which berries were ripe by the different songs. The sap-hawks, as I called them, liked to attack the forsythia, ripping off branches to suck out the sap. Once I managed to get one of the branches a sap-hawk had let drop after the bird had totally decimated the formidable bush. Curious, I sampled the sap, found it had a fine bouquet, flowery, the initial taste light, faintly sweet, gave the back of the palate a pleasant tingle, and the little yellow-blossom, flavored aftertaste lingered pleasantly. Finally, the sap had quite an inebriating kick.

Even now Our human listens earnestly to the conversation between two birds of where they shall build their nest. We unite Our consciousness, including that of Our human, to decide which speech to teach her next. We are so pleased that the human's consciousness joins with Us in this flow of thought. All her attempts are shy and the hesitant; the trace of her mind among the rest of Us is so difficult to distinguish. Yet her effort is almost unique among her species. They can all do it, We feel sure, but they refuse to acknowledge it. The vegetation wants to contact her next. Everyone concurs since the human has already devoured enough of them to boost her understanding. The forsythia agree to restrain themselves, pointing out they could have attacked her easily when she got drunk on the sap the sap-hawk left for her. The forsythia followed her home, admittedly tempted to pounce, but magnanimously kept a distance. The human's ghost says that it will get the human to think about fairy tales. That way she will be in the receptive mood for the vegetation's telepathic communication. We, of course, want to know what fairy tales are.

"You are fairies and sprites," explains the ghost, "except for the vipers, which are demons."
The vipers like this idea of being demons. "You know," they say, "we've been thinking of going and biting some of those people in that nearby Stone School. It seems like a good thing to do."
Wondering at the vipers, We unite again to search out why they say this. Many of Us have feelings of unease about the people at the Stone School, and some of Us have definite feelings of distrust towards them. We search Ourselves further. We feel the faint presence of Our human's consciousness joining Us in this effort. Having Our own human helps Us to tap into the thoughts of those other humans much more easily. Now We have it -- those people are considering coming to take Our human away by force! And they are even planning a raid on the forsythia to make moonshine. All of this is flagrantly against the forsythia. This very much against the Law. If they try this, We will set the vipers to plague their bathrooms.

About half of the birds have left, but there are still large numbers of them around. It is easier to understand them when in great numbers they abound.

I was exploring another part of this forest I am in. I came upon a fairy ring of blood red flowers. Aw, for a camera! If ever there were fairies this would be where they would reside. As I walked through the woods scavenging for food, I felt surges of warmth and friendliness whenever I approached the berries, truffles, bark, nuts, leafy plants, roots, or stalks I savored. It seemed the vegetation was extending its bounty to me. The chef salad I made of roast pelican and my gatherings was incredible.

There was an area where some ferns were overgrowing and choking themselves to death. Beside my module, the dampness of the soil and the sunniness of the spot seemed similar to the conditions of the terrain of the over-crowed ferns. I thought the ferns would look pretty next to my module, not to mention providing an at-hand supply of edible leafiness. So off I went to the ferns planning to transplant some of them.

Being in a cheery mood, I stood before the ferns and spoke to them: "Listen, you pretty little ferns, you are choking yourselves to death here, so I suggest that I take some of you to my module and you can live there. How does that sound?"

I imagined them saying: "Okay."
Taking a suitably sharp rock, I carefully dug up a few ferns and carried them to my module. It was a few seconds before I realized that a number of ferns were following me in single file! The skin of my back crawled, but I continued walking. When I arrived at my module, I planted the ferns I carried while the other ferns stood around me. Once I had planted the ferns I carried, the other ferns planted themselves!
Bizarre interactions with the plant life did not end here. The small natural orchard of very short, stubby fruit trees was a place I always skirted because somehow I felt to enter it was to trespass. This feeling I had was no mere flight of fancy; on the few occasions I made half-hearted attempts to enter the orchard a barrier of nettles formed. I began to visit the edge of this orchard and just watch it, standing quietly. I felt I was in the presence of some mystery, and leaving this little area of the woods as an unperturbed sanctuary could best show my awe and honor of this strange orchard. There were a few paths that ran through this orchard. What animal or animals made them? After about a week of this strange immobile fixation of mine, I had the sense that it would be all right to enter if I kept to the path, and made no sound.
I ventured in a little way, keeping very quiet. The next day again I ventured in quietly. Then for a few days the orchard seemed to want its privacy. I decided that rather than encroach on this private sanctuary, I would designate the area adjacent to it as mine. I turned my back on the forest's haven to contemplate my own. Wouldn't it be nice, I mused, to have white flowers growing at each of the cardinal points? I dragged three large rocks to where I wanted the center of my natural chapel to be. Then I went off for a cooling swim. How I loved the climate of this place.

Our human is actually making a chapel next to Ours. We never expected this. What wondrous insights will We learn from her? Many white flowers volunteer to grow where she wishes. We agree on a variety of them so that there will be white flowers there throughout all seasons. A few bushes yank their roots out of the ground, give their roots a good shake, and plant themselves where she indicated, so she will be surprised when she returns. Worms promise to prepare the ground for the seedlings that will come.

When I returned to my chapel a shiver went up my spine because there were white flowers where I had envisioned them! I sat on the largest rock I had placed and ruminated. Surely the plants understood me. But when I had planned the chapel I hadn't spoken aloud, I had only thought about where I wanted things to be. Maybe I had spoken aloud without realizing it. I decided to test it out. I would think about the garden's design and come back later to see if the flora had complied with my wishes. I shifted my position on the rock and began to design. My chapel-garden needed something to unify it. I thought of the red fairy ring of flowers I had seen before. Now that would be marvelous to connect the white flowers. And little pink flowers nestled among the rocks with different kinds of moss growing everywhere else would be exquisite. The pebble moss covering the ground in the middle of the fairy-ring; the delicate moss growing partially over the three rocks; and the Spanish moss hanging from the tree limbs--now that combination would make a lovely garden. Would the forest grow these things in place, too?

A few days later I returned to the garden chapel. I could not believe my eyes-

Our human imagines a lovely garden and We are pleased to arrange Ourselves in the fashion she suggests. We choose to make a few changes, though. Zollocco replaces her life-less gray rocks with vibrant marble; and fine, solid, black, stones they are, too. Also, We think a little blue is needed, so the curtain moss of the blue-dot-flower drape themselves among the trees. We wonder why Our human calls curtain moss "Spanish" moss. We shall have to ask her ghost what "Spanish" is
.

---for here was the chapel I had envisioned, only lovelier. Marble stones so intensely black they seemed alive had replaced the gray rocks I had placed. I could almost hear them call me. I seated myself on the largest of the three and gazed up at the little dots of blue flowering from the moss, which hung like curtains between the trees. I smiled at my chapel, and at the Forest's chapel. My feeling of myself seemed to grow greater. Each living thing, each rock, even the insect nourishing itself with the blood of my arm--all this, my awareness encompassed as myself. I was one at the same time completely detached and completely attached, separate, and absorbed, a part of the whole, and whole of a part. I was transcending living reality because I was part of all living, all breathing, and all being. My gaze rested on one of the trees. Visible among its thick leaf cover was a single fruit. I could not stay in this spot and feel this way forever no matter how much I wanted to. I must either return to the other world, the everyday world, or I must abandon the every day world and step out, out into this delicious realm-but how do I take my body with me? For that matter, how could I take this marvelous truth into every day life?

I saw a viper with a tuft of hair on its head slithering up and down the branch where the fruit hung. I smiled to myself. Was this the meaning of the story of the Garden of Eden? The fruit was consciousness. Women had tasted it first and then offered it to men. And the snake? The snake had suggested we become conscious. We had done this and in so doing had made the mistake of thinking ourselves apart, even alienated, from the unity I was now experiencing. Goddess, God, and Snake were separated in our minds from ourselves. We had warred with them all ever since. Now I sat in a Garden of Eden I had devised, but which had grown itself. The snake was coiling around the fruit. The every-day world was full of problems and even sorrows, and yet if I returned there I could bring this sense of unity with me. I might lose the feeling of it at times, but since I had had this, it was now a part of me. This union, this communion I could bring into the every-day world. I would fill my hungry belly with the fruit of that tree, but I must send the viper from it first.

"Snake, hear me," I said.
"I hear you."
"I know you; let us be one."
"Shall I send you back to your Maker?"
"No, I wish to live. Let us let go of this quarrel." "Why do you choose me as a symbol of Hate?" "Because you represented what I had been and what I had lost, and I feared you?"
"Yes?"
"Because without arms or legs you out-run me. Because cold-blooded you feel more than I do. Because venomous you never provoke me. Because mother's milk is sweet to you though you break loose from a shell. Because you seek water and hidden places; because you surprise me; because you remind me of what I wish to forget in myself."

"Cut off my head and return me to the Divine. Bury my skull here so this place will not become over-run with snakes. Eat my flesh for it is divine. Eat the fruit, for it is a token between Us and all of extended consciousness. Be at peace for at last we will be aligned."

The snake slithered toward me, and I lopped off his head.

Eating the fruit and the snake meat sated me so well that I slept for hours. When I awoke, I was no longer in the garden chapel. Had the forest rearranged itself again? I stood, stretched, and listened. The forest had done some rearranging, but I was in a different part of the woods. I yawned, groggy and disoriented from waking up in a different place from where I had fallen asleep. But a growing clamor in the woods brought me instantly from a dazed state to an alert one. I heard human voices screeching, and the peculiar rushing sounds of rampaging forsythia.

I ran.
I leaped.
I climbed up a tree. I gasped for breath and viewed a frenzied and beautiful sight below me. Little yellow flowers, like confetti, were streaking the air. People were attacking the forsythia. A herd of forsythia was being rounded up, and the bushes were fighting for their lives. Why was I siding with the bushes? My ankle was scratched from where one of the bushes had lashed at me when I had leaped into the limbs of the tree. Already I could feel the narcotic influence of the shrub coursing my blood. The people were protectively garbed and gloved against the clawing, lashing, yellow flowered flora.