The House of the Vegetable

by Frank Lamour

  It was the best he could come up with for now.

  Looking at the impact weapon Hamza had given him, he debated whether to take it or not. Some sort of superstition made him decide to take it—possibly not wanting to discard a gift so soon? Would they really search his bag though? Deciding to play safe he tested the weapon in his underpants. It seemed reasonably comfortable actually. Maybe once in he could hide it under his mattress or something. Most of them look pretty chilled, but Acacia definitely looked like someone he wouldn’t want to tackle with, or—who was he kidding?—any of them, Mandrake or even Nutmeg for that matter. Don was well aware he just did not have either the physique or temperament for battle.

  The call finally came at seven. The senior members had discussed, and he was in. Did he need time to sort out his affairs? Arrange the money?

  Don said he was ready immediately. No time like the present.

  As the sun set, with hastily packed backpack, Don made the cycle over, with no lamp on his bike, trying to stay on the pavement where he could.

  In the pack, he’d stuffed some socks and underwear, basic toiletries and his light sleeping bag—based on what Nutmeg had, over the phone, instructed him to bring. She had said he could bring long johns and beanies etcetera, but winter was a still way off and he didn’t plan to be sticking around for long.

  Don arrived back at the gate to the House of the Veg at just about seven-thirty and was met by Nutmeg, Acacia and the two dogs (which Don now learned were called Sativa, the pale one, and Indica, the black and white).

  Don made a point of taking an extra time to scratch and pat the dogs, thinking it best to get them used to him if he was possibly going to be creeping round the property at odd hours.

  After greetings were exchanged Nutmeg said, “Acacia’ll put your bike away.”

  “Uh,” was all Don could think of to say as Acacia relieved him of the Raleigh and wheeled it up to small storage room next to the garage.

  “It’ll be safe in there,” Nutmeg said, as if reading his expression.

  Don forced a feeble smile as he watched the door being closed and locked, key slipped into Acacia’s pocket—his valuable burglary tools, which had chewed up much of his last few hundred rands, now out of reach.

  Don was then shown through to a room at the end of the corridor where he would be bedding down.

  The room was sparsely furnished. Not much more than a couple of shelves a chest of drawers, another huge dreamcatcher and three tough futon-like mattresses—similar to those he’d seen throughout house.

  He was introduced to his two roommates, two guys, Valerian and Ephedra. Valerian was fairly androgynous-looking and soft spoken, maybe of Mediterranean background. Ephedra, a nervous black guy, was a little more talkative.

  Out and left from his bedroom, at the end of the corridor, Don was taken through into the main bathroom—the other being an en-suite in the seniors’ room. It was a big space one entered through a couple of saloon type, batwing doors. The larger bathroom area to the left had a freestanding tub with a shower attachment and curtain, a built-in sink with cabinet, a laundry basket and some filthy bathmats on the floor. To the right was a small walled off cubicle for the toilet.

  Near the tub was a row of shelves on which were stacked clothes and sheets. From here Nutmeg took a folded off-white outfit, like those worn by all in the house (except her, of course). “This looks close enough to your size,” she said.

  Don now took in that there were some monochrome dark brown Ndebele type designs along the edges. He was told he could take any clothes as needed and then dump them in the laundry bin when they got too soiled.

  “Did you get a bulk deal on these?” Don said.

  “They are hemp,” Nutmeg said straight-faced, seeming not to appreciate Don’s attempt at levity.

  After having changed into the hemp shirt and pants, Don left his shoes under the chest of drawers and deposited his underthings into a drawer that had been cleared for him. (Don was now able to transfer the sap into his Converse, pressing the tongue over it to hide it.

  Don was then officially introduced to the rest of the members of the House.

  There were four bedrooms in the main house. Two on each side of the passage and Don did his best to remember all the occupants by associating them with the different rooms in which they slept.

  In the room next to the kitchen were Salvia and Kava and Nutmeg. Salvia and Kava were the two cooks. Nutmeg had said they’d used to rotate duties but the two enjoyed it and were good at it and so had just settled in as the official cooks. Kava was the tiny Indian girl and Salvia the black girl with dreads. Both seemed friendly enough, maybe Kava a little shy.

  In the next bedroom to the right were Damiana, and Amanita; these were the two dyed-blonde girls he’d seen working in the garden. Both bubbly and attractive, Don thought, maybe especially Damiana and Don found himself getting a bit tongue tied when being introduced to her. They shared the room with Calea Z, a big girl, very pale, somewhat overweight. She was friendly enough, but Don seemed to sense her as somewhat disapproving of him.

  In the first room on the left, as one entered the house, were the rest of the seniors, whom he’d already met.

  All of the spaces were furnished with the same type of hard mattresses scattered on the ground, beanbags, round little leather stool things and a few vintage-looking chests of drawers and cupboards.

  Most of the members seemed to pass the evening time either reading, playing board games, or chatting quietly. The one guy in Don’s room, Valerian, had a thumb piano that, based on his level of skill, he was surely attempting to learn, plinking out atonal melodies over and over.

  Don was told they’d had already eaten, normally eating early, at six, but some left over greens and starch were warmed up for him and he sat by himself in the kitchen.

  When he had finished he washed up his plate (noticing on a work roster taped up on the wall that Kraytom was actually spelled Kratom. The other names though he seemed to have got right—having at least heard the names of those plants even if not having any idea what they were), went back to his room and sat down on the little mattress.

  His two roommates seemed to be contentedly engaged with what they were doing, Valerian with the thumb piano, Ephedra reading a book which looked to be something about Freemasons, neither offering up conversation.

  Don thought he might as well now let Lesley know that he was in. If all went pear, show him at least he’d been trying.

  He went over to his drawer, got out his Nokia from the backpack and went to sit back down on his mattress and begin to deliberate over how to word the message.

  He looked up as Valerian stopped plinking, got up to leave the room—returning few moments later with Nutmeg.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you understood,” Nutmeg said. “It’s no phones. Thornapple’s not happy about any kind of… devices. I personally wouldn’t be as strict about it but it’s his house at the end of the day. Switch it off and I’ll keep it in the computer room. I have a landline down in there if you want to make any calls—at any time.”

  “Uh, can I just send this,” Don said. “Just to let a friend know I’m okay.”

  “Of course.”

  Don typed, “I’m in, no phones, be in touch when I can.” It perhaps wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say but it would have to do. Don pressed send, watched the message go, switched off the phone and reluctantly handed it over.

  Chapter 10

  At what Don guessed was around nine, the lights had methodically been put out by the chromosomal guy, Kratom.

  After some time lying awake, Don had finally fallen asleep. He’d woken again some time in the night.

  The room was dark but there was enough light filtering in from the various sources outside—streetlamps and maybe security lights—that Don was able make out the forms of his slumbering bunkmates.

  Both looked and sounded fast asleep and Don thought that maybe it as good a time as any to start a bit
of a poke around. If anyone asked he could just say he was going to the toilet.

  Don pushed up. He’d been sleeping in his new trousers, not entirely happy to strip right down to his underwear as his two roommates had done. He picked the hemp shirt that was loosely folded on the floor next to him and quietly slipped it on, then quietly rose and headed out the room.

  It was a little darker out in the passage but after a few moments his eyes began to adjust. To his left the bathroom, and down the long corridor to his right, the front entrance.

  Without any further information, Don had decided that his best bet now was to start by finding an easy way out of the main house at night. Then after that, try work out some method of getting into Thornapple’s flat above the garage.

  He would also need to take some time to let the two dogs get used to him before he made a move—so that they hopefully wouldn’t bark when hearing him out and about in the dead of the night. How long would that take? A few days at least.

  But for now, maybe he could just double check that he was able to get out through the front door.(He’d noted earlier that the front door had a Yale-type lock, but it also had another couple of locks. Were those engaged?)

  Don stood for a moment, listening. Aside from a few light creaks and pop, presumably the old building just shifting, he was satisfied it was quiet enough, and he started on down the passage toward the front door, stepping slowly, and doing his best to tread as carefully as he could on the old, wooden floor.

  All three of the bedroom doors were open and there was the chance if someone were lying awake he’d be spotted. Nevertheless, risking it, Don pressed on.

  Pushing on down, Don found the floor had been fairly solid up until just past the cooks’ and Nutmeg’s bedroom, where hardwood started to creak.

  Don slowed, trying to tread more carefully, but without luck, the closer he now got to the front door the groans from the floorboards seemed to increase.

  Don now vaguely recalled a movie he had picked from Legend’s martial arts section. There had been ninjas, as well as a noisy section of floorboard, called a nightingale floor, that was intentionally designed into one of the buildings, for the purpose of alerting those inside to any intruders.

  Deciding that closer to the skirting would be more solid, Don moved closer to the wall. Still no luck. His next step let out a creak even louder than before. This was not such a great plan so far. Maybe during the day he could work out which parts of the corridor were quieter, which parts noisier?

  He debated turning back but it now it was noisy back noisy forwards and he was almost within reach of the front door. He pressed on the last few noisesome steps.

  Reaching the door Don turned the Yale lock, turned the handle and pulled.

  Damn.

  At least one more lock was also engaged.

  A key rack was on the wall to his left but only one sad, corroded padlock key hanging from it.

  It did seem a bit weird to double-lock everyone in at night. Anyway, that didn’t matter. It just meant that this was less likely his method of egress.

  There was a door in the kitchen, but that so far looked like it was never used, and it still meant crossing the noisy floor. He would have to check it out tomorrow.

  Don turned to head back to his room and, just about jumped when he saw the diminutive figure of Mandrake standing, arms folded, in the bedroom doorway to his right.

  “Jesus!” Don said. Christ, how long had she been standing there?

  She glared at him in the gloom. “We keep the doors locked at night,” she said. It was the first time he heard her speak. Small voice. She had an accent but indefinable.

  “Yes, uh,” Don fumbled. “It was just, uh, different environment. I was feeling a bit…,” he clutched his throat, “…claustrophobic.”

  Mandrake glared at him silently.

  “It’s fine,” Don said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll head back to bed,” He turned and started began making his way back down the nightingale floor. A few steps back down the passage he heard Mandrake from behind him,

  “There is someone living under the floor,” she said.

  Don stopped, not knowing what to say and somewhat creeped out. He paused for a moment before continuing on without turning to look back. Him just imagining the little girl still standing there, arms folded staring at him. Still trying to keep his footfalls light and hoping not to wake anyone else, try not to arouse any more suspicions, he made it back to his mattress, crashing down but lying awake for some time again before finally getting back asleep.

  It felt like he’d only been asleep for minutes, before he was being shaken awake again.

  Chapter 11

  “Dan!”

  Don slowly opened his eyes. Damiana, the dark-skinned, blonde girl from the room opposite, was sitting on the edge of his bed.

  “Yay, you’re working in the garden with us today!” she said.

  Don felt himself flush. Was this the love bombing Lesley had warned him about? He realised now that he’d forgotten to look it up.

  Breakfast was predominantly maize meal and more vegetables. But there was a bit of buttered toast (well, not buttered, coconut oiled) and Don managed to sneak some for the dogs, wrapping them up in some toilet paper he already had in his pocket. He hoped maybe frequent food offerings might warm the dogs up to him sooner.

  After slipping the animals the toast, which they seemed happy enough with, Don was set to working in the garden with Damiana, Amanita and Acacia.

  There were various tasks to be done like weeding, pulling up of a whole bunch of spinach plants and then planting some more, as well as finishing fixing and putting up the net coverings. There was also general yard work to be done, like mowing the lawn, pruning bushes, and trees but this did not seem to be that high on the priorities list.

  The work, although more physical than anything Don had done in years, was easy enough, done at a very leisurely pace. Around an hour into it Damiana approached him. “Let’s take a break. I need a smoke. Do you smoke?” she said.

  Don shook his head.

  “Sit with me anyway. Have you seen the back garden?” she asked.

  She picked up a small psychedelic handbag bag she’d left on the grass and led Don round to the back of the house.

  Kratom was laid out under a tree next to the psychedelic patch, eyes closed, looking very peaceful. Damiana took some time showing Don the psychoactive plants and describing how sacred they felt. Don didn’t see much more than a bunch of plants.

  Afterwards Don and Damiana sat down on the grass. Damiana took pack of skinny menthols out her little bag. She tapped a cigarette out of the pack and lit it up.

  “I know I should cut down. Working with the plants shows me that but… it’s difficult.” She turned to Don. “How did you hear about this place? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “No, I, uh, through a friend of a friend,” Don said. “What about you?” he asked, trying to shift focus away from himself.

  Damiana took another pull on her cigarette. “It’s a weird story,” she said, shaking her head.

  Don waited for her to continue.

  “You want to hear it?” she asked finally.

  Don nodded, trying to nudge her on, (the more he could find out about this place and Thornapple, he was sure, the better).

  “I used to work at the Pain au Chocolat. The bakery up on the main road here?”

  Don shook his head.

  “Just part time. I wasn’t there long. Anyway, that’s where I met Thornapple. Sort of.”

  “I haven’t met him yet.”

  “Okay. He used to get out more. I don’t know if he drives, I’ve never seen him drive,” she said, more to herself. “Anyway, it was one Saturday, I was off, I can’t remember why but one of the other girls working there, Maria, was covering for me. And she said this weird frikking guy had walked in asking for me, and he had said, “Tell her ‘Oppenheimer dies on Tuesday!’ She described him to me and I said I’d never met anyone l
ike that,” Damiana said.

  “Weird.”

  “Yes, she said the whole thing was freaking odd. It had scared her a bit. The guy she said had like a weird like, evil, vibe.” She paused to take a drag on the menthol. “But the creepiest thing was I knew exactly what it meant. The guy I had been with the last three years, our relationship had just blown the frik up on Tuesday. And this guy, Thornapple, had told Maria that three days before! On the Saturday! My ex was rich, really rich, and had been supporting me since I left school. Things hadn’t been going well, he was emotionally abusive, a total narcissist. But I was terrified how I would support myself if we broke up. Thornapple had predicted it. He had come in to warn me.”

  Don kept quiet. Not sure he was convinced.

  “You can dismiss it if you want but it was clear to me,” Damiana said. “Anyway, the next time I saw Thornapple he was walking past the shop. Maria started shouting ‘that’s the guy!’ So I ran after him and asked him naturally why the fuck he’d come in and said that. He said that sometimes he just got messages coming in. It was weird, just talking to him, I got this chill, weird, drunk feeling, like the world had sort of shifted out of true. He told me about the plants, this place… and I suppose that…” She shrugged. “I was in.”

  ◆◆◆

  Late morning Don excused himself to go to the toilet— taking the opportunity to do a bit of snooping again. As he walked up the drive, he mulled over Damiana’s story. It was odd, but still it sounded like she could have easily adjusted the facts to fit the fairly vague prophecy.

  At the top of the drive, out by the washing line Don saw Calea Z and Ephedra busy with the laundry. Calea Z was hanging out the clothes while Ephedra was engaged furiously in turning the handle on a manual hand-operated washing machine.

  Feeling a bit guilty at seeing the amount of effort the small guy was putting into the task, Don thought he’d have to stretch out his period between switching uniforms even longer than he’d been planning.