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“I’m not here to have a bloody debate about eco politics, feminism, or some ancient codger who liked people, I just need to talk to an expert!” he bellowed, rocking violently out of control.
“Shouldn’t you be talking to an exorcist rather than a botanist?”
“Well, it’s both a supernatural and environmental problem.”
“Impossible!”
“Is it?” Gavin’s challenging tone made Saturday soften.
“What have you got to show me?”
“This.” The property developer finally managed to steady himself and, with a dramatic flourish, pulled out the illustration of the leaf he’d stolen from the library. Saturday glanced thoughtfully at the held-out page, then snatched it, lifted to her nose a pair of huge red-rimmed spectacles hanging off a chain around her neck, and peered at the image.
“So it’s a Dicroidium, a rather common plant from the Mesozoic era some 225,000,000 years ago—what’s this got to do with you?”
“I’ve got this dumb idea that this and some other very strange shit is somehow all coming together and attacking my mind…well, my senses really. So if you picked up that phone right now and called mental health services I wouldn’t blame you,” he finished, his feet firmly anchored back on the frayed rug with the immortal phrase Yes, I am Woman, hear me roar woven into it.
Saturday Honeywell leaned forward. To Gavin’s immediate relief her kaftan fell back over her knees. She reached across and took one of Gavin’s hands between her own. Somewhere in his shocked mind Gavin dimly registered the fact that her hands were the same size as his.
“You poor little man,” she said in a voice Gavin decided to interpret as sincere—which was exactly the effect Saturday intended. “You really are being haunted.”
And for the first time in over a month Gavin felt that at last he had found a confidante.
They sat in front of the computer screen in the corner of the living room. Saturday’s technology was surprisingly up to date, and, as Gavin watched her fingers dance across the keyboard, it was evident to him that she lived up to her reputation as one of the country’s top paleobotanists. She had carefully noted down every singl
e encounter he described into a notebook covered in cane-toad skin, quizzing him on various minutiae: the precise sound of his aural hallucinations, the places they occurred, circumstances leading up to the event. All of which was immensely reassuring to Gavin. Maybe he wasn’t insane; maybe there was a genuine reason, even some natural phenomenon, that would explain everything away, he thought hopefully as he scrutinized her every keystroke.
He perched close by on a stool she’d pulled up for him. Her curly locks, which radiated out like the epicenter of some storm, presented a curious enigma for Gavin. Normally he hated messy hair on a woman, particularly when it was as defiantly unruly as this. But somehow, as the not unpleasant drone of her voice listed all megaflora of the Mesozoic era, the whorls of each curl proved a source of fascination.
“What I’d suggest, looking at the body of evidence, is that we create a panorama of the Mesozoic forest on the computer and see if we come up with anything you recognize. How’s that sound, Gav—I can call you Gav, right?”
Gavin’s concentration snapped back; he liked the way she said “we.” It was always “I” when he talked about work, but her “we” felt warm and maternal. It made him feel safe.
“You can actually do that?”
“Sure, I designed some software myself: Honeywell’s Worlds—not very original, I know, but I’ve got several enviros that cover that period.”
As she leaned forward and slipped a disc into her zip drive Gavin couldn’t help but notice her pendulous breasts that hung completely unfettered beneath the thin cotton. She’d have a figure like one of those early caveman goddesses, he thought, remembering a history project his daughter had brought home one night. Then found himself wondering if she had a lover and, if so, whether it was a man or a woman.
“No, I’m not gay,” Saturday said out loud, eyes on the screen as she worked her way through a variety of landscapes. Gavin, unable to help himself, emitted a small gasp.
Saturday chuckled. “Relax, I’m only telepathic when it comes to myself and sex.”
As if on cue a pager bleeped somewhere in the room. Saturday reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a mobile phone that looked as if it had been designed in the last century. She glanced at it. “There you go, that’s the ex now.”
She thrust the mobile at Gavin. Mercury in retrograde, your Taurean moon is under threat, can I come around tonight? Scorpio rising x ran across the screen.
“Scorpio rising! It always is with him!” Saturday broke into another of her throaty chuckles. Gavin winced, the memory of his own impotency looming uncomfortably.
“Bloody idiot can’t do a thing without checking the charts. Fucking voodoo. I threw him out last week; he has no scientific discipline whatsoever. Text back an emphatic No, will you?”
Obeying, Gavin rejected the botanist’s anxious suitor but, taking pity, used only one exclamation mark.
Saturday finally settled on an image, the screen darkening as a speedup evolution thickened the landscape. “Have a look at this,” she murmured. Gavin moved closer, surprised at how vivid the colors were on the screen.
The primordial forest had a heavy canopy and minimal sun filtered through to the forest floor, which was alive with primitive-looking ferns and vines.
“There’s your Jambadostrobus.” Saturday moved the mouse so an arrow pointed to a tall pinelike tree. “It would fruit only at the top—impressive, eh? Like that leaf of yours producing seed pods attached to each individual leaf.”
