The Greenhouse

“And now for the highlight of the tour” Joseph Brooke beamed,
leading his guest through the humid mist.
“What might that be?” she sighed, feigning interest. She took
another sip of wine and let her eyes wander skyward to the domed
ceiling. It was hard to believe that only an hour ago this man had
been whispering sweet nothings to her in a dim-lit bar, now he was
pulling her by the hand through an illuminated labyrinth of exotic
plant life.
“You know when you asked me to come back and see your most
prized possession, I didn’t think you meant-”
Brooke reeled round, his eyes gleaming with excitement,
“Trust me. You won’t regret this.”

They descended deeper into the artificial abyss, Brooke always

ahead; his slick hair now unkempt where protruding branches had
attempted to clasp and strike him. Occasionally he would glance
around to see if she was keeping up, sweat dripping down his
forehead and soaking the collar of his shirt. His sudden eccentricity
alarmed but intrigued her: the frenzied expression, the quickened
pace, the passion for whatever lay ahead. Maybe this would be
worth her while after all. Suddenly he came to a halt and the grip
on her wrist tightened. Pushing back the blonde, tangled strands
that had fallen across her eyes, his finger traced a path down to her
lips where it gestured for her to be silent,
“This is it” he whispered, slowly parting the green veil of foliage.

She stepped forward, breathless with anticipation. Instantly her

heart sank.
“It’s just another plant.”
Brooke shoved past her, irritated his guest had not appreciated the
spectacle before them.
“Just a plant? Just a plant?”, he shook his head in disbelief, “My
dear, this is Beatrice. More specifically, she is a unique example of
a Nepenthes rajah”.
She studied the heaving, bulbous organism as one might inspect a
mouse caught in a trap.
“It’s utterly repulsive” she managed, disguising a grimace.
Suddenly the plant veered, a piercing croak shrieked through the
air. Brooke rushed forward and gently caressed the agitated purple
body, soothing it with the same seductive voice he had once used
on his petrified guest.
“You hurt her feelings” he explained impatiently once the plant
had settled to a low, rhythmic breathing.
“I – I had no idea plants were emotionally sensitive”, she
apologized, recollecting herself.
“It’s also miraculous that you’ve yet to register that this particular
Nepenthes rajah is substantially larger than the average pitcher
plant”, Brooke lectured sarcastically, “Almost ten time larger in
fact.”

After a moment of murmured accusations, Brooke regained his

posture and moved forward to take both her hands, placing the
forgotten wine glass at her feet. She stared back, entranced.
“Joseph, I just thought you brought me here to do something
more, you know…” she trailed off, moving closer to him.
Brooke stepped back again, clearing his throat,
“My dear, I believe an apology may be required. I’d be obliged if
you could make amends with Beatrice before we conclude the tour.
Just walk over there and stroke her.”
Reluctantly, she turned to face the plant. It acknowledged her
presence with a strangled gasp, salivating through orange lips.
“Joseph I’m not sure, are you certain it- she’s entirely safe?”
“Safe? My God girl what do you take me for, a Bond villain?”
Brooke replied curtly.
She continued forward, only slightly reassured. The air was thick
with a putrid odor that reminded her of musk, wafting upwards from
the pulsating mouth, congealing in the corners of the pink flesh
beneath.

Swallowing her fear she slowly reached out to touch the bulging
shape, shuddering as her fingers realized a distinct change in
temperature. The plant purred softly, enjoying the attention. She
persisted in brushing her hand along the ridges of the body.
“What did you say made her unique again?” she asked
distractedly, now feeling the leaves that sprouted along the plant’s
base with new confidence.
“Apart from the size? I didn’t”, Brooke admitted, pleased by her
curiosity, “Why don’t you peer in and find out for yourself?”
With subdued fascination she slowly leaned over the cavernous
entrance, hypnotized by the secretion that flowed across her nail
varnish.

“And this”, declared Joseph Brooke, “Is my most prized

possession.”
The woman stepped giggling through the foliage, but turned around
in disappointment,
“It’s just a plant!”
“Not just a plant,” Brooke snorted, “My dear, this is Susan. To be
specific, she is a unique example of a Nepenthes rajah.”

Tom Goulding