Le Petit

Cheri left the mortuary in high spirits. Every last beautiful corpse was in order, on ice. She kept the place running like the cleanest closed casket fish market in Amsterdam; each fresh catch hauled in by somber fishermen was delicately prepared for the customer, who would then place it in a coffin and feed it to the ground, saving it from the long, slow return to the sea.

Cheri mounted her bicycle and headed off for a refreshing early morning swim. She rode along and over canals to her destination, swiftly disrobed and dove in. Her backstrokes took her in wide circles as the sun, soon to be shrouded once more by overcast skies, shed some tenuous light on her estuarial bliss. Soon she was toweling off and heading home through the city center. There were few cars around, and even fewer bees, but she did see one of the black vans headed for the mortuary. She smiled at this.

Once home, she showered, had a light breakfast of fruit, yogurt, and granola, and burrowed into her bed. She was awakened mid-afternoon by slow knocking at the door, gradually increasing in volume. She recognized the knock as that of her friend the rabbi, though he usually did not call this early. She got up slowly, still groggy and wrapped in her blanket, and began stumbling toward the door.

“Hello, my little Cherimoya, time to rise, please, and say hello to your friend!”

She leaned against the door and gazed through the peep hole, more as an exercise in concentration than identification. She saw the rabbi’s smiling face, the gentle wrinkles about his eyes, his thinning hair. She relaxed her eyes, blurred her friend’s face, and instead focused on the small nicks and scrapes on the surface of the glass.

“Hello, eye of friend, do tell hand to open door, I have something for her.”

Cheri smiled and complied, now in control of most of her senses.

“Good afternoon, rabbi, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“Ah, mon Cheri, wrapped in blankets, the pleasure is mine. Let us sit down, I have something to show you,” he said, holding up a mysterious satchel.

“Sure, have a seat. Let me take a moment to get dressed and put on some water for tea. Would you like some?”

“How gracious! I would be delighted, thank you.”

Cheri had known the rabbi since her childhood, though not for religious reasons. He was a friend of a family of a friend, and whenever they were both at a social gathering she would find herself drawn to him, to his manner of speech, his ideas, and his avuncular persona. Not drawn in a romantic way, but drawn like moths to a storyteller in the dark.

The soft whistling of the kettle welcomed her back into the kitchen, where the rabbi was sitting at the table with the satchel and some other treasures.

“Ah, Cheri, steeping tea, things are afoot!”

“Are they?”

“Yes, yes, this kitchen here is a microcosm of percolations, an inner reflection of the city at large. But let us first talk of these little things,” he said, gesturing at the array of broken watches and gewgaws.

“Where did you find all these curiosities?”

“Oh, whence they came originally cannot truly be known, as is the usual case with such gems among refuse and refuse among gems, but you will like this one, here”

He untied the string that was keeping the satchel shut and took out a small packet of gray seeds.

“These, my dear, are strange and foreign, flora exotica, tiny and beautiful and perfect for your little garden on the roof. No sugar in mine, please.”

“Oh, thank you so much. What will they look like? Are you sure they’ll grow?”

“Young lady, have you no appreciation for mystery and suspense? Yes they will grow, they are hardy. But they are small, you will have to look closely to truly appreciate them.”

He handed her a magnifying glass with an ornate and worn handle.

“This should help.”

“Thank you again, these will also be great for brightening up the workplace.”

“Yes, you are quite the enterprising young mortician. Thank you for the tea, and I apologize for waking you. I am leaving the country for a small while and I must be off soon, but I will be sure to call you to expound on my travels.”

“I look forward to it. Have a wonderful time abroad.”

“I will,” said the rabbi as he collected the rest of his things and made his way to the door. “Goodbye, my dear.”

“Goodbye.”

The rabbi paused before exiting, and across his face fell an uncharacteristically grave expression.

“One final word, my dear: I have not being feeling particularly well about the city of late. I couldn’t tell you precisely why, and I know you are skeptical of some of my superstitions, but I cannot shake this… portentous fog, these inauspicious mists, and I admit that they are part of the motivation for my travels. Anyway, I suppose I’m just saying ‘be careful.’”

“I will, rabbi. You, too.”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

The door closed and Cheri inhaled deeply, considering returning to bed. Instead, she took the seeds to her garden on the roof and planted half the packet. She was not sure what to make of the rabbi’s odd feeling. She was also not sure what to make of the basil she was trying to grow. Some herbs are simply not in the stars for her, she concluded, though she hoped these new ones would be. She started down the stairs and decided to spend some time at the coffee shop. From her bicycle, her building grew further away at around two thirds of a racer’s speed.

Approaching an intersection, Cheri noticed another black van headed toward the mortuary. She recognized the driver this time and waved. A man on a motorcycle veered around the corner, cutting into the bicycle path, smashing into Cheri head on. She flew forward, her face slamming into the helmet of the motorcycler. Her body arced through the air, toppling, and landed squarely on the hood of the van as it screeched to a halt. The driver, shocked, could only stare at her face pressed against the windshield. Her pretty nose was purpled, her body grazed and contused, her legs twisted. The motorcycler, dazed, sped off without looking back.

The driver of the van got out and yelled, “Hey! You asshole! Come back! Help! Jesus Christ!”

He phoned the authorities, afraid to move Cheri’s body. Her shallow breath made no fog on the glass. Her knapsack had burst open; a blackbird pecked at the tiny packet of seeds lying nearby.