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than it is here. It's up in the hills, so it doesn't get quite as hot as the
lower desert. A very different kind of gardening, though, because of the
shortage of water. Sparse, but beautiful. You'd like it, I think."
"Do you? I'll consider it."
"Jonas is Steven's teacher, too, isn't he? That's why Steven comes here so
often. He must be terribly& wise,"
"Wise?" For the first time in their conversation, Sara paused in her quick,
methodical actions, a tiny root ball cradled in one hand and the trowel in the
other while she considered this description. "I suppose he must be. Most of
the time he just seems, I don't know. Unreachable, maybe. Like he's so far
above most people, he doesn't really see us. I mean it Jonas seems to look
straight through you, unless you happen to say or do something that catches
his attention, or his imagination. When I first came here, it bothered me. I
mean, it seemed a bit rude. I talked to Sami about it one day, and she said it
wasn't rudeness, when he ignored you or said something that was kind of
insulting; it was like a jolt he'd give you, to help you with your Work. Do
you know anything about Zen Buddhism?" she asked unexpectedly, returning to
her planting.
"A little."
"Well, you know how there were Zen masters who used to slap their students or
clout them over the head with their staffs, and then the students would enter
a state ofsatori ?" Ana nodded, fascinated by this new side of Sara. "It's
kind of like that."
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"You mean Jonas hits people?"
"No, no, no. Oh, well, I suppose he does, times, but not very often. Only
when someone is being particularly blocked by their mind's assumptions."
This sounded like a lesson learned painfully, perhaps, taught by the flat of
Jonas's hand? Ana thoughtfully dropped the last two plants into their holes
and tamped the soil down, and as she went for a second flat, she made a mental
note not to turn her back on Jonas if he approached her with a walking stick
in his hand.
Sara helped her set out the last of the four flats of cabbages, and then they
took two watering cans from the shed next to the greenhouse, filled them at
the tap next to the house, and hauled them back and forth to water in the new
roots. Apparently, English gardens did not have what Sara called hose-pipes,
but relied on rain or muscle. At least, this one did.
They hauled water until Ana's shoulders burned, Sara making three trips for
Ana's two, but finally she was satisfied, and the two of them stood looking at
their handiwork, dozens of small, spindly green plants lying limply on the
damp earth.
"They'll pick up by tomorrow," Sara predicted cheerfully. "And they'll keep
us in soup all winter."
"Do you ever use vitamin B12to keep them from transplant shock?"
"Never anything but clear water and the earth they're put down in."
"You don't fertilize them?"
Sara turned to her, surprised. "Oh, no. This is an organic garden. The only
things we use areBacillus thuringus and sometimes a bit of oil spray when the
whitefly gets too thick."
It was Ana's turn to be surprised. She would have sworn that Glen's
information included a high use of ammonium nitrate fertilizer in the British
Change compound. Or was that the Boston group? Damnation.
Sara gathered up the flats and put them to soak for their next use. They then
began to clear out the side of the greenhouse that had nurtured the numerous
varieties of plants now growing outside, stripping the growing benches of
plant stakes, shards of broken pot, empty seed packets, and all the rest of
the debris. It was not the time of day Ana would have chosen to work inside a
glass house under the blazing sun, but when she mentioned the possibility of
doing the job the next day while the sun was still low, Sara looked at her
without comprehension and said she had something else planned for the morning.
Ana shrugged, and sweated, and finished the job without complaining.
Afterward, the water that gushed from the tap was deliriously cool and sweet.
And then they weeded for a while in the shady areas until it was time to pull
some lettuces and wash the grit from them. As Ana carried the rich armful into
the kitchen, she reflected that her afternoon in the garden had borne some
thought-provoking fruit.
Perhaps it was only that Ana had spent the afternoon with her hands in the
earth and her ears soothed by Sara's easy accents, but the kitchen staff
seemed even more irritable than it had that morning, with pans slapped down
smartly and very little of the usual boisterous conversation that kitchen work
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often gives rise to. Later in the dining hall, she found the same state.
Unidentifiable currents and tensions ran through the room.
Not that people were openly irritable with each other; it might have been
better if they were. Instead, they seemed grimly determined to remain calm. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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