Lab PlantBy Dr. Haynes Bryson (foreword and afterword by Joel Pavel) Foreword
Dr. Haynes Bryson was a very talented and visionary biolo-botonist. His greatest (and sadly, final) experiment was the culmination of years of work toward a marriage of flora and fauna.
Many of his first experiments were failures. Others, like the "snappy flatworm" and "seedless frog" were just embarrassing. He began to show progress with the "mice with roots" and "grapefruit with exoskeleton." Smarting from the ridicule of the scientific community, his final experiment was secret until the end. All we know of it we gleaned from the rescued ashes of his laboratory. Here, for the first time, an excerpt of his notes is reproduced for the public:
The Big One
by Haynes Bryson
September 15, 1999
Received the chimps today. I've named the female Maddy, after my first love in third grade. The larger and more homely female is going to be Sam (short for Samantha). The small male looks like a Francis. Francis looks depressed. Anyway, he was a good deal. They only had one at his price ($50 cheaper than "standard" male!). For future reference, they call his line "Wire Mother."
November 3, 1999
The animal lab is humming along nicely. The chimps have settled into the routine and have, for the most part, stopped sulking and throwing refuse and dung, except Francis.
Ordered dandelion, celery, and tomato seeds from Newson's Famous Seeds: "Guaranteed to Grow."
November 6, 1999
Dammit. No seeds yet. Newson's customer service sucks.
November 7, 1999
2:30pm - Mailman isn't here yet. Can't stand waiting. Everything in the lab is ready. I've got the cups, fluorescent grow lights, misters, Miracle-Gro, everything except the damn seeds!
4:45pm - Jesus! Where is the mailman?!
5:17pm - No seeds. I'm going to bed.
November 8, 1999
Seeds! Planted three each in one dozen Dixie cups, labeled "unmodified." Reserved the remaining seeds for genetic modification.
Francis freaked when he smelled the potting soil. Feces everywhere.
November 11, 1999
I hate plants sometimes. I mean, I love plants, but they're so slow! Three cups have sprouts, out of TWELVE! This sucks.
November 16, 1999
Francis has escaped. He killed most of the mice, then found the beer in refrigerator. I'm betting we find him passed out on the rolls of chain link fencing outside the hardware store again.
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December 7, 1999
Planted first altered seeds. Three groups: Maddy & Celery; Sam & Dandelion; Francis & Tomato
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March 24, 2000
The chimp-a-mato has its first flower. The eyes have opened. The roots hold the planimal as a whole in place, thankfully, considering the wild gyrations the stalk makes when I approach.
The fur on the dande-primate has mostly fallen out. The flowers have bloomed and smell terrible.
My joy, the celerape, continues to show signs of intelligence. Besides the swaying to the classical music I've been playing for her and the self-grooming, she has begun to show signs of affection toward me. She turns toward me when I enter the lab and caresses me with her secondary stalks when I water her. A pink growth on the main stalk looks like lips.
April 2, 2000
The dande-primate may be dying. Its leaves are wilted and the last of the seed balls has scattered. I saved as many of the floating seeds as I could find.
A small green fruit is visible on the chimp-a-mato, but I can't really get a good look at it as it twists away and slaps at me when I try to get close.
April 4, 2000
Something is suspicious about the dande-primate's condition. I have found small bite marks on the stalks of the plant, but there are no pests in the lab. I have decided to move it to an isolated area where I can control the moisture and temperature more accurately.
April 12, 2000
Dande-primate continues to improve in the isolated terrarium. A bud appears to be forming on the tallest stalk.
Celerape has grown more affectionate, actually touching my arm with her lips as I polish her leaves.
The chimp-a-mato's fruit are turning brown as they ripen. I've yet to test whether they are edible as the brown skin and pink flesh are unappetizing, not to mention the ears.
April 17, 2000
Am heartbroken watching poor celerape reach out to me as I go about my duties in the lab. Her leaves are wilted and stalks soft until I get around to her. Then she perks up and gets crisp.
April 21, 2000
The chimp-a-mato has been watching me kiss the celerape and dropping unripe fruit. Thought I heard a grunt of some sort, but was distracted and cannot confirm.
April 24, 2000
Snuck in late last night to check in on celerape, but noticed that the chimp-a-mato was asleep, finally giving me an opportunity to inspect it. Chimp-a-mato definitely has a lipless, but fully toothed mouth, vertically oriented about half way up the center stalk. Snores.
April 27, 2000
Horror! My celerape is no more. She was torn to shreds last night. Chimp-a-mato tried to look innocent, upturning its eyelids in a "who me" attitude, but juicy, bright green threads still hung from its mid-stalk maw. Overcome, I picked the best looking "tomato," bit it, spit out the flesh, and hurled the rest against the wall. Chimp-a-mato was visibly shaken as I gathered the remains of celerape and left the lab to bury her in the backyard.
May 1, 2000
I'm in a very low place. Still can bring myself to water chimp-a-mato. Dande-primate has rebuffed all of my advances.
May 5, 2000
All my work is ruined! Chimp-a-mato's planter is empty, dande-primate is gone, planter and all, along with the entire basket of brown tomatoes I was saving for the next generation of seeds. Chimp-a-mato must be mobile (feet?!) and gotten dande-primate on its side.
May 6, 2000
Kept up all night by wild calls from the back yard and scraping at the front door. When I opened the door there was the tomato basket, on fire! Thinking quickly, I stamped at it with my foot to put it out, but it was full of dog poop. Damn you, chimp-a-mato!
May 9, 2000
I thought I'd heard the last of chimp-a-mato. Well, maybe now I have. Woke up to another horror. I went out to get the paper, only to be greeted with the grim visage of dande-primate, dangling from the porch light, potting soil still retaining the shape of the fallen and broken pot. Dead. A piece of paper hung around the main stalk. In neat green writing was the note:
Like a litany of figures before you, you have employed a power beyond
your control: creation. I am grateful for the life you have bestowed, but we
am [sic] now beyond your ken.
Yours,
Chimp-a-mato
P.S. Next year the vegetarians are screwed.
Then, as I grimly removed dande-primate's lifeless corpse, I noticed a rend in one of its terminal stalks. As I examined it more closely a cold shiver crept up my spine. It had been pregnant!
Afterword
This was the final entry. Evidence in the burning of the lab is inconclusive. Some suspect suicide, others believe more sinister scenarios. In any case, there is no denying the apparently unstoppable "fur-blight" of this year's crops.
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While this was going on, Ms. Cavandish was riding by on her bicycle. She often drove her bicycle past the Gasstation Gas Station on her way to and from the market where she sold flowers. She was very fond of Prayno and very much enjoyed talking with him, but today she was in a hurry to deliver some important flowers to the wedding of the Clockmaker's niece and the Surgeon's son. She had no intention of stopping, but when she heard Gus scream in delight, she slammed on the brakes. She looked over at Gus and Prayno and found that Gus was entirely cloaked in an unlikely midday shadow.
Ms. Cavandish overheard Prayno saying, "I hope you like it. Now I want to cast a big one on the sun so I can show you my UV filter! I just need to set this dial, aim and…"
"NOO!" cried Ms. Cavandish. "If you eclipse the sun, my beautiful flowers will think it's nighttime and close up and the flowers simply must be open for the wedding!"
Prayno turned to Ms. Cavandish and said, "Ms. Cavandish! Hi. I'm so sorry. I didn't even think of that." Prayno hadn't even thought of that.
By this time Gus was so busy jumping up and down trying to escape his shadow that he didn't even notice Prayno or Ms. Cavandish.
Prayno said, "if the wedding flowers close before the wedding, they won't look like flowers at all. They'll look like paintbrushes!" Prayno imagined that bouquets of paintbrushes at his son's wedding would most certainly rouse suspicions in the Clockmaker. If the Clockmaker thought that the Surgeon was trying to save money on his son's wedding by substituting flowers for paintbrushes, he might be likely to never fix the Surgeon's clocks again. Imagine a surgeon that never knows what time it is. She might think it's time to sleep when it's really time to operate!
Prayno was convinced that his idle hobbies should not get in the way of either a lovely wedding, this lovely woman's business or the health and well-being of everyone in the area. He no longer wanted to cast a shadow over the sun.
- from The Improbable Life of Prayno Gasstation more or less available from The Rag Press.
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