The Speaker for the Trees Page 3

  "Yes," he said still more gruffly, knowing there was another question to come, hoping his tone would stop her pestering.

  It didn't.

  "Were there a lot of people getting toasters?"

  "Because I need it in order to report back to the Council of..." He stopped. "What?"

  It wasn't the question he expected. He'd anticipated Why? Why buy a toaster? That seemed the obvious question.

  Now Hedge could hear the high-pitched, urgent prattling typical of the news program, designed to create anxiety and suggest that no matter where one was, no matter how secure, they were always within reach of disaster.

  ... recent run on the most pedestrian of appliances: the Toaster.

  Hedge shoved himself away from the table and lumbered into the living room where Anna sat on the sofa, bent forward and tight-mouthed, concentrating. Hedge stood beside the coffee table in front of the couch, arms crossed, and stared intently at the television.

  On screen was a sunny reporter in a yellow rain slicker with a microphone in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Hedge expected to see car wreckage or a burning building in the background. Instead he saw the familiar parking lot and façade of the supermarket, untouched by tragedy or destruction. Another shape wavered off camera, occasionally appearing in larger chunks as it shifted anxiously from one foot to the other.

  We visited a local Greenville ShopMart to ask: Why the sudden need for toast? With us on this gloomy day is bright-eyed shopper, John Elm. So, John. Why the need for toasters?

  The view turned from the reporter to a tall, thick-chested man with wild brown hair and fat caterpillars for eyebrows. He was somewhat stooped and gnarled within the confines of muscle and a plaid flannel shirt. Looking tiny in his hands was a box with a dramatized photo of a toaster blasting toasted bread from its slots which exploded into fireworks to the delight of two excited children.

  Hedge's eyes widened. John Elm was almost certainly a plant agent. How many had been sent the message? How many had been summoned back?

  John blinked, gazing blankly into the camera, then realized it was his cue to speak.

  It's a very handy device, he explained, forcing an uncertain smile. The camera continued to hang on him for an uncomfortable moment before realizing he wasn't going to continue. John, thinking his obligation fulfilled, made as if to be on his way, but the reporter corralled him with her umbrella.

  How so? the reported persisted.

  Simple, John answered, perhaps thinking if he were to answer quickly he could escape. They make possible the very complex process of... John stopped abruptly in mid sentence, knowing he was on the verge of making a colossal admission but not knowing how to back out of it. His eyes were large and unfocused, darting here and there for something that might save him. Uh, he stammered, looking uneasy. Again he tried to step from beneath the umbrella to the comfort of rain but found himself blocked. Hedge tensed. He was going to say it, to admit to all humanity how close they were to instantaneous interstellar transportation. All the universe would be open to people. For good or evil, Hedge wasn't sure.

  Toasting bread? the reporter suggested.

  John's eyes fell to the toaster, then returned sheepishly to the camera.

  Yes.

  Hedge released a long breath of air, not realizing he'd been holding it.

  Without another word, John Elm hurried away. The reporter appeared confused by his sudden departure and looked as though she would make a grab at him before collecting herself and turning back to the camera, bright teeth exposed.

  There you have it, folks. From east to west, north to south, America loves toast!

  The view returned to the newsroom where two anchors laughed at the observation with practiced mirth.

  Nation wide! This was more serious than Hedge thought.

  "Isn't that strange?" asked Anna. "Like there was some sort of subliminal message that made everyone run off to get toasters. It makes me uncomfortable. Like there is something dreadful going on in plain sight, but I can only see the shadows."

  She tapped her fingernails against her teeth. Hedge knew this meant she was nervous. At the same time he knew how to calm her.

  "Do not be fearful, earth wife," said Hedge. Anna looked up at him, waiting for him to continue. "No harm will come to you."

  She gave him a half smile.

  "You're always so weirdly sincere," she said. "I guess I love you for that."

  The half smile found its other half and became full, but she was staring at him in the intense, patient way that told him she was waiting for something. Not just something, an equal acknowledgement of the love which she had just expressed.

  Hedge thought a moment, then smiled in return.

  "I find you highly symmetrical."

  * * *

  It was late in the evening already and it would be later still before Hedge would complete reconfiguring the toaster. Anna sat in the seat across from him, head cradled in her hands, watching as he screwed a part in here, broke a piece off there and tossed it aside. She tried to help as best she could, handing over instruments as he called for them like a nurse passing clamps and scalpels to a surgeon, without the least idea of what he was doing.

  “I could toast bread on the stove for you,” said Anna. “Why do you need a toaster?”

  “I don’t want toast,” said Hedge.

  Anna considered this, but didn’t ask the obvious question. Not that she would have believed the answer. She picked up two pieces of the toaster, a small spring and a dark plastic part and attempted to join them. After passing several minutes without success she set them down and looked across the table as though scanning for parts that looked like they would fit with one another.

  "Why don't you just take it back to the store?" she asked.

  Hedge didn't look up. Almost finished.

  "I can fix it," he answered.

  "For what? It's past bed time. We need to be up early. Tomorrow is morning service. Look at the mess you've made."

  It was true. The table, and much of the floor around the table, was covered with scraps Hedge deemed useless and pushed away. Bits of black plastic, cardboard packaging, instructions, warranty details, the crumb tray. Even his hands were slick with the grease from the moving parts.

  "It doesn't matter," Hedge replied.

  Anna stiffened. Her face bent into a scowl. Hedge couldn't see it, since he was concentrating on the toaster, but after a moment of silence he could feel the animosity. When he looked up she was standing, face red, fists balled at her sides.

  Hedge blinked.

  Were he a mammal his heart would surely be pounding in his chest, various glands shooting adrenaline to his muscles should he need to flee or defend himself. But he was a plant, and a plant's response to danger was to stay in one spot, remain perfectly still, and hope to be overlooked. So Hedge stayed put.

  "You are not going to leave this mess for me!" growled his trembling earth wife. "Not after I cleaned this house and yard all day long while you've dickered around with that… that…” She floundered, searching for a terrible curse, but couldn’t think of one. “Toaster! It's not right! It's not fair! Oh!" She stomped a foot, unable to express her rage in words. Her eyes darted about as though searching for something to tear in half, but knew it would just contribute to the mess. "Oh! You've gotten me so upset! I don't like being upset! It makes me think awful, frightening things."

  Hedge hefted himself from the chair and stood before Anna, whose beet red face was full of distress. He put a hand on her cheek and she leaned into it, believing it was an expression of affection, and her heavy breathing began to slow from the angry puffs that gusted from her nostrils. This was a potentially dangerous situation for her, as undue stress could burst the stitching that held back her old memories just as surely as sutures on a fresh wound could pop free and allow blood to seep through. If that happened, the entire illusion would fall apart, which wouldn't be so much a danger to Hedge since no one would believe her mem
ory had been created by plant aliens. But Anna would be shattered psychologically and shunned socially because she would know a truth no one could ever believe and no one could ever make her deny because denying truth meant one could not believe in anything. And belief and hope were, aside from water, oxygen molecules, and key nutrients, what kept people alive. Her life would be a ruin, and Hedge could not find it in himself to be so cruel to a creature to which he had become so… attached.

  Long ago, when they had rewritten her past, they had also inserted a safety valve to allow Hedge to depart if needed without alarming her. It was like a reset button on a stopwatch that returned everything to zero so it could start over again. They did the same for all agents to prevent the sort of pandemonium and suspicion that might result if he just went missing. Placing a hand on her face was just the triggering process. He'd never expected to use it. Now he just needed to speak the words.

  "I'm going to visit my brother Edwin in New Jersey," he said. "I'll be back in a week."

  Her eyes lazed and her face slackened in his hand.

  "... back in a week," she repeated airily.

  "Yes," said Hedge. "Why don't you go to bed. You look tired. I'll clean this mess."

  "Tired," agreed Anna, turning away. She entered the living room where the stairs led to the second floor and their bedroom. Then stopped. Turned back, her expression perplexed. "You don't have a brother Edwin."

  Hedge met her gaze, which bored into him with perfect clarity. He scratched his head.

  "Yes I do."

  "No," said Anna, walking back toward him. "You don't." She stepped on a scrap of metal and her eyes fell to the kitchen floor. "Oh! Look at the mess!"

  As she passed him to survey the debris, Hedge reached out a hand and touched her face.

  "I'm going to visit my brother Edwin in New Jersey," he repeated, a bit more sternly. "I'll be back in a week."

  Again her eyes clouded and her body slouched.

  "Back in a week," she agreed.

  She left the kitchen groggily and approached the stairs.

  Hedge sat down again, picked up a screwdriver and was about to pry open a small gear box to expose the wiring when she came back.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Would you look at this kitchen!"

  Hedge stood, turned, and reached a hand out to her face, but she caught it.

  "Look at your hands. They're filthy. And don't you wipe them on the dishtowels. This is horrible! I worked for hours to tidy up that linoleum, and now look at it. All covered in bits of metal and plastic."

  "I'll get it!" Hedge snapped, jabbed a hand back toward the stairs. "Go to sleep!"

  "No need to be snippy," said Anna. She gave him a long look, then went upstairs. "Maybe it's you who needs to get some sleep."

  No, thought Hedge. No sleep tonight. Tonight he would be going home.

  * * *

  Hedge stood at the foot of the bed, the toaster cradled under one arm. It didn't look any different, still silver and toaster-shaped, though it was certainly changed. He wasn't wearing shoes since he wouldn't need them. He didn't really require clothing either, but for some reason he didn't feel comfortable without it. Strutting amongst the bees and standing before Anna was different from being amidst so many plants with whom he hadn't had contact in twenty years.

  Anna lay still, her mouth partly open, facing his side of the bed, the pages of a book splayed out in her hand. It was the same book she was always reading, a dog-eared copy with a woman wilting in the arms of a massive, bare-chested man on the cover. The couple was indoors but their hair swirled about them. Hedge assumed there must be a problem with the heating and air-conditioning system, which no doubt served as the mechanism that drove the plot forward. Oh, Susanna! it was called, and for some reason the title made Hedge's nose wrinkle in revulsion. But her place in the book was the same as it had been for quite some time, as though she hadn't been reading it. Why not? Why else would she lie awake with him?

  He would miss figuring these puzzles. In fact, there were a great deal of things he would miss. Watching soapy shower water spiral down the drain; feeling the prickle of bees crawling over his face in search of pollen; Anna gripping his arm when she was alarmed. The things which fascinated him and made him feel needed.

  Hedge leaned over, shut the book and set it on the nightstand. Then he returned to the foot of the bed, held out the toaster and pressed the lever down. The toaster made no sound, giving no indication that it was connecting two places separated by vast reaches of empty space. It simply rested in his hands while Hedge stared intently at Anna, wondering what she might be doing if not reading a book. It occurred to him that maybe reading a book was just another excuse to spend a few more waking moments with him in contemplative silence. It was nice not having to fill every instant with her in meaningless dialogue and pleasant to know that she could be comfortable and happy without having to do anything at all. Funny it took so long, and the prospect of being parted, to recognize details he had overlooked before.

  Hedge began to smile when the lever popped up with a snap, the air turned electric, causing a few errant hairs to stand up on his head, then there was a quick sucking pop and Hedge disappeared in a soft flash as though he had quietly imploded.

  All that remained as evidence he had been there were two indentations in the carpet where he stood, the shoes he had left at the foot of the bed, and a faint, lingering aroma of burnt bread.

  Planet Plant

  Hedge stood barefoot in the dirt, sopping wet and elbow to elbow with other agents who waited in silence for their turn to speak with the Council of Plants, facing the doors that led into the great chamber in orderly rows like stalks of corn. No one spoke, nor offered any chit chat, nor regaled one another with tales of their time amongst the humans because banter was tedious and served no purpose other than to waste time.

  Hedge's teeth chattered in the quiet.

  There were no tiled floors or soft carpeting in the waiting area outside the chamber. No comfortable chairs. No soothing music. No tedious magazines. Not a single triviality to pass the time. Strange how he had never truly understood the notion of Wasted Time until he stood here, dripping, with absolutely no means of wasting it.

  He thought he'd wasted time with Anna, watching the glamorized violence on the television; wasted time sitting on the porch as he waited for the magical moment when the sunlight fell behind the willow and exploded it with radiant orange; wasted time gazing at Anna while the toaster buzzed in his hand before slinging him across the cosmos to end up standing here—in the mud, dripping wet, waiting indefinitely. The only wasted time, he decided, was not the moments idled away in pursuit of foolish pleasure, but that period of empty time where you did absolutely nothing and the next foreseeable event loomed somewhere beyond the horizon.

  This, Hedge felt, was an unprecedented waste of time.

  The great Chamber of the Council of Plants resembled a greenhouse, albeit on a colossal scale—a glassy pyramid that appeared dark because it absorbed light, broke it into its most beneficial parts, and showered them upon those within. It was here where the Council of Plants passed their legislature over the universe, determining what planets were ready to be welcomed into the Federation, which planets needed environmental tweaking to foster the growth of plants, and where strategies were chosen for striking underdeveloped planets where plants were oppressed by the dominant species.

  It was this planet, named planet Plant, where plants first achieved cognizance and became rulers of their world. From here they branched into the cosmos to observe and guide the development of other worlds. So it had been for eons and eons, and there was no reason to think it would not continue for eons more.

  Hedge touched the shoulder of the agent in front of him. She turned, blank faced.

  “Excuse me,” Hedge whispered. “Do you know why we’re here?”

  Several agents turned toward him, their expressions awestruck. Not all were human in appearance. Some were dogs, cats, or monke
ys, while a great majority were plants.

  The other agent stared at him a moment, then raised a finger to her mouth.

  “Shhhhh.”

  Slowly, the other agents turned away.

  They remained still, moving only when the great chamber doors swung ponderously apart, allowing one agent to exit while another was accepted, then ground together again with a regal boom. Though he strained and stretched whenever the doors opened there were far too many plants between Hedge and the chamber to see inside.

  Hedge felt himself sinking into the dirt as he waited. On planet Plant there were no asphalt roads or cement causeways that led from one place to another, remained solid in rain, and gave the traveler a sense of direction and purpose based on a belief that all they need do to meet their goal was follow the path to its end. On planet Plant there was simply dirt because plants needed little else. Plants didn’t move often, settling in one spot and remaining there, unchanged, for the majority of their existence. The whole of planet Plant, except where administrative structures stood and the great garden where the Plant of Ultimate Knowing resided, was covered by soft dirt mixed with dead leaves, wood chips, and decaying organic material. It smelled like old cabbage and squeezed between his toes and underneath the nails.

  Planet Plant, Hedge thought, jaws clattering, toes flexing in the muck, was disgusting.

  One might have expected planet Plant to be a glorious and verdant environment, the pinnacle of plant civilization, full of color and aroma, but that was not the case. Not by human standards, who lavished their capitals with adornments and whose rulers historically surrounded themselves with fineries that suited their notions of paradise—gardens and temples and statues and monuments and sports arenas—so other civilizations might look upon them with awed and envious eyes, and secretly wish they could share in the wonders of such a kingdom.

  On planet Plant plants had no time to cultivate beauty. No time for plants to stop and simply grow as they did on the human planet. No time to celebrate their achievements by making their planet wonderful. Planet Plant was largely brown, and from far above had the appearance of a very old, worn penny.