The Kew Garden
T he earthquake or whatever that was stopped. Not entirely. A low vibration, like a boiling pot, still hums and drones underneath us.
“What was that?” Jack comes in, shouldering Lewis Carroll.
“Earthquake?” Constance says. “Volcano?”
“What is it, March?” I kneel, trying to look in his eyes.
He looks away, his fingers still pointing up there.
“March, this looks serious,” I told him. “Don’t worry I am not pressuring you to remember the whereabouts of the Keys.”
“But he has to—”
“Stop it, Constance!” I say. “March,” I touch his face, gently. “Look at me, please.”
He shakes his head now.
“Okay, you don’t have to look at me, Just tell me if you know what this earthquake was.”
He says nothing but keeps pointing.
“The sky?” I ask.
He shakes his head no again. This times he lowers his hand.
“Ah,” I say. “The mushrooms?”
He nods yes.
“Why would the mushrooms do this?
He shakes his shoulders.
“You don’t know why, but you’re sure it’s them?”
He nods yes.
I am in loss for words, confused to what I should solve first. Should I go for the Keys or try to make sense of the earth vibrating underneath me.
“Whatever happened isn’t going to stop,” Fabiola says. “The earth is still vibrating.”
“I’d like this scenario for the end of the world better.” Constance folds her arms.
“What about you?” I look at the Red Queen.
“What about me?”
“This mumbo-jumbo about the Ages and the time traveling and the Looking Glass,” I say. “You said you knew or saw the future?”
“This is hard to explain, Alice, and I will not tell you,” she says. “I told I couldn’t tell you what I saw.”
“But you know?”
She shrugs. “I saw this ending, but it was different.”
“So this is the ending?”
She nods empathetically.
“I wonder what the ending to all of this is?” I tell her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean is the ending finding the Keys? Or finding who I am? Or what the hell is going on?”
“The ending is the beginning, Alice.” the Red Queen says, and makes things harder to understand.
Lewis is aching harder now. He falls to his knees and holds onto his stomach. The pain is tearing him apart. His situation distracts me from asking the Red Queen what she meant, but would she have told me anyways?
“Something is wrong again,” Constance says with a reasonable look in her eyes now. “The March should have remembered when he sees the mushrooms. At least that is something we’re sure of.”
“So?” Fabiola says.
“So why isn’t he?” Constance says. “Forget about this earthquake for a moment. If he can’t remember, then there is only one possibility.”
“Which is?” I ask her.
“Logical,” she shakes her shoulders. “Those aren’t the mushrooms we are looking for.”
Her words make total sense, and yet they don’t. “So we’re in the wrong place, Constance?”
There is certain fear in her eyes now.
“Where else can the mushrooms be?” I ask.
“The Alnwick Garden.” Jack proposes.
“It’s not,” the Red Queen says. “In the vision, I saw the mushroom aren’t there.”
“You can tell us about the future now?” I ask.
“I can tell what is not, but not what is,” she says.
“Stop it!” Lewis panics. He crawls on all fours toward the mushrooms.
Fabiola runs to stop him. “Hold on, Lewis. It’s going to pass.”
“No!” he says. “I want that mushroom.”
My head is exploding. Any day in the asylum has been much easier to handle than this mad fest. Surprisingly, the March finally talks.
“I remember,” he raises his moist eyes to meet mine. Oh, God, what’s this fear in his eyes? I can’t take it. He is so afraid. Not for himself. For someone else, I guess. It’s as if he is afraid for the whole world.
“The Keys?” I say.
“Not the Keys,” he kneels down slowly. “Alice, I remember something else.”
“Tell me, March,” I say. “I am sure it’s important. You look so worried.”
His eyes moisten more and more. “My God,” he holds his head. “I am so afraid for them,” he holds his head. The cap with the screws seems to hurt him more now. “I want to get rid of this!”
I hold tight on to him, hug him with all might. His body is so cold. “We tried March,” I say. “The cap is fitted, too fitted. It will hurt if we remove it.”
“I told you it’s the cap that’s holding him back,” Constance says. “It’s stopping him from remembering.”
“But I do remember,” he tells her, shivering in my hands.
“You don’t remember the Keys,” Constance says. “Just this thing you fear.”
“No, what I fear,” he says. “I fear for them,” he touches my face. “Alice.”
“Yes, March. Just tell me who you fear for.”
His stare is long, too deep into my eyes, as if he sees beyond my body, into a memory, into the truth. “I remember the most precious thing in the world.”
“Not again,” Constance says.
“You have to help them, Alice,” the March says. “You have to. This is all about them.”
“I will. Just tell me who you are talking about, March,” I tell him. “What is the most precious thing. Why is it in danger?”
“It’s not ‘it’ Alice,” he says. “It’s them.”
Fabiola, still holding onto Lewis cuts in, “Okay, March, I will tell them.”
Our gazes are divided between the both of them. I’m not sure who says it first, and it takes me forever to comprehend or understand. But the answer is, “The most precious thing is the children.”