Chapter 15 Entanglement #5
And that was how it began. Olive’s workshop looked like an apothecary: there were jars of dried specimens; dehydrators and stockpots; herb grinders and cheesecloth; alcohol, for extraction; and amber-colored tincture bottles, plugged by rubber stoppers.
Olive had learned from her predecessor, a former Center member named Ana, just as Ana was taught by a member named Mei.
Part of Laurel’s work was to learn about herbalist cultures; whether and how to practice plant medicine with respect is an ongoing conversation.
The plants are cultivated in a garden, rather than wild harvested, to reduce the strain on the ecosystem.
Their products—tinctures and salves, sprays and balms—comprise part of the Center’s income.
Olive’s daughter had become ill from the lead in drinking water. Environmental justice work led Olive herself to the Center. Her voice was never the loudest in a group, and she rarely attended parties—but she had grit, and when she laughed, it shot out as if from a cannon.
Today, the door to the workshop stands open. Fran, the new apprentice, waves. The latest batch of reishi tinctures are steeping on a shelf. By the time they do the extraction, Laurel will have left.
Olive sits on the back steps, a cup of tea in one hand. She smiles at Laurel, but her eyes are pained. Unconsciously, Laurel mimics Olive’s position: elbows on knees, back hunched.
“I hate goodbyes,” Olive says.
“I know,” says Laurel. “Me, too.”
“How are you feeling?”
Olive is one of the few people who knows what happened with Eli. Laurel rubs her arms.
“I’m starting to get nervous. Maybe I should take some lemon balm.”
Olive laughs. For a moment, they sit quietly, as they have many times before. Then Olive passes Laurel the cup of tea.
Laurel sips. “This is good. Basil…and rose?”
“And chamomile.”
“Of course.”
The chamomile grows like a weed. Laurel gives the cup back to Olive.
“I keep thinking that this is the oldest I’ll ever be,” she says. “The most independent.” From the Center, Laurel will go to Clare’s house, where her life as a minor will begin. “That scares me. But then…”
Olive waited. There was something different about the way she communicated, something that Laurel could not identify at first. Eventually she realized that Olive never interrupted.
“Then I think: well, life isn’t over,” Laurel says. “Somehow, there’s still more.”
Olive twists her mouth the way she does while thinking. Then she says, “Dayenu.”
“Hm?”
“It’s a Hebrew word. It means ‘enough.’ ”
Laurel remembers it now—the title of a song she heard at Passover with the Rosens.
“It’s healthy to want more,” Olive says. “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t survive. But desire can also be distracting. It obscures what we already have. There are times when I want something badly, but when I get it, I don’t feel satisfied. I just start wanting something else.”
The Duoverse gave Laurel a second story, after she thought that there was only one. Bounty where she might have assumed meagerness. Possibility as ample as an orchard in full bloom. Can she choose to be satisfied now?
“Dayenu,” she says.
2005
On a Monday in August, Gloria pulled into the driveway and honked.
“Have everything you need?” Eli asked.
“Checking,” said Laurel. She pawed through items in the entryway: a tote bag with toiletries and clothes; a backpack for work supplies; a cooler; and a crate of outdoor gear, including a compact tent. She would be gone for three nights, until Friday.
Eli craned around on the couch. “Don’t tell me you’re still planning on camping.”
That month, thunderstorms had been relentless.
“It looks okay right now,” said Laurel.
“Yeah,” said Eli. “For an hour.”
“We’re going to stay at the motel tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, when we see the tree, we’ll reassess.”
Eli shook his head. They kissed, a peck, and Laurel left.
—
Laurel crammed her items in the trunk, between a box of ORBs and a folding ladder. Halfway to Michigan, they stopped at a gas station. Gloria volunteered to run inside for junk food.
“Swedish Fish, please,” said Tess. Gloria always bought the same thing: a blue raspberry Slurpee and White Cheddar Cheez-Its.
“I’m not very hungry,” said Laurel. “Can I just have some of your Cheez-Its?”
“No,” Gloria said. “If you would like Cheez-Its, you must get your own.”
Laurel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
She had looked forward to this trip for months.
In fact, she was happiest when driving to Cedar with Tess and Gloria, gossiping and bantering and bickering every so often, all of this suffused with anticipation.
Gloria bounced to the gas station: her arthritis had resolved with age.
Tess’s hair was newly buzzed. She ran a hand against the grain and said, “You know what I’ve been thinking? This trip is the one.”
—
When they arrived at the motel, the wind was so fierce that rain seemed to fall horizontally.
It would have been impossible to stay dry, and so they didn’t try, coming through the door wet and laughing, shoes soupy, hair plastered.
They patched together dinner from the food in Laurel’s cooler.
Afterward, Tess found a fearsome-looking horror movie called Brunch, and they watched in their pajamas while eating her Swedish Fish.
On Sunday morning, they brought equipment to the site. It was a beautiful day, balmy and clear. Wind blew through the forest in lavish waves.
When Laurel saw the tree, she gasped. Every rhizomorph had fallen. For the first time, the trunk and branches stood alone.
Gloria ran to the cave.
“The ORBs are flickering!” she shouted. “Almost all of them!”
Tess and Laurel hurried to follow her. The color in the spheres seesawed between red and green. It looked like a conversation, or maybe a debate.
Tess grinned at Laurel. “What did I tell you?”
Until now, Tess had only placed ORBs inside the cave, where they would be dry and protected. Now that the spark seemed imminent, Laurel anchored the ladder next to the tree. Tess climbed up with a drill and installed others there using large pins.
Gloria shouted from the cave. “The electricity is going haywire. We have to sleep here tonight.”
“I’ll set up the tent,” said Laurel. There was a rocky ledge that might keep them dry if the storm returned.
—
Laurel had rented two GoPro cameras from the science department. She positioned one in the cave and pointed the other at the tree.
Overnight, they stayed awake in shifts, watching Gloria’s computer—the Pie—for a surge. The readout remained steady. In the morning, they gathered with disappointment. Laurel skimmed through the video footage while Tess made instant coffee.
“Nothing notable,” she said to Tess’s and Gloria’s expectant glances.
“Laurel,” said Gloria, “what happened to the footage from your old camera?”
“I dropped it off at a tech shop. They said the job could take months.”
Laurel had been disappointed, but not surprised.
By now, electronics crashed frequently. Some people blamed the approach of Y2K: according to the very young, computing issues had plagued the turn of the previous century, though many dismissed these tales as children’s fibs.
But technology was simplifying, too. Cell phones had become more like telephones than pocket-sized computers.
After the iPhone ceased production, most people switched over to Motorola Razrs or the chunky new Nokias that were advertised as dumbphones.
“I don’t know why you did that,” Gloria said. “I told you I could pull the footage.”
Laurel shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
Gloria was frighteningly perceptive, and Laurel could feel the heat of her interest. But Laurel must have been sufficiently convincing: Gloria sighed the way young people did at technological ineptitude.
On Saturday, there was little to do but wait. To occupy themselves, they took notes and fine-tuned the equipment. They went to bed that night with no further sign of the spark.
Laurel took the first watch. She brought her camping lantern to the entrance of the cave, so that she could keep an eye on the Pie as well as the tree. The only illumination came from the ORBs. Two hours later, Laurel sensed Gloria more than she saw her: a vague shape moving through darkness.
“I’m here,” Gloria whispered.
It was her turn to be on duty. She sat down on the ground and leaned her head against Laurel’s shoulder. Their relationship was as difficult to categorize as Laurel’s had been with Gloria One. To say that Gloria One was Laurel’s professor, or even her mentor, would not have possibly encompassed it.
They sat for a minute, watching the oak. With the ORBs, it looked decorative, even celebratory: a Christmas tree in August.
“Thank you,” Gloria said.
Laurel turned to her. “For what?”
Gloria’s gesture encompassed all of it: the tree, the glowing lights, the cave ticking with energy.
“You gave me this,” Gloria said.
“Oh, no,” said Laurel. “You gave it to me.”
—
Tess took the last watch. When Laurel and Gloria woke up on Friday morning, they hastened outside. Tess hunched on a log, facing away from them.
“I swear,” Tess said. “I swear it’s going to happen.”
Laurel sat down heavily. She would have paid good money for a shower.
They had been wearing the same clothes for days: Tess in Carhartt cargos and a black tank top; Laurel in Tevas and overalls, a baseball cap over two braids; and Gloria in hiking pants and a tie-dyed T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a bandanna.
“We can’t leave yet,” Laurel said.
Tess grimaced. The chair of the botany department—a stodgy professor in his early twenties—saw the project as a drain on faculty time and resources. If Tess and Laurel began to cancel classes, their funding could be cut.
Gloria volunteered to stay in Cedar by herself. “The Pie would send data. You guys could follow it remotely.”
“No. Whatever we do, we should do it together,” said Laurel.
Her tone was firm. Tess and Gloria had noticed: they nodded with a deference Laurel hadn’t realized she had earned.
“One more night,” she said.