The Meat Tree by Gwyneth Lewis Page A

off and that I expected her to report to the VR suite at 11:30 to carry on. Won’t do either of us any harm to cool down.

    *

    Synapse Log 8 Feb 2210, 11:40

    Inspector of Wrecks
    The girl’s a No Show. I’m going to go on my own and finish the task in hand. I will not let the slip of a girl mess up my investigation, especially not my very last one.
    Right, back to business. Here’s Gwydion and Math in consultation together. I take the point of view of Math because I’m convinced that he has overall control of what’s happening.
    And suddenly I know the recipe for making a woman out of flowers.
    Math says, ‘Bring me oak flowers, meadowsweet and broom.’
    Gwydion says, ‘But none of those flowers are yet in bloom.’
    Math: ‘You’re a wizard, make it happen.’
    I watch as Gwydion shuts his eyes. And although it’s winter, I notice buds appearing on the oak nearby. The whole tree is quivering as if with desire. Time goes haywire. Days strobe on the patient branches and leaves protrude, shrugging and sighing as the quick days pass. Then the catkins of male flowers descend. A jay leaves a branch and a cloud of pollen drifts to the next oak tree, where the subtle female flowers swell close to the branches, sticky and red. Gwydion brings branches of the fertile oak to Math’s feet.

    *

    Synapse Log 8 Feb 2210, 12:03

    Apprentice
    You know when you’re young and you have all day to look at things and dream? When grass is at eye level? And its seeds are your equal? How you make palaces from the sun as it filters through blades of grass and you can live in those mansions?
    I wake exhausted from dreams of green. Creeping bent, sweet vernal-grass, wood fescue, Timothy, great reedmace, wood millet. I remember how we would loop its stalk around the broad-leaved plantain and decapitate its dry, brown flower. I recall the acidic smell of skin having skidded along grass, the cold, damp ache of its smudge into flesh.
    But I was brought up on Mars. I know we used to play under the biosphere on the artificial pastures there but I never knew the names of Earth grasses.
    I try to wake up, but I find it hard. A caffeine shot will help, some food before the next shift. I feel like a loom on which something is being woven.
    Wall barley, grass, pendulous sedge…

    *

    Synapse Log 8 Feb 2210, 12:14

    Inspector of Wrecks
    â€˜That,’ says Gwydion, ‘was late May or June.’
    Then Math asks for flowers of the broom.
    â€˜Why?’ asks Gwydion.
    â€˜Because it’s tough. The oak can self-pollinate but the broom blooms earlier, in late April, and its flowers appear before its leaves. Its seedpods explode in July when ripe. The medicines made from it are designed to purge, whereas the oak is astringent. And the country folk bring sprigs of broom to weddings as a gift.’
    In the underbrush one leggy bush goes crazy and explodes in yellow, with a thick, rich smell of almond butter. Gwydion brings branches back to Math’s feet.

    *

    Synapse Log 8 Feb 2210, 12:23

    Apprentice
    My chlorophyll dreams don’t leave me, nor do the names of plants. Sweet William, stitchwort, wood anemone… It’s as if there’s a feed from someone else’s mind into mine and I’m overhearing a world.

    *

    Synapse Log 8 Feb 2210, 12:39

    Inspector of Wrecks
    â€˜And last,’ says Math, ‘the meadowsweet.’
    â€˜My favourite flower,’ says Gwydion. ‘Also known as queen of the meadows or bridewort. Most common of the fragrant weeds, whose blossoms are culled in the middle of July. It’s good for fevers and a woman made from that scent – sickly but creamy – must be beautiful to look at. According to Gerard, the smell of the leaves “Makes the heart merry and delighteth the senses.” Sounds like a winner to me.’
    â€˜We’ll have most of the summer covered then,’ says Math. ‘Broom early in spring; a