Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Cinnamomum Zeylanicum

Cinnamomum zeylanicum is very tall and graceful with clay brown skin and pale yellow star shaped eyes. She is of Indian descent and wears her wild dark green hair soft around her deeply tanned shoulders. She walks slowly towards me like a deer stepping through clover and every now and then she stops and holds her abdomen in pain a look of raw discomfort on her face. She is shivering as she gets closer, and sweat runs down from her forehead.

“What is wrong dear Cinnamomum?” I ask anxiously coming up to her. She goes to speak but is suddenly plagued with nausea and throws up on the ground beside me, dark fresh blood.

“I’m sorry”, she gasps dispelling the last spittle from her mouth. “The blood I know is not good”. She licks her lips then takes my hands. Her touch is freezing.

“I don’t know what is wrong” she begins in confusion, “surely I am cut within for I am leaking day and night. It comes when I pass liquid and there are rivers of red every month like the Ganges at sunset”.

“I saw you holding your stomach before as though sore and tender. Does it pain you?” I ask. She nods weakly.

“What is the matter?” I urge.

“I know not. All I do know is that there is a tightness within me that tugs tighter still, and my body blows up around me and I feel the weakness come. I cannot eat sweet things for it makes me feel ill, I cannot eat anything for it just sits there and makes my insides chill” she lunges forward again to throw up and stays bent over for a while her hand to her head.

“I have a fever, such a fever”, she whispers softly “I’m infected with a sickness that my body wants to kill. But it is so hard to help it. I’m so frail, so frail”. She lapses into silence and stands perfectly still rooted to the spot as I walk away.

Zingiber officinale

I spy Zingiber officinale sitting at a desk at the back of the garden. She is wearing a smart green suit and talking loudly on the phone. Her lime coloured hair is piled high on her head in tight braids and each one is fastened with a deep fuchsia hair tie. Her knobbly brown legs are covered with fragile papery skin and her bulbous veined feet swing back and forth as she talks. She seems perfectly well to me but as I draw closer I can see that she is actually holding a hot water bottle close to her abdomen, and her words come out stunted through gritted teeth. She looks up as I approach and motions for me to come closer. As I step towards her she hangs up the phone.

“Can I help you there?” she asks all businesslike. I feel impelled to curtsey and so I do.

“Good morning ma’am” I stammer. “I was passing through and I noticed that you seem to be in pain. Why do you carry that hot water bottle?” She attempts to smile through a wince and I can notice on her brow beads of sweat forming.

“If you must know” she begins, “It’s the time of the month, and to tell you the truth I have a hell of a time every damn time”.

“What’s the problem?” I ask concerned

“Spasms, painful bloody spasms all day long!” she sighs. “It’s like there are hands wringing me out from the inside. Hang on a minute will you…” She clutches her middle in pain as her body emits air from either end.

“Oh god I’m so sorry, how awfully embarrassing” she says her cheeks flushed.

“Not at all” I say encouragingly. I notice a kettle and some cake on a table by her side.

“If you like I could make some tea for us, and there’s cake here too, we could each have a slice?” I say trying to cheer her up. She slumps back and undoes the buttons to her pants.

“A nice thought but I couldn’t eat a thing. Never have had much of an appetite”.

She gets out a small black diary from a drawer in her desk and hurriedly rifles through the pages.

“I’m supposed to be flying overseas for business tomorrow and I’m absolutely dreading it. I get nausea you see whenever I travel. Be it by plane, by boat, by car. You can’t take me anywhere!” she laughs but the laughter soon turns to a wheeze.

“And to make matters worse I’m sure I’ve got a cold. My forehead is hot and I’ve got pain in my chest. Not a great time to be heading over to a conference I must say. And those tiny plane seats make my legs stiff and sore. Yet there’s no way to avoid it. Business is business!”

The telephone rings and she picks it up and launches into bright bubbly chatter. I leave her to her conversation, and the stresses of her daily life.

Zanthoxylum americanum

Zanthoxylum americanum is tough and menacing with a spiky grey leather jacket and bright red eyeballs drooping from his sockets. He looks like he’s come from the streets of some small American town, more used to hassling the locals and stealing car radios than partaking in conversation. He sits within a distinct air of annoyance and when I walk up to him he grimaces and smacks his dry lips at me.

“Hello…” I begin hesitantly lest I might annoy him further. He grunts in return obviously not keen to talk. As I stand there I can see his tongue constantly flicking over his teeth at the top left side of his mouth.

“Your teeth…are you in pain?” I ask with a pause. I step back waiting for his acidic reply, yet when he speaks to me his voice is weak and low as though he’s no energy to fight any longer.

“It’s me teeff” he says with some difficulty. “They hurt all the time but the pain don’t stop there”. He points to his left leg and hip.

“It’s ‘ere as well, deep and throbbing, running down me side. It tingles an’ burns and wakes me at night”.

I look to his pale grey legs curled under him and they’re thick and knotted with dark purple veins. His whole body seems swollen around him. The glands on his neck are raised and shiny, like tight white balloons. His joints are puffy and red and stiff as rusted metal. His stomach is full and rigid under his jacket and deep gurgling noises like the sounds from an ancient swamp escape from time to time. Suddenly Zanthoxylum shouts at me.

“Don’t you stare at me kid! Don’t you make fun of me!” I jump back in fear and wait for a further assault, yet his head is now limp and his breath runs more slowly, and I can see from his eyes that he has no strength left.

Capsicum minimum - Cayenne

Capsicum minimum is short and rather overweight with spiky pointed hands and bright red speared dreadlocks. When I find him he’s sitting stiffly on a tree trunk looking as though any movement would cause him great pain. He’s staring right at me as I walk closer and although he smiles I can see he is quite sad.

“What’s the matter?” I ask as I shake his outstretched hand. As soon as I touch it I can tell something is wrong. It is icy cold and red, his fingertips are dark purple and his knuckles are swollen.

“Sir your hands…are they ok?” I ask distressed.

“Oh they’re the least of my trouble girly” he responds with a sigh. He shifts a little to make room for me beside him and as he does so I can see that his knees are also swollen.

“It’s just old age”, he tells me when he sees I am staring “…I know I need to lose some weight too but it’s just so hard to do”.

“Why is it hard?” I ask.

“When I eat…” he responds, “…I feel as though my stomach is made from lead. It’s like a concrete mixer run outta power, still and stagnant, yet so full”. He is in obvious discomfort. We lapse into silence.

He sits still for a while and stares out into the garden, sorrow flashing through his eyes. Occasionally he puts his hand to his heart and winces in pain.

“I swear my ticker’s on its last legs too. Such a weak little thing, it’ll be any day now that it stops”.

“I’m sorry” I say hopelessly and get to my feet. It is so easy for me to walk yet so difficult for him. He’s given up it seems for he does not even notice as I walk away.

Ginkgo biloba - Ginkgo

Ginkgo biloba stands in the corner, very tall yet wilting. She appears of Chinese origin and her creamy white hair is tied tightly back in circular bulbous buns. She has pale fragile veins visible on her face and between the bunches of hair on her head. When I come closer she extends her hands to me and they fan out from her slight pallid wrists like the lobes of a brain. I try to speak to her but her manner is distant and slow as though she is living lost within a fog.

“Excuse me please”, I say carefully with reserve, but she has looked away from me again and doesn’t seem to know I am there. After some time she looks back confused.

“Who’s there? What is it that you want?” she mumbles looking around, her eyes narrow and squinty, her brow furrowing in concentration. Her bloodless lips tremble when she speaks.

“I wish to know you”, I say, “what is your name?”

“I am…I am…” she appears unsure. “I knew before but now…now I can no longer remember”. She turns away and as she walks I can she that there is pain within her legs because she winces and limps. Suddenly she stumbles to the ground her hand branched over her eyes.

“It whirls, it whirls”, she repeats to herself, “the ringing of bells and the tilting of ground”. She lies for a while on the earth, her body so white it’s like clouded milk. She speaks again:

“So cold so cold: my legs and my feet. They are lacking a warmth, a fire I once had. Soon they will go and leave me alone. No legs, no feet, no warmth, just fog”.

I go to her to help her to stand up but she pushes me away startled.

“Who are you?” she demands anxiously, “and why are you here??”

“We just spoke”, I explain, trying to calm her.

“But I don’t know you”, she whispers frightened “I don’t know you”.

I leave her to her thoughts and move away. In the distance I turn again and there she is as I saw her before, shrouded in white.