The Whispering Grove

 ‘A failure. Yet another one. In an unending series of failures. My research is a failure. I am one too. And so is every bit of science that I have ever studied. Failure, failure, failure.’

I talk to myself as I finally sit on a rock. It’s been quite a treacherous walk from my laboratory. I have been escaping into these woods whenever I need to clear my head. The disaster of last night’s experiments felt like a stab. Can’t even quit the darned thing now that I am sitting on a big pile of Government grants. Though I can just walk away. Begin a new life. But that won’t be right.

How long has it been since I left this morning? I check my watch. Close to five hours, it tells me. And a drop of water falls on my wrist. Rain? Great. I am not good even at taking a walk without getting soaked. But it isn’t a raindrop. Just a drop of water from a tree looking down upon me.

There are so many of them around. Tall, dense, and huddling a lean patch of grass at the center.

Suddenly aware of how thirsty I am, I lick the drop of water off my wrist. It tastes sweet. With a smile, I look up at the trees thanking them in my head.

“You’re quite welcome,” I hear almost an inaudible whisper.

‘Wonderful, now I am imagining things,’ I think, laughing at my sorry state.

“No, you aren’t,” the whisper replies. “Self-sustaining crops, isn’t it?”

So the trees talk and they know my research topic. I hate even the mention of it. I am surprised. For a bit. But then a scientist like me knows, what this is. My tired brain is playing tricks.

“What of it? It refuses to work.” There is nobody around anyway. A little conversation with the trees won’t really hurt.  

“But it does,” said the whisper. “All it takes is a little push of your faculties.”

“Seven years and counting. The faculties don’t exist. There’s nothing up here,” I tap at my temple and admit without hesitation.

“Come on now. Take a little walk. The tree with the hollow has something for you,” the whisper is almost encouraging.

Well, if the research won’t work, this certainly would. I walk up to the only tree I can see that has a hollow in it, almost sure that I am so tired even my hallucination is malfunctioning. I peep inside.

Nothing but a patch of fungus. “Thanks for introducing me to garbage,” I say.

There is no whisper now. But then I see something different about the fungus. It’s not the usual creamy, mouldy patch. It is green. So very green.

“I small bite for man, a giant step towards complete lunacy.” I use my fingertip to swoop a patch, and taste it. Wait a minute. This tastes like… spinach. But how? These aren’t plants nor animals. Could chlorophyll-contained fungus really be the answer to self-sustaining crops? I pay closer attention to the lingering taste in my mouth. Definitely spinach.

Only a lab study can provide the answer. The environment in which this fungus grows, the right temperature for it, how it creates more of itself if at all it does that? I must take this to my lab.

I take a handful of the fungus patch, and sparing no second thought to the whisper of the trees, begin walking back towards the lab. How do I keep track of the directions? Good old fairytale technique. Dropping things on my way back. I collect a few fragrant flowers, a few lush leaves, a few straight sticks - arranging them as I go.

And then, I am so hungry that I have to eat more of the spinach fungus. It’s too dark now to notice the flowers, or the leaves. I can’t be too far away from the lab though. I take off my shirt, rip it and drop its shreds. That should take care of the path back to the grove, back to my glory.

I can see the lights at the lab now. Hunger strikes again. I eat the spinach fungus and give the shirt-treatment to my pants. I wish to share the happy news with someone. But I am also glad nobody can see me in this state. And then I fall. Must get up. The lab. The research. Must get up. Must…

News flash: Famous bio-scientist Dr Matt was found dead under suspicious circumstances near his lab this morning. His autopsy suggests the presence of strong toxins in his body. Preliminary reports suggest the absence of any foul play and investigators are hinting at self-harm...

A few years later. At the grove. Another tired, dejected man is sitting alone thanking the trees for the drop of water. “You’re quite welcome” he hears a whisper.