A dream style story representing some of the aspects of addiction that a friend described to me.
Ever since I had entered the garden to see the fountain the temperature had started to climb. The wide colours and shapes had distracted me at first and I hadn’t noticed but now it was unmistakable. My shirt was clinging to my back with sweat and the beads on my forehead were starting to trickle. This wasn’t right. The sky was overcast and the light was even dim but the humidity must have been approaching a hundred. It could have been New Orleans but this was so English. The oaks and the ashes waved in a breeze that couldn’t possibly be there and the ducks and swans moved as though there was no heat out of the ordinary. I’d turned to leave but the gate wasn’t where I thought, just an expanse of lawns and trees in all directions.
People shuffled along the various paths in all directions, labouring in the heat and quivering air. A sudden panic inside made me start across one of the lawns towards where I thought the gate had been. There were a few scattered groups of people sitting or lying on the lawn.
One man seemed to be leading a group in an attempt at some kind of meditation. They sat cross-legged in a circle with eyes closed and hands turned upwards on their knees. There was no peace in their faces though. Some looked as if they were about to give in to an anguish they felt. It showed in their faces and their straining neck muscles.
Moving on I came across a young woman lying face down on the lawn. She was naked and her head rested on her arms. She might have been sunbathing but there seemed like no chance of sun, just searing, choking heat.
- Where are your clothes? I asked, surprised at myself for even speaking to her.
- What you don’t use soon disappears in this life, she answered. Look! I don’t have a tail or flippers either. Why should my clothes be any different?
- Aren’t you worried that someone will take advantage of you?
She looked at me for the first time and I could see sadness in her eyes.
- Am I a beautiful woman? She asked.
- Absolutely.
- So are you aroused?
It dawned on me she was right. There was no desire of any sought in me for her. Only pity. She could see my answer.
- No one in this garden gets aroused by anything useful, she said. I couldn’t be safer in that respect.
- Where am I? I said half to myself.
- I’ve no idea.
- You don’t know where we are?
- I know where I am, she said. I’m not sure where you are though.
She closed her eyes and appeared to lose interest. I moved on. I didn’t want to be seen talking too long, in case someone misinterpreted it.
The lawn was edged by trees and they made alcoves every now and then with low hanging branches. Some had small groups of people in them trying to shelter from the heat but they looked just as distressed as the rest of us. In one of these spots a man sat on a bench reading a paper. He was unlike the rest. He dressed in a long coat and woollen hat. He clenched a pipe between his teeth. As I glanced he looked up and waved.
- How you doing? Hot out there isn’t it?
I struck me that he wasn’t sweating or even remotely hot looking. He sat with his legs crossed in a relaxed position sitting casually back in the seat.
- How do you manage to stay cool? I asked.
- I’m not cool old boy. More like just right. No problems with heat in here old son.
I looked closer and saw it was next weeks paper he was reading.
- That must be interesting reading, I said.
- Well I may as well know what it is I’ll be missing.
- Can I join you? I’m melting out here.
- Ah, if only you could. No - there are other alcoves like this one but this one won’t do you. Wouldn’t change a thing for you. That’s just the way things are I’m sorry. Trust me I am sorry. There’s nothing I’d like better than your company but that’s the choice we make I guess.
- What do you mean choice?
- Whether to give up or not. Struggle or acceptance? One leads to physical comfort but social isolation. Depends which one you can live with the easiest I suppose. You’d better run along now or you’ll have to watch me fade. Apparently that can be a little distressing if you haven’t seen it before.
I started to move off as he suggested and he called after me.
- By the way. Why did you come into the garden?
- To see the fountain.
- To see the fountain, he chuckled to himself shaking his head. It gets us every time.
I walked on towards a garden wall at the end of the lawn. My legs were starting to wobble a bit and my mouth was drier than I’d ever known. Perhaps there was a drinking fountain nearby. The wall had a small open gate that revealed a rose garden beyond. I walked down one of the shingle paths that separated bright blooming bushes towards the middle.
At the very centre there was a sundial. Every number on it was zero and there was no arm to cast a shadow. Along one of the rows I saw a gardener working on a bush. He seemed to be cutting off the heads but not just dead heads – full blooms, new buds or even the ends of branches that threatened to flower.
- Why are you doing that? I asked astonished.
- I’ve got to get these all done and fast.
- But you’re ruining the garden.
- What if the wrong person sees these? Who knows what would happen? How bad it could get? There’s no end to the possibilities. I don’t know about you but I’m not prepared to take that risk.
- Are you the gardener?
- No. I’m a gardener. The gardener was here before but he had to go. You can’t comprehend how much there is for him to do at the moment. He can’t possibly keep up with everything that needs attending to. The rest of us have to ease his load – start making our share of the decisions.
- But he surely doesn’t want you to destroy the roses does he?
- How do you no what he wants? Have you met him? Spoken to him? Even seen him?
- Well no. I’ve just come into the garden.
- And already you think you know what’s best for the roses? I thought you were new.
- I’m not “new”. I’ve not been in the garden long that’s all. I still know a thing or two about roses.
- But you know nothing about the garden really do you?
- Don’t think I really care either. I’m just trying to find the gate to get out. I seem to have lost my way. I only came in to look at the fountain and I lost my sense of direction.
- The fountain, the cave, the stream, the amusement park. It’s all the same. What ever you came in to see you still would have lost your way. It’s the heat. It does things to your sense of direction.
- Is there a way out?
- Of course follow that path and you’ll find a gate.
He pointed to a gap in a hedge that I hadn’t noticed and beyond it a narrow path that disappeared through some bushes.
- Thanks, I said as I started to move off.
- You could save yourself trouble and just stay though.
I stopped and turned to him again.
- What do you mean? I thought this was the way out.
- It is. You’ll get out that way all right but you’ll come back in soon enough. Most of the people you’ve seen here have been in and out dozens of times. A lot of them say they’ll never be back but they all come back. Once you’ve been in you can’t help yourself. If I were you I’d just find a quiet spot and give up. It’s easier in the long run. Less anguish. Less self-loathing.
I tried to give him a cynical look but sweat ran into my eye, stinging and spoiling the effect.
- If it’s all the same to you I’ll leave anyway.
- It’s all about choices isn’t it? He said as he continued destroying the roses.
I continued through the hedge and down the path. I could feel the heat slightly easing as I went. It would take a bit to get me back in this garden. Choices eh?
I finally saw the gate ahead and realised I’d reached the edge of the garden. As I went to go through it my eye was attracted to the left. A giant Ferris wheel was turning slowly and there was a queue of people waiting for their turn. The heat was still intense enough that the most important thing to me was to leave the garden. I strode towards the gate with a renewed vigour.
As I walked through the gate the cool air hit me like a wall. The sensation was overwhelming. The memory of the garden, its strange nature, was replaced by a fresh breeze on my face. All that remained was a vague recollection of fair ground music in the back of my mind and the image of the slow turning wheel with laughing, smiling riders in its chairs – slowly turning, slowly turning.
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