Rock (Chapter 1)

1.          Winded

2.          New Friends

3.          Act One

4.          Flora In Exordium

5.          Human Sacrifice

6.          Time Out

7.          Revenge and Alibi

8.          Patterns of Behaviour

9.          Private Practice

10.          Love Taxonomy

11.          Commission

12.          Final Arrangements

13.          Foreboding

14.          Emissary

15.          Fieldwork

16.          Regimen

17.          The Jetty

18.          Sense of Community

19.          Contract

20.          Rite

21.          Post Mortem

22.          Reverie

23.          Repatriation

24.          Infinite Sin

25.          Transplant





1. WINDED

Dmitry Wills plodded between islands of shade on blanched ground. A debilitating late afternoon summer sun torched the coastal city and its inhabitants sought relief in cool niches. Tall buildings faced Victory Park from beyond its perimeter and bent in on it like adults to a baby in a pram. Their dull austerity borne of developers’ disrespect for ecological mimesis and art, contradicted the ardour of lives stacked in horizontal layers and wrapped with facades.

He was alone as he crossed the park on a gelatinous bituminised path, unnerving his tread.

“Just keep calm Dmitry. Keep the coolth. Meet the heat at the edge,” he whispered to himself as he repelled the hot air flow from his skin. Excessive heat in his core softened Dmitry’s constitution and weakened his sense of order. So he encapsulated his physical, mental and spiritual presences, and kept them immune from external persuasions, so long as he held the faith. True faith is devotion to what is most extremely possible.

The laughter of children clove through the humid air into his left-rear quadrant. Distracted by its virtue, he felt a prickly heat flow down his back and pool between his buttocks. The undercurrent of humidity hovering over the wilted lawn absorbed the distant frivoloty.

Keep calm. Shore up those defences. Insulate. Dmitry consternated and frowned hard. Then in the quiet between the rasping of his breathing, he noticed the dearth of cicada and traffic noise. He heard his heart beat. He was draped in an air curtain; two holes for his eyes. With the next stretch clear of obstacles, he downed video and walked without external data. Little men on the bridge deck calculated the passing of fifty meters and alerted the captain. Dmitry had kept a true course. Only the glare required visual readjustment while troop manouvres were monitored at the perimeter.

He knew that such sensory control was a privilege and that he could have employed it to greater personal and societal benefit if his circumstances, or at least civilisation, was more advanced.

Besides a reluctant acceptance of his spiritual elitism, Dmitry Wills was five feet eleven and a half and of average build with sturdy thighs. He wore his brown hair in a college cut and preferred short-sleeved checked shirts, neutral colour drill trousers and white tennis shoes. He was not one to allow his dress or demeanour to challenge his mental fission. That January day he wore an off-white cheesecloth V-neck shirt over wear-softened dark blue drill trousers. A stiff cricket hat shaded his perspiring face.

The path led gently into a dip through a stand of paperbarks where the humid air ponded, drawing scents from the undergrowth. The barrage of steamy stimuli and the climbing path ahead tested his defences. He paused to compute bio-feedback then steadfastly tacked against the gradient to reduce his oxygen demand. All forces to the epidermis!

At its zenith, the path bent right and ahead of him in full sun dousing the crazed track was a young woman on her hands and knees, fossicking in the gravel at the path’s edge. His stealth and soft footsteps got Dmitry to within five meters until his shadow entered her peripheral vision and she flicked her head towards him. Her posture turned canine and froze in a pre-flight posture.

“I’m sorry if I shocked you.” Dmitry leant back a little to attenuate any idiom of threat. She wore an expensive brand. But it was old and worn; three quarter loose blue trousers and a graphic patterned caftan in blue and white. Her feet were protected by short pink socks and scratched charcoal pumps.

She stayed on all fours; stiff and wide-eyed. Nothing he had done or said yet had had any effect on her carriage. She could have bolted or even retreated slowly but either way, the alarm in her eyes was not the antecedent to an afternoon confabulation. She had pale facial skin and thick, short blonde hair. Slowly the young woman arched her back and lifted her knees off the ground supporting herself on her fingers and feet. Her knees were grazed and scratches made a hatched pattern on the dirty skin.

Dmitry was not confident that anything he could do would assuage her tension, but he carefully stepped backwards and she gained enough composure to stand up. She was a fine specimen; a little bigger than slim and with her arms by her sides and bent, she looked like a fighter. Dmitry thought it was probably just him being lonely but there was undeniably something out of the ordinary about her. She crouched, gathered a handful of stones in her right hand as she held Dmitry’s gaze, and then straightened again. She shook her clothing loose and brushed herself with an open left hand and her clenched right one. She was about to leave.

“Can I help you with something?” Dmitry recoiled from his boldness. But the stone collector turned and paced away, prouding off her embarrassment.

Dmitry had never seen such a blend of sturdiness and elegance. Perspiration breeched every pore. The welcome abstraction ousted the calm of mental faculty. He watched her hurry along the bank of the lily pond in full sunlight until she turned off the path and entered a copse of Tree Ferns (Dicksonia antarctica) in the shade of River Gums (Eucalyptus camaldulensis var. obtusa). He staggered off his course into the shade of a line of Casuarinas (Casuarina obesa) that looked fourteen-years old and eased down into the long grass. He shared his breathtaking encounter with the plant life then fell asleep to avoid reconciling it with his rational principles.


“Hey buddy, park’s closing.” Dmitry felt a prod in his side and kept his eyes closed while he prepared himself for the appearance of the man. He hoped for a sixty-something with a wiry frame and a kind wise face. He opened his eyes and as if volition alone had conjured the man, there stood exactly that. So wise in fact, that he must have understood that Dmitry had this very afternoon been touched, and gave Dmitry time to come to.

“Oh sure. Thank you. Sorry. I must have… I was just… well, sleeping I guess.” He smiled and the kind man smiled back. Dmitry was buoyed by the augmentation of his new love interest courtesy of the man’s gentleness and compassion and he rose to his feet; a microcosm of a better world built on empathy and benevolence.

“I’ll walk with ye t’ the gates,” he told Dmitry. The man didn’t want to make sure that Dmitry left the park but rather, he wanted an explanation for his afternoon slumber and contented arousing.

“Sure.” They joined the path and followed in her footsteps down to the pond. As they passed her detour, Dmitry looked into the ferns that had cloaked her escape. Their conversation was sporadic and filled with the long pauses that characterise the ease of two close friends in aimless dialogue.

“Do you know a girl that comes to the park; fashionably dressed, about twenty-five and shy… fair skin?” Dmitry asked i a tone that suppressed his inordinate interest. His feigned casualness was probably transparent to the groundkeeper and he answered,

“I mighta seen her. She is… attractive, yeah?”

His choice of adjective was judicious. She wasn’t beautiful but she was attractive; she was seductive. She was translucent and on an inner obscured layer, she was sublime; mysterious. But that took some explaining so ‘attractive’ was good for a conversation with a stranger.

“Yes, attractive for sure; mesmerising maybe.” The confession of the effect she had on him took a little weight off Dmitry’s mind. Carrying infatuation by oneself can be burdensome and it should be of public interest. And if the sharing was too confronting or unfamiliar to the groundkeeper, then he should decipher it simply as hyperbole. “She was gathering stones from the path’s edge back there.”

Daylight completed its diurnal engagement and bade darkness a routine welcome as Dmitry and his new acquaintance completed their part circumnavigation of the outcrop that had swallowed the attractive woman. There was no hint of her presence or her exit and it was difficult to ask the old man if he knew where she might be.

“She lives ‘ereabouts I reckon”, the man said. “I seen her ‘ere before. Seems she likes rocks. Ain’t a rule against her taking a few stones so far as I know, so I figure she’s ‘armless… an’ agreeable.”

Dmitry thought that last word was out of context with the man’s vocabulary and guessed he must have given her some previous thought; even looked in a thesaurus. Or it may have been a slip in his blokey counter-prose to Dmitry’s more capricious depiction. They took the last hundred meters to the south gate in silence. The groundkeeper left the park with Dmitry and pulled the gate behind them.

“Alright buddy, take it easy.”  He completed their conversation with a tone that terminated their spontaneous acquaintance and restored anonymity. No names, no life stories, no reaching out and no promises of again. Just a transient familiarity passed.

But the young woman was not going to be a transient mystery passed. Her dusty hand had twisted Dmitry’s gut. She had stoppered a vacuum in his spirit that was depleting his creative energy but she had no idea of her philanthropy. He stood in front of the gates and inhaled the warm northeasterly breeze that tumbled over the wooded knoll across the lawn and out through the cast iron gate. She’s still in there.

Dmitry sat down on one of the timber-slatted park benches flanking the concave corner entry statement to the park and laid his arms along its backrest as he slouched. He felt the sympathy of a hundred lovers that had taken the same seat to kiss, argue or try vainly to explain their feelings. Then he chuckled at a declaration of one such encounter that had probably wrapped up the mateship negotiations. Scratched in the bottle-green paint to the visible white undercoat was the universal graffiti symbol for a vagina with the words, “I fucked Kerry Dickens”. Dmitry accepted his transcendental obsession and in sporadic soliloquy he spoke aloud,

“Where did she come from; that sweet intrigue? Hey, I don’t talk like this!”

He baulked at his voice intruding on the sundown silence and its antisocial prospect.  He reflected that if one was aware of what constituted antisocial behaviour and patrolled the perimeter of one’s thoughts to search and impede such behaviour, one would fit in. However, Dmitry’s sentries were inventive or occasionally unable to distinguish errant conduct from self-expression. They figured that speaking aloud to oneself in a public place, so long as the announcement was a stream of honesty or logic was in fact consoling to those within earshot. Who thinks reservedly about the extrovert behaviour of frogs or peacocks!?

On this occasion, he was alone and Dmitry shrugged at the waste of broadcast wisdom. This involuntary body language of pride protection stirred Dmitry’s hauteur. He drew his face long and mumbled in a British accent,

“Bloody inconvenient it is too; to have that sprite distract me like that. It’s enough to make a chap veer!” He smiled at his haughtiness and remembered hearing it before in the voice of a more sinister man.

Dmitry was a dendrologist dedicated to the unremitting development of his skills. He was self-taught over years of enquiry, reading at the local reference library and meditations over wood. He did attend lectures at university as an unenrolled student but didn’t risk exposure by going to tutorials or exams. His chosen branch of learning was the botanical biography of trees and woody shrubs. The amount of reading to be done on this subject was immeasurable, and it was only a precursor to the vast field experience critical to the study of ligneous divinity. Dmitry had concluded long ago that if he were to at least dwell in the shadow of dendrological nirvana, he would have no time for anything else but learning and personal subsistence.

Dmitry was this question: are the self possessed, the artists, the generals, the gifted and the holy, abusers of humankind? From obsessive to indifferent, to cruel, to at their best, proffering mind-decaying hope. An apparently reactive dilettante, Dmitry had an upbringing that explained his standing on the social periphery.

It was uncharacteristic of him to so much as look at girls, let alone have one prance across the drawbridge to his sanctum sanctorum this evening. But he could not pronounce her banishment. Dmitry had swiftly hoisted the attractive young woman into high regard. The guards in his turrets stood to attention.

He leant forward and shook his head before resting it in his cupped hands. He thought black art was probably the explanation for her intrigue. He was manifestly spellbound. Dmitry adjusted his posture on the bench.

His heartbeat fell into triple-time and he recalled dancing lessons in high school. Waltzing with Wanda Storm or Pru Cameron at the end of each cycle of the barn dance and finding it impossible to subdue a delinquent erection. Twirling with a retreating arse made it impossible for him to elegantly express the piano teacher’s bass accents. Even back then he’d wondered what he could tell from a latitudinal section of his hard-on. Would it have growth rings or telltale signs of seasons of stress? He dubbed his adolescent preoccupation with matters genital as “dick dendrology” thanks to a nomenclature lesson in biology. And he was “Dick Dendrology, Champion of Trees”. The wind in trees had always modulated into whispers for Dmitry. He would be their Dr Doolittle.

This nostalgia only deferred the inevitable convocation of his council of wise men. There were five of them and they were named after tree species: Speciformus from Brachystegia speciformus, a small shrubby Msasa Tree from Africa, Monosperma from Butea monosperma, the Dhak Tree from east India , Longifolium from Calophyllum longifolium, the Maria Tree from Panama, Erectus from Conocarpus erectus, the Mangrove Tree with many species around the world, and Australis from Cordyline australis, the Cabbage Tree from New Zealand. They were favourites from his high school days’ lunchtime reading in the library and represented the five limbs of his constitution.

“Rejoice, rejoice colleagues, for our protégé has found new and rejuvenating mystery; the highest order of high-order things,” ventured Erectus with characteristic parody. Council was in session.

“Do you speak of love Erectus? Are you proposing decent adulation to obscure your true conviction; lust,” parried Chairman Speciformus with a smile and paternalistic bearing. Erectus bowed in deference.

“But the very uniqueness of this event is cause for us to give priority to her registration as a bona fide candidate. It has fatalistic nuance. This mystical woman may be a muse to accelerate our communion with botany. I implore you men; this is not a time for convention. Dmitry has been touched,” pleaded Monosperma.

Longifolium and Australis stood in the flickering shadow of the chamber’s candlelight. They held their praying hands to their pursed lips while they stared intently at a polished onyx plinth before them. Slowly the attractive woman materialised and the wise men assembled for an interview with the intruder to reach a conclusion on the prickly issue. She sat on her left thigh with her legs folded to her right and propped on her left arm. Her right arm crossed her chest in a gesture of feminine prudery. She wore a tight blue tunic to above knees. The low neckline revealed a wide cleavage.

“Please explain your purpose my dear.” Specifomus used his position and experience to mix diplomacy, ambiguity and command, establishing the context for a brisk and frank exchange.

The woman appeared unfazed by her teleportation and panned the councillors. “Why do I have to say anything?” Her voice had a low amplitude resonance that harmonised with a chord inside Dmitry. And the councillors pulled quizzical faces as their robes ruffled in the flow of Dmitry’s rapidly evacuating breath. He was winded.

“You needn’t. We seek only your aid in the resolution of our good charge’s quandary. He is nonplussed by the effect your short encounter has had on him. He fears for the sacredness of his vows to the service of nature.” Monosperma took the lead from Speciformus who was momentarily deflated by her resilience and her beauty.

Dmitry shifted uneasily, embarrassed by Monosperma’s candour. The young woman turned her head towards Dmitry. She knew he was watching. He was grateful for his obscurity and immunity.

“I am a hoarder of stones and rocks; only those that I can carry over a distance. I have no geological training and appreciate rocks only for their morphology and encapsulation of the origins of our planet.” She orated more than talked, like she was an actor in the role of her own character.

The protection of this man’s…” she tilted her head in Dmitry’s direction, “… feelings or pledges cannot reasonably be held to my account. However, I accept the interconnectedness of all things and in that respect, we have influenced each other’s spirit and indeed, physiology. This does not explain the apparent magnitude of his reaction to my innocent and introverted presence this afternoon.” She paused and looked down at her left hand. Her tone was calm and not at all scathing. She wants to conclude and is contemplating either declaring her impartiality or confessing the germination of mutual interest, Dmitry thought.

The breeze had swung to the south-west and strengthened. It had travelled over Borthwick’s abattoir and across the river, now heavy with blood and condensation. The compliant carrier eddied about Dmitry and streamed through the gates into the park where it tossed the warm still air like a wild ocean. The putrid sensory stimulation wrenched Dmitry’s reverie.

“Can I go now?” Her image and voice were crackly. Dmitry saw her shift to all fours and look at the councillors in a bitch posture.

“You aren’t held here against your will young woman,” said Longifolium, feeling a little like she was getting the upper hand and remembering that their charter was to enhance Dmitry’s interests. “By all means take your leave.” It risked losing her but on their terms, though none of the councillors was convinced of that.

And lose her they did. She briskly exited stage left and out of Dmitry’s projection.

“Damn you guys,” he whispered aloud, “we almost had her admit she felt something for me.” Or otherwise.

They all looked at Dmitry as they faded away. “You’re dreaming Mate”, said Australis by way of realistic council. And Dmitry smiled at the wordplay. He had a great working relationship with the council that often got friendly and informal.

Not ready for a full reminder of his location, Dmitry opened his eyes to his feet. They pulled into focus a pair of dark-blue sneakers flanking a small cairn of gravel.  He blinked and retook. It was real and had been assembled, not just chucked there. He took his right hand from his mandible and nudged the summit stone with his forefinger. The stone tipped and fell back into position.

“Well there’s your answer Dick Dendrology!” He lifted his head and said it loud, like any moment of personal happiness should be said because it is of public interest. “She cares; my Magnolia grandiflora!”

Dmitry quickly caught a hold of his jubilation. She had crouched in front of him and carefully placed those stones while he had been with the councillors! While they had been with the councillors!! She might be nearby. He stood up and craned to check the street running east but it was empty. He turned to look down the long avenue of trees alternating with street lights that headed west and saw her over one hundred meters away as she ran through a pool of yellow light. She ran perfectly like women can’t but dogs can.

Dmitry felt winded again and panicked momentarily until his inhalation reflex returned. And it returned with aplomb; drawing in the sweetest air, laden with a bouquet of plump summer blooms and transpiring leaves. And the thirty-four year old Plane Tree (Platanus orientalis) soldiers that  saw her run, chatted excitedly about their peer’s cardiovascular exultation.

“Tree Boy is pistil struck.” “Ain’t love grand.” “Get a grip on it fella... or let go of it!” “Love becomes you.” “Give us a kiss lover boy.” Kind jibes from hermaphrodites.

Dmitry loved the attention and was not at all embarrassed about the teases from his pals. He overacted as he strutted down the street like a proud urchin in a stage musical. Then he stopped in front of one of the trees and dropped to one knee to shout,

“Rejoice colleagues, for your humble protégé has found mystery; the highest order of things.” That out, he hoped his frivolity had not distanced him. But the trees had seen much love on this avenue and understood the giddy effect the fresh stuff had on humans. They were honoured to have Dick Dendrology expressing his out of character extroversion in their company and conferred their support in the rustle of their leaves.

“Yes!” barked Dmitry as he punched the air like he had seen people do. “Thanks fellas.”

In the peace that succeeded his proclamation, Dmitry tried to abate the aching. The unfulfilled anticipation of her aquaintance superseded his joyous loss of composure. The void gave him cramps that could not be filed for future attention. It was pain and it was now; it hurt and would not go away. He invoked the shield to minor effect.