Ghost in the Roses

The scent of salt in the air is growing stronger and stronger with each mile that my galloping horse leaves behind us. It’s the middle of the day already when I reach the source of that aroma and its whispering shores put an end to the flowing green hills. The end of the earth brings the beginning of the sea, the perfect place to meet anyone halfway. As I ride closer, I keep hoping that there are still traders willing to meet me and my family’s orchard halfway.

It’s so strange to be coming here empty-handed and it becomes even stranger as I pass by other providers with a trail of carts following behind them. The train has already come and I watch crates get unloaded and carried away to the ships so that the product may continue its journey across the water.

All of the sails are still down, the docks are still laid out and there are many hauling ropes still untied; I’m not too late. In the midst of the flowing goods being exchanged, I spot our partners’ ships. The Capitol traders linger close by, keeping track of what goes in and what leaves. Each move is being checked off on their list and I’ve got to convince them to keep our roses on it.

“Mr. Arlof!” I wave one of them down from the docks.

If I can convince him, the rest tend to follow. He’s one of the longest-practicing traders from Petograd and has been trading with my family since the beginning of his career. Our family’s roses have been passed down into his hands from my grandfather, then my father, and I pray the line doesn’t end with me.

“Adrien! What are you doing here? I thought you were at the Academy!”

“My mother isn’t well, so I’m here. I have a few days of emergency leave and trying to help with what I can.”

“I heard. I’m so sorry about what happened to Marina. I pray she’ll get well again.”

“She’s getting back her consciousness, so that brings us hope.”

“What I meant by what I said earlier is that I thought your father will be coming to see us. I had no idea that I would be seeing you.”

“Neither did I. This is quite a surprise for me as well.”

“I’m sorry Adrien, but I’ve got to keep my business and my family first in mind.”

“I understand that more than you think, my family depends on this just as much as yours.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to close my rose account. I still want to by your groundhog’s lilies though.”

“Then I trust to get your order for lilies by the end of the month as usual?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But no roses?”

“I’m afraid that account I’ll have to close that. I’ll have the rest of the payments all paid by end of this week and that will be it.”

“May I ask why you suddenly don’t want to buy roses from us?”

“It just won’t work anymore.”

“Did you find a better deal? I'm sure that I can find a way to beat it.”

“I wouldn’t buy red roses from anyone else, only from you. Yours are the best and there is no better deal being offered for the quality.”

“I’m not sure I understand. There must be a reason. Does the high society no longer like their rose jams and tea?”

“Oh, no. They still like their rose, just not red. Not anymore.”

“What are you saying?” I'm getting the hint, but need him to say it.

“Your roses are red. Do you understand? Red. The Petograd society no longer wants Red. I can’t be selling Red. If they were white, yellow, blue, or pink, then there would be no problem.”

“Since when did my family’s product become a political statement?”

“Everything is different now. Everything means something.”

“But the rose became red first and it’s been red for centuries. The flower didn’t choose what color it sprung into. It just is what it is.”

“I know. Red used to mean beauty, strength, love, and even war and horror. But now it means something else too. The people gave it a new meaning and no one is quite sure what it is yet. Some praise it, and some see it as dishonor. People in Petograd see it now as a stained color and want nothing to do with it.”

“Um... wow...whoa,” I can’t comprehend this prejudice.

“But I do know who still does. The traders of Heart Cities of all Dominions are very sympathetic to the movement. However, I won’t expect the same profits. They deal with much poorer businesses than you’re used to.”

“Better than letting roses all rot,” I surrender.

“Be careful. Some might see it as a knight picking sides.”

“I’m afraid I’ll just have to keep this discreet.”

“I’m sorry it has come to this.”

“I understand you. I just don’t understand this," I give his account slip. He pulls out his cancelation stamp and marks the paper. It too has been changed from red. In purple ink, his stamp overrules any agreements with us.

The rest of the Capital traders mirrored his decision and as I expected, they all had the same reasons. No one will buy red roses where they are headed, but I refuse to come back empty-handed. The Heart Cities’ traders are eager for new business, so I made new deals and had the prices adjusted. This is the best play I can make with the hand I’ve been dealt with. As I ride away with a brand-new client list, I can’t figure out if I just made a deal with the devil or an angel.

It was late by the time I got back, but my father is still up, waiting for me. He’s not the kind who can fall asleep without knowing the end results of the day.

“Well?” he gets up from the steps.

I shake my head, “I couldn’t convince them to stay. They can’t be buying roses if they’re red and ours are red. The Petograd society wants nothing to do with anything that might make them look a particular way. Their status depends on how the kings and queens see them. ”

“But they’ve always been red. When did it become a sin to be born red?”

“I laid out the same reasoning on them, but business is business. They can’t buy what they can’t sell.”

“What are we going to do?” His coarse hand rubbed at the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Well, the Heart Cities’ traders are sympathetic with the movement and they’re willing to do business with us, but at a lower price, than we’re used to. Our customers are no longer the high society of the capital city.”

My father takes a look at the client list and with his eyes squinting, begins to look over it.

“I don’t see much of a choice. Got to make a living, got to pay the bills and that might just get the job done.”

“What do you want to do next?”

“Let’s go ahead with this new client list. I’ll write out the contracts and send them out.”

“Are you sure? Mr. Arlof said it might look like we’re taking sides.”

“It might look that way, but no matter what, people will always try to make assumptions. Our rose happens to be red and I just grow it. I don’t tell it what it’s allowed to be.”

“Okay. How was mom this evening?”

“She stayed awake the entire time and boy did she wake up hungry,” my father laughs.

To my surprise, this day ended well and the cool bliss of a goose feather comforter is the cherry on top.

“Adrien!! Wake up!!” a panic bursts in as the door to my room comes flying open.

Confused, I block the bright light out of my eyes, “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Fire!!! Our orchard is on fire!!!” he’s almost crying.

“What?!” I jump to my feet.

My pajama bottoms keep me somewhat decent. The workers are long gone home and there are only the two of us. With buckets in our hands we run toward the orange glow, but it’s too late. Way, way too late.

A doomsday looms over the mothering rose trees. A summoned demon of smoke reaches high and chokes the brightness out of the stars and moon. It seems like the sun itself came down to rob us in the middle of the night and it keeps eating and eating and eating. It looks me right in the eyes and its ruthless hunger shamelessly dances in front of me and my father. The hopelessness of it all is paralyzing and we can’t do anything but watch this burning change.

It takes half, but the other half will be saved by the river that stood between the flaming roar and my father and me. It alone could save the rest of this appetite from spreading. Here, it's still red as it always was, rain season after rain season, year after year. There, is changing forever.

Legions of glowing locusts rise into the sky and replace the stars. I’m too far from their reach, but I can still feel them burn my eyes, burn my mind, burn my lungs...

One-half is still alive and will continue to bloom. The other half is now dead and wasted. It will take ages for the scorned trees to feel alive again.

At the threshold of change, I'm forced to witness half of my world just starting to bloom and the other has its future being eaten. Two worlds and this wide gap of a river run between them. It saves half of me, but the other half is burning away with the rest.