Secret Seed

As a child, Rose often picked at her bellybutton. There was something about it she just didn’t understand, even though she had been told about the umbilical cord and what it was for. She could picture herself tied to her mother by the cord: a sort of balloon pumped full of blood instead of helium. The mother she pictured changed often. Sometimes it was the queen of a small country in Europe. Sometimes it was someone from a small village far away from the busy world of men. And sometimes she pretended that her mother was an otherworldly being who would return to rescue her one day. Rose had never known her real mother, who had died when she was very young, but she imagined that a small part of her mother remained with her in what she called ‘the grape nut.’ Sometimes, instead of thinking that it was a piece of her mother left behind, she thought an actual grain of the breakfast cereal had fallen into her bellybutton somehow. And sometimes she thought it was a seed from one of the large red grapes she liked to eat when she was little.

She had worried about it for years, even as she was about to turn twenty. She would often dig at the grape nut to try and get it out, but it would not move from its place deep within her navel, no matter how hard she scraped it with her fingers, or even with a pair of sharp tweezers.

One night, Rose was alone in her college dorm room. Her roommate had gone out on her usual Saturday date. Rose and Jill lived on the fourth floor, up a narrow winding staircase, on the far north end of the Quad. The Quad was the best dorm on campus, yet few people ever came to ‘the tower,’ as Rose called it.

She thought about going down to the TV lounge, or maybe to the cafeteria for a hot chocolate. It was late October, and already completely dark at seven. Rain slashed against her window as she kept watch from her seat at her desk. From time to time an oak leaf would stick itself to the glass for a while before blowing free. Rose decided she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, even though she really wanted some hot chocolate. She would just stay in her room instead and read a story.

Without being fully aware of what they were doing, her fingers had found their way into her bellybutton, and they were picking at the grape nut. Rose was thinking about what would happen when her roommate got back. Jill and her boyfriend might want to use the room, and Rose would have to find someplace to go. It would have to be the basement laundry room. She could do some laundry and watch some television. There was no way she was going out to the library in that rain.

Just then, she noticed what her fingers were doing. She felt something. Her left pinkie nail had done something. The grape nut had moved! She dug now more carefully with her nail, prying as firmly as she could. She felt a drop of sweat roll down her cheek. She pried harder still, carefully, carefully, she must not lose her place. She was holding her breath. Then, she let out a loud gasp, and everything sort of let go all at once.

She had fallen from her chair and was on her hands and knees with blood pouring from her belly. The room spun halfway around then snapped back into place. Everything looked very clear for a second, like it was made of glass, even the walls, and they were shining with a soft blue light.

She picked herself up and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, everything looked normal again. She hurried to get a towel for the blood, holding her sweater tightly against herself as she mopped it up, though it didn’t feel like she was bleeding anymore. In fact there wasn’t, had not been, any pain at all. The blood on the hardwood floor was truly a pool, which soaked the entire bath towel, and turned it from white to a deep, black, red.

And there, on the floor, in the middle of where the blood had been, was her grape nut. Her hands shook as she picked it up and hurried over to the lamp to get a good look at it. It was very much as Rose thought it would be – rough and slightly spiked – a sort of spiny grape nut or seed. And, immediately, she felt she must do something with it… She must plant it. The answer had come to her at once, almost as a whisper.

She fled from the room, and threw the towel down the garbage chute. She clutched the grape nut in her left hand, and in her right she carried an old clay bowl she had made in the fourth grade, that she now used to store spare change (which had been dumped out all over her desk). Down the winding stairs she went, and outside into the courtyard. In only her socks and jeans and bloody sweater, she fell to her knees digging madly at the ground. She barely felt the rain or heard the wind whistling. When she had filled the bowl with dirt, she rushed back up to her room and carefully pushed the grape nut into the center of the muddy earth, maybe an inch deep. She pressed the soil down tightly over it. Then she sat down on the floor in front of the bowl and just stared at it for a long while.

Eventually, she began to feel silly. What, exactly, did she expect to happen? Also, Jill would be back soon, and Rose didn’t want to have to explain about the bowl full of dirt, so she put the bowl in the back of her closet and covered it with a glass vase, upside down, that Jill had once gotten flowers in. She wouldn’t miss it, Rose thought. Then she went to bed and pretended to sleep, while Jill and her boyfriend thrashed around on Jill’s bed. Rose didn’t sleep at all that night, not even when Nate had gone and the only sound was the rain on the window and Jill’s soft breathing.

Over the next three days Rose ran often to her closet to check on the bowl whenever she was alone. She never brought the bowl out of the closet when she looked at it, but rather crawled inside to see. Nothing was happening to it. She began to feel more and more foolish. What, after all, did she expect?

But then, on the fourth day, just before she went calculus, she checked again. And there, right in the center of the bowl, had sprouted a blackish-green stem with two tender leaves. Rose skipped class that day and sat by the closet, checking from time to time, and adding a few drops of water sweetened with sugar. It seemed like a good idea, even though she really didn’t know much about caring for seedlings.

The plant grew quickly: almost so fast that she could notice it changing as she watched it. And it began to look, well, not like any plant Rose had ever seen. Its stem was very thick, with four branches that were covered with viciously sharp thorns. On the sixth day, a bud formed in the center, with dark black fuzz on its top. Now Rose checked the plant every few hours. Jill caught Rose twice kneeling in the closet, despite how careful she was, not to be seen.

The next morning, Rose heard a shaking and scratching from the closet. She rushed over. Jill might be back any second. With the light dimmed by her hanging branches of clothes, Rose saw the plant twisting itself wildly. She held the vase down firmly over the bowl. All of a sudden, the husk-like stem and bud flew off of the plant, and there stood… well… there stood a very tiny man. He was perhaps six inches tall, and perfectly formed, with nicely muscled arms and chest, and such a beautiful face, Rose thought.

He looked at her. He pressed his tiny hands against the glass where hers were holding the vase down. She wondered if he could speak? She said, “I’m Rose. What’s your name?” He nodded to her as if he understood, but made no answer except an intense stare – almost a defiant glare. Then he pushed against the glass with surprising strength trying, it seemed, to knock the vase over. Rose held it more firmly, and said, “No, you must stay where it is safe. I will bring you breakfast and… and something to wear,” she ended with a whisper. She placed two very heavy physics textbooks on top of the vase to hold it down before she left.

Now Rose was constantly worried that Jill would find her little man. More than once, Jill had heard him rattling his vase. When Rose was alone, she would sit with him and talk to him or read to him. She told him, “Next semester I’ll get us our own room. I’ll make you a house and proper clothes (she had dressed him in a sort of toga made from a red handkerchief).” He clearly preferred to be naked, but she refused to feed him unless he wore his toga. She said, “I’ll make you a little suit, and you might have a desk and a bed.” But he was very sullen and sat often with his back to her. “It will be better soon,” she promised. “I’ve brought you tea and fresh apple slices. Why won’t you look at me?” She pleaded, but he turned away and wouldn’t touch the food she had brought for him.

One day, Rose came back from class and knew right away what had happened. Jill and her friend, Jen, were sitting on the floor playing with something. They seemed too excited for their own good. Rose saw her little man sitting in Jill’s hand. She and Jen were petting him and giggling. His sullen disposition was replaced with a playful glee. He danced about to please them.

“What is it?” Jill asked. “Is it a robot?”

The littleman smiled wickedly at Rose. Rose said, “Yes, it’s for my sister’s birthday.” And she grabbed the littleman and shut him quickly in her desk drawer. He rattled and kicked at it fiercely, so much so that Jill and Jen soon made an excuse to leave the room. Rose propped her chair up against the drawer then went to bed. After a while, his rattling stopped and she fell asleep.

In her dreams a dark and powerful man came into her room, and without a word began making love to her there in her bed. She could feel him inside so very clearly. She had never had a dream like that before. Rose woke with a start. She felt frozen in place, and slowly, slowly, had to force her hand to move what seemed an endless distance to turn on the light. Her scream caught in her throat as there, standing on her bed by her feet, was the littleman, staring at her with his intense expression.

He spoke his first words, “You carry my child now, sídhe. When she is born I shall return and I will kill you as my father killed your mother.” And then he simply vanished, as if he had never been there at all.

Rose stayed in bed for the next three days. When Jill was home, Rose turned on her side and faced the wall. She felt as if black thorny vines filled with venomous blood were growing inside of her, spewing millions of spiked and billowy seeds. At times, she hoped that she was just crazy, but then Jill and Jen had also seen the littleman, and she could not ignore how fast her stomach was growing, despite having eaten nothing but crackers and water for the past three days. Something was growing inside of her, filling her, and it was growing very very fast.

Once Rose decided she hadn’t imagined the whole thing, she began to think. The littleman had threatened to kill her, ‘as his father had killed my mother,’ is what he had said. If she truly wasn’t crazy, he would be coming back, and soon, by the feel of her stomach. Should she run? Where would she go? And if he could disappear like he had from her bed, maybe he could reappear anywhere he wanted, also? Maybe she could fight the littleman. He was, after all, only six inches tall. Though perhaps that didn’t matter. Perhaps he had other ways of fighting. Then she wondered if maybe she could stop him from coming back completely. She considered going to the doctor to get rid of whatever was inside of her, but she just couldn’t do it. She was terrified by the feel of what was growing inside of her, but she also felt an overwhelming urge to protect it. She began to think more and more about her real parents. If what the littleman had said was true , then the same thing had happened to her mother, and her father was also a littleman. What did that make her!

On the morning of the fourth day, she went to the closet to throw out the remains of the plant. She was wishing she had never dug out the seed – had never planted it so foolishly. She ripped the drying plant from the dirt and there, clinging to its roots, was a bright red pulsing bulb that looked – well there was no other way to describe it – it looked juicy. She felt like her time was running out. Maybe eating the bulb would kill her and her child together, but at least the littleman wouldn’t have that satisfaction. She felt that regardless of what happened to her, she didn’t want him to ‘win’ on his terms. So she swallowed the bulb or fruit or whatever it was whole.

Rose’s eyes opened wide. For the briefest moment, the walls and floor and ceiling of her dorm became as clear as glass. She felt as if she would fall through the floor onto an equally clear and shimmering earth two stories below her feet. But, as quickly as the littleman had vanished, so also did the world that Rose knew. The Quad, her dorm, the entire campus and city, it was all gone, and was replaced with a world filled with soft brilliance. Rose thought of a morning she remembered after a big snowstorm, after the sun had just come up. Everything was so quiet and peaceful. No one had walked in the snow yet. No cars had driven on it or coughed up their exhaust to blacken it with soot. Only here, where she stood now, there was no snow. Instead, there were endless fields of green with deep golden flowers and shining white flowers, glittering like diamonds above the grass.

Far in the distance Rose saw a hill with a single tree growing on top. There were no other trees around the hill, nor were there any clouds in the deep blue sky. There was also no sun to be seen anywhere, despite the soft brilliance of the blue. Rose felt as if she were walking in slow motion through an air that buzzed with life. But all was also silent, even the wind on the grass. The grass flowed back and forth like seaweed on a current. Rose felt the wind on her face, and could feel her hair blowing back and forth. She made her way to the base of the hill and began climbing. She thought from the top she might be able to see where she was. But, more so, it was the only landmark rising from what appeared to be an endless beautiful field, and it simply begged to be climbed.

When she got to the top, Rose found that she wasn’t tired or out of breath, even though the hill was much taller than it had appeared. She felt the bark of the tree with her palm. It was smooth and hard as marble, but with twisting grooves, almost as if the tree were made out of many smaller trees intertwined. Next to the tree was a large round stone, the same silver-gray color as the trunk. Rose looked out now, and on the other side of the hill she saw there was a lake, or perhaps an ocean, of a deep blue to match the sky. It rippled gently with the wind she could not hear. And she wondered, perhaps aloud and perhaps to herself, if this were heaven.

A voice answered, “You really shouldn’t be out now. It is almost time for stars.” Rose spun around looking for the speaker, but didn’t see anyone. Then there was a clear and happy laugh from the branches of the tree. Rose looked up and saw a young woman perched there. The woman lightly dropped to the ground and stood next to her. “Have you come from the land of the dead?” she asked. Rose did not know what to say. “Yes, I can see from the sadness in your face that you have. My name is Caghla. Oh. You have come to find your littleman!”

Rose stepped back. “How-“

“We all have them. You are not the first to try to hide in the land of the dead. And it’s not hard to see how far along you are!”

“Then this is my home. This is where my mother came from?” Rose asked.

“Yes. You are an aes sídhe like me. Like all of us. At least, that is what they used to call us long ago.”

“What is the littleman?”

“They are part of us. We are all born with the seed in our navel. Of course we may choose to leave it there, but if we wish to have a daughter, we must plant the seed and grow the littleman.”
“Always a daughter?” Rose asked.

“Yes. Your mother must have been killed.”

“She was.”

“That is the way of things too often these days. Sadness comes even here… What is your name?”

“Rose.”

“Well, Rose, if you pluck your seed and grow your littleman, you must fight him to the death. No other littleman can kill you and you can kill no other littleman. Long was there a balance. But now more and more littlemen prevail. Many of us now fear the battle, and seldom choose to bear daughters. I have not.” Caghla paused for a second, then she asked, “How does it feel – your daughter inside you – can you feel her?”

“I think so.”

“I have always wondered what it would be like…”

“How can I fight the littleman?” Rose asked. Should I try and find him or wait for him to come?”

“I will help you, Rose. Our strength is here by the lake and hill in the light of day. They are stronger at night and in the forest. You should wait for him here. He will come,” Caghla said.

“I’m not very strong. But then he’s so small. What will he try to do?”

“This fight is one of will and of visions inside. Do you know how to throw light?”

“No, I don’t know anything.”

“Then I will show you. Tomorrow. Now we must get inside. The stars will soon be out.” Caghla laid her hand on the stone and it turned clear. Rose could see right through it to a stairway leading down into the hill. Caghla motioned for Rose to go down. Then she said, “You may pass through, Rose, you are one of us. This is your hill.”

The stairs wound down into the heart of the hill. And though Rose could see no torches or lamps, the staircase was pleasantly bright. They arrived into a large room with a giant oval table in the center, and a very high ceiling, maybe fifty feet or more. There were candles and lanterns of all shapes and sizes, casting lights of every color, that all seemed to blend together into a soft golden hue which hung over the entire room like a cloud of smoke. The table was set with beautiful silver plates and crystal cups. And there were vases filled with the golden and white flowers Rose had seen in the grass outside.

Caghla led Rose to one of the women seated at the table. Most of the women there were older than Rose, looking perhaps to be in their thirties or forties, though a few were closer to Rose’s age, and there were also two younger girls. The woman stood and greeted Rose, “Welcome home,” she said. “I am The Lady of the Hill. You are Lighlea’s daughter.”

“I never knew my mother,” Rose said.

A shadow passed over The Lady’s face. She said, “Have you come here to bear your child with us?” She moved quickly to Rose and placed her hand on Rose’s stomach.

Rose said, “I have come here to fight my littleman.”

A murmur came from many seated at the table. The Lady said, “My heart will be with you, daughter. There is not much time. If you truly wish to fight him, it must be done tomorrow. Your littleman will come just before your daughter is born. After you give birth you will not be as strong as you are with child. I do not think you will be able to defeat him then. And he will always be waiting if ever you should go outside the hill.”

“I will fight him tomorrow,” Rose said.

“Very well,” said The Lady. “Caghla will assist you. She is our strongest warrior. But tonight, feast, rest, and be at peace with us.”

And feast Rose did, on fruits she had never tasted before, and fine white bread, and sweet sparkling wine. The conversations round the table flowed over her. She understood only a little, but she was filled with joy as she sat and listened. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. She knew that she was the same as these women in some deep way she could not explain. She was no longer out of place. At last she was home.

When Rose could eat no more, Caghla led her down a hallway to a small bedroom with a large wooden bed that had a thick down mattress and a pure white comforter. She watched the candles flickering their soft shadows against the wall for a moment. Then she fell into a dreamless sleep. Her head seemed to sink into her pillow as her eyes closed.

The next morning, Caghla brought Rose back up the stairs to the hill, where she found an equally cloudless and sunless day as the one before. They walked to the shores of the lake, and Caghla had Rose drink from its water. Rose asked, “Do you ever come out during the night?”

“Not often. I miss the beautiful stars… But instead of fighting always and without end, we have agreed to give them the night while we have our days. Though it is true that only a mother’s littleman may kill her, no one wishes to spend their lives forever in pointless battles. We lived that way for so many years. Even the littlemen tired of it, and they love the fight.”

Then Caghla showed Rose how to move and be inside her mind. They formed balls of light in their hands by seeing them and breathing into their cupped palms to grow them until they had substance. They threw the light back and forth to one another to practice dodging and anticipating their opponent’s moves. It came as naturally to Rose as simple arithmetic. Caghla explained that if Rose kept building the strength of her flaming light she could use it to kill the littleman. Then she warned that the littleman would have similar abilities. Caghla asked Rose one last time if she wouldn’t rather just hide in the hill. “You would be safe there,” Caghla said. “Though if you ever came out, he would hunt you always.”

Rose said, “I don’t want to live that way.”

Caghla nodded and said, “It is time, Rose.”

“What must I do?”

“Simply wait here. He will sense you and your birth. He will wish to see it. If you should die, I will care for your child as if she were my own. But littlemen do not like the day or the water, so I will set you a place at the feast tonight!” Caghla embraced Rose, then walked back towards the hill, disappearing quickly into the tall grass.

Rose looked out over the lake. She thought of following Caghla, but she thought also of how her littleman would always be lurking at the edges, waiting for her. No, she would stand and fight.

She felt her daughter move. It would be soon. She would have to lie down… with no one to help her. She wheeled around suddenly. She knew he was there. He looked more surprised than intense for once. Rose breathed into her hand. She saw the flaming light. She threw it at the littleman. She thought she had been very quick, but he lightly jumped aside. Then he pulled back his arm, ready to fire his own light at her, but instead he let out a shriek of rage, and turned and ran. Rose wondered why for a moment, but then she realized… he couldn’t risk harming the child. Until she was born, Rose had the advantage. She took off after the littleman around the lake. Twice, he vanished himself, but in her imagination she saw where he was, and she was there right after him. At last, he turned to face her at the edge of a great and dark forest. Her contractions were coming close. He eyed Rose hungrily. She fell to the ground – to her knees. She could feel that he had inched closer. In her clenched fists she held blinding light hidden. In a flash she threw both flames at him. He dodged one, but the other caught him. He was burning like a dead Christmas tree, to ashes in seconds, then he was blown away on the wind.

Caghla appeared beside her the next instant. She was helping Rose prepare for the birth and saying how proud she was, how she had watched the battle, despite being terrified for Rose.

The birth was painless, and there she was in her arms: Rose’s daughter, with her own littleman hidden inside her navel. She was beautiful. Rose made her daughter a silent promise. She would know the truth, so that she could decide if she wanted to plant her seed, and stand and face her own littleman.