The Viluverse - Chapter Two

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It was a hot summer’s day, and the bees were buzzing. Sounds could be heard as children played in the distance. A street, sweetly named “Honey Street,” extended off into the distance, terraced housing on either side. Doors were open in some, clotheslines hung at the back of others, and generally, the air was one of the contentment, if not a deep-seated sense of life being as it always was.

Towards the end of this average-looking house in any other ordinary city lay a small path between two houses. It almost looked like a face, windowed eyes looking out as the path led secretly down a winding road of its own. Along either side lay tall wooden fences, freshly painted with no signs of litter on the concrete ground. Walking down this path, one went past garden walls to tall hedges on either side before emerging into pleasant fields.

A great open space lay beyond, with signs of another fence line ahead. Towards this area, one could enjoy a pleasant stroll on any given day and listen for nothing but the quiet sounds of suburbia and very distant traffic noises. However, as one approached the gate in the middle of this fence, with a sign that said “Tavistock Allotments,” one was struck by its peculiar placement.

The walls seemed to extend to each side as far as the eye could see, and the gate looked like any other garden gate, overshadowed by the enormous fences on either side. As one journeyed through it, one saw row upon row of allotment spaces. These green and verdant allotment spaces divided the property into sections, each owner doing their best to decorate each to an individual and particular taste.

In some lay greenhouses; in others, fertile soil where the land provided plenty. The odd trowel or two and the distant murmur of faint voices could be heard as individual allotment owners tended to their conversations, enjoying a hot brew in the fine weather with a favored companion as the soil asked into their feet and hard days tending mended their hearts and bees buzzed in the breeze.

It was into this allotment that young Archie Bolder, an intriguing blonde-haired boy, found himself walking, admiring the allotment spaces with their own idiosyncratic areas. He walked down the long and narrow path, feeling immediately open in this open but cozy space. He wore a school uniform, with a backpack and blue eyes that shined from underneath blonde hair. Archie looked every bit the archetypal schoolboy as he headed on down the path and saw another gate in the distance.

It lay beyond another narrow path that cut ahead of it diagonally, with another tall fence and greenery beyond it. The sign “The Talking Room” lay bolted to the door, hand-carved in a rather charming font. He knocked twice as instructed, and a gentle voice called out, “Come in!” as he opened the door. The wall was circular, like a castle, which enclosed a large space within the allotment. Within the circle lay a pond in the middle, water lilies, and frogs on its surface, with dragonflies hovering above. A small, semi-circular enclosure made from hay bales lay to the left, with several wicker chairs surrounding a round wooden table.

Two steaming hot drinks in ornate, white cups lay on it, their wisps enchanting in this pleasant scene. Across from the semi-circle to the right lay, a small clump of trees and several benches adorned around them. Directly ahead lay a beautifully tended garden, with a winding path and small statues at key points along its meandering route. Upon one of the chairs in the semi-circle sat a friendly-looking older man, impeccably dressed in a smart, cream-colored suit, and brown eyes smiling above his wide and welcoming grin.

“Welcome, my friend,” he called out, his tanned complexion smooth in the sunshine as he held out his hand for the boy to come and join him. “Please, make yourself at home.” He spoke in warm, slightly exotic tones, a vaguely Mexican accent making itself known as the boy smiled in return and walked over to him. The man shook his hand and beckoned him to sit down, which he did so gladly. The boy put down his backpack and looked around as they made themselves comfortable.

“How are you?” he asked in that friendly tone that immediately made the boy feel at home. “I think I’m okay, sir, beautiful weather today,” the boy replied, intrigued by the tranquil surroundings. “That it is, that is is...is your mother coming too?” The boy nodded. “Yes, she said she’d be along soon, has to attend to something with the car.”

The man nodded thoughtfully. “I see, and are you happy that we talk before she gets here?” The boy nodded and smiled. “I think so, sir, yes.” The man smiled and drank some of his tea before putting the cup down again. “Very good, my friend, very good...now, I assume you have heard about this little...space of ours, no? What we do here?”

The boy nodded. “Yes sir, my friends and my family say it’s great, one of the best places to come if you’re feeling like you need to talk or get something off your chest.” The man nodded and smiled. “Very good my friend, we aim to provide a safe haven for those who need to talk, or just to be with someone who cares. You are perfectly safe here, if your mother wishes for the session to end or you have any concerns then we will do that, no questions asked. The gardeners around here will always keep an eye out for you and we will leave you fresh produce as a token of your thanks when you leave each sessions. Does that sound good?”

The man smiled warmly as he said this, and the boy nodded, returning the smile. “Very good, now, let us begin... what’s troubling you, my friend?” The boy pondered, looking down and then at the man again. “Well... it’s my imagination, sir, it’s left me.” The man looked surprised but curious. “It’s left you?” The boy seemed almost ashamed. “Yes, sir... it’s like I can’t daydream anymore, my dreams are vivid, though, but no….” “Connection?” The man offered and smiled as the young boy nodded.

“I see...you are very imaginative, I take it?” The boy nodded, and the man leaned back in his chair, pondering. “You know, sometimes, we go through life with certain questions...to which there are no easy answers. So where do you ask your questions, my friend?” The boy pondered. “Sometimes I ask them in my dreams.” The man smiled. “And what do your dreams say?” The boy smiled. “Sometimes I see an old man, much like yourself...he simply looks at me, smiling, then tells me to look inside; the answers are there.” The man nodded and brought a jar to the table, offering the boy a small biscuit. The boy accepted and ate it.

“Good, yes?” The man smiled, and the boy nodded, smiling. “Sometimes we need to nourish ourselves first before we can nourish others...and therein lies the key, as I’m sure your old man may have told you.” The boy pondered, then nodded as the old man looked at him. The boy finished his cookie and then looked at the surroundings.

“How do you feel now, Archie?” The boy looked at the trees and then smiled. “Contented.” The man smiled. “Very good, Archie; now tell me, do you have any other dreams?” Archie looked at one of the benches across from their seated area. It was made of ornate stone, with a smooth top and roses gracefully descending down its four legs. “I do; I dream that sometimes I sit on; a bench, just like that one, only it’s made of wood, and it’s raining. There are storm clouds up above, and I am afraid….”

“Afraid of what, Archie?” The man looked concerned but gently leaned in. The boy shut his eyes. “I’m afraid lightning will strike the bench and set me on fire….” He began to cry softly, and the man nodded contemplatively, empathy in his eyes. “That is good, Archie; let it out.” He brought a box of tissues and put it on the table next to him. “Is this a recurring dream, Archie?” The boy nodded as he cried. The man leaned back and pondered, not a cloud in the sky, as Archie’s tears gradually cleared themselves.

He wiped away the tears from his face and looked up at the man, who smiled at him. “How do you feel now?” Archie looked at the bench again, then stared. “Relieved...I feel as if...the storm clouds might arrive, but I’d fine.” “Dancing in the rain?” The man smiled as he asked this, and Archie returned the smile, having another cookie.