Forever In Bloom
#3 — The Rose Farm Trilogy — Short Story
A week after his tenth birthday, it was now Yanko’s turn to deliver the rose oil to Mother Biljana. As it was his first time, his own mother ladled on the instructions and warnings.
“Don’t drop the bottle,” she told him sternly in the storeroom, where the jar had been deposited by one of the farm workers. The storeroom was pink and musky. There was only one window — a circular gateway for the midday sun to creep in. Yanko and his mother, who was slightly bent due to the small ceiling, were surrounded by jars upon jars of rose water, and standing next to the small plinth which held solely the bottle of rose oil intended for the family matriarch.
“Don’t question Mother Biljana,” she went on. “Don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t open the bottle, don’t do anything out of the ordinary.”
“Yes, Mama,” said Yanko, staring at the bottle. It was small, as tall as the length of his hand, but bulbous. It was white and polished like a pearl, with a spherical gold stopper on the top, complimented with three small golden legs.
“And don’t, whatever you do, drop the bottle,” she said again.
“Yes Mama,” he said.
“Alright,” said Yanko’s mother. Cupping the bottle with two hands, she lifted it and carefully passed it to him. Yanko grasped it, perhaps a little harder than he had to, and pulled it into his chest.
Mother Biljana had her own chateau on the family-run rose farm, joined to the main building by a gravel path bordered with small lavender bushes. Yanko took care with every step on the path, in case the gravel were at any moment about to betray its grip with the soles of his shoes.
The shafts of early afternoon sun, those sneaky rays that had found an opening between the leaves of a large swathe of pine trees, shone on Yanko. The patches where they met the ground, like golden crumbs, guided him along the path to Mother Biljana’s chateau.
The building was expansive and surrounded by a lush garden, which seemed to spring from the perimeter of the property. Grass that resembled moss rolled out like a carpet to the ranch-style steps that lead up to the front door. The large windows let in so much light that there was nothing artificial on inside, and had the added benefit of giving an unparalleled view of the rose farm. The foundations were dark-brown brick, but the upper level was all hardwood and lacquer.
Yanko took care climbing the steps. He almost dropped the bottle when a small, camouflaged lizard suddenly moved in the garden. In fright, Yanko danced up the last two steps and rang the doorbell.
A small, grey lady with sparkling blue eyes opened the door. Mother Biljana in a pink dressing gown covering violet silk pyjamas, and green slippers.
“Welcome, child,” she said, giving him a hostess’ smile. “Why don’t you sweep yourself off that porch and come on in?” He hand that was not resting on the door handle gestured to the house’s interior.
“Thank you,” said Yanko. He stepped inside and past his grandmother.
“This way,” she said, closing the door. She walked him into the living room. Her steps were unusually large and confident, like the walk of a young woman’s. Yanko had to pick up his pace to stay with her.
The living room unfolded before Yanko as they entered the space. From the large windows gleamed a panorama of trees and rose bushes beyond. The room was lit naturally, including the small fireplace burning away under a large bookshelf, that stretched across the fiery divide like a bridge. The room was full of lush armchairs and small tables beside them. Draped over the backs of the chairs were knitted blankets, thick and multicoloured.
Mother Biljana sat in the chair closest to the fireplace and gestured for Yanko to sit opposite. He did so and carefully rested the bottle of rose oil in his lap. He stared at the fire, which was slowly dying down to coals, to avoid Mother Biljana’s probing eyes.
“So, Yanko, is it?” she said.
“Yes, Grandmother,” he said as evenly as possible. Though the armchair was comfortable, he did not quite feel the same way.
“I’ve so many these days it’s hard to keep track,” Mother Biljana said. Her blue eyes sparkled with the firelight as she stared vibrantly at him.
Yanko cleared his throat.
Mother Biljana smiled, somewhat amused, and stood abruptly to glide over to the mantelpiece. Yanko blinked — he hadn’t seen the mantelpiece when he’d walked in, but it formed the bottom of the bookshelf bridge that sailed over the fireplace. Atop the dust-free shelf lay a walnut box, beside it were golden candlestick holders, upon which were fresh, unlit candles.
Yanko heard her open the box and withdraw its contents, though he could not see what until she turned and place two small glasses on the coffee table between their chairs.
“Do you know how old I am?” Mother Biljana asked.
In a flash of panic, Yanko blinked and said, “Ah, older than you look?”
From Mother Biljana came wheezing laughter. “Good answer, child,” she said. “Pass me the oil.”
Yanko did as he was told. When the bottle left his hands he felt somewhat better.
Mother Biljana unstoppered the bottle and poured its contents into the two shot glasses. The bottle emptied after perfectly filling both shot glasses. The oil was the colour of piss, but thicker in consistency.
Mother Biljana placed the empty bottle on the table and told her grandson, “I’m one-hundred and seventy-two.” she said, and promptly did the splits beside the table.
Yanko stood, horrified and scared that his grandmother had suddenly lost the ability to stand.
“Grandmother, are you alright?” he shouted.
“Of course, child, of course,” she said. She was so alright that she leaned to either side, enjoying the stretch, and beckoned to Yanko.
“Come here, child,” she said.
Yanko came closer to Mother Biljana’s right green slipper.
“Take one,” she said, gesturing to the rose oil shots.
Yanko took one, careful not to spill it.
“Down the hatch, child. Down the hatch and then, only then, will you live forever,” Mother Biljana said, as she raised her own glass with an arm covered in purple and pink.
Yanko watched his grandmother take her shot; as the liquid disappeared into her mouth, he took a deep breath, and followed her into eternity.
