AFTER SUPPER EVERYONE picked up a lantern to take into the orchard. There was Mordi, his wife, Vara, their five sons and daughters, and three other men who worked with the family during the harvest season. All the melidrops were picked at night. It was the only way to make sure they were still fresh when Gozo delivered them to the bazaar in the morning.
There were harvesting baskets stacked against the wall outside. Mordi bent down and picked up a melidrop that had been left behind in one of them.
‘Gozo,’ he said. ‘Hold up the lantern. Now, Bartlett, this is a melidrop we picked last night.’
Mordi cupped the red—purple fruit in his palm. His fingers were thick and strong, with roughened skin, but he gripped the fruit surprisingly gently, as if it were an egg that might crack in his grasp. Then he pulled out his harvesting knife and quickly slit it down the middle. The two halves fell open on his palm and the yellow flesh glistened in the light.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘it’s already going off.’
Everyone peered closely, as if they had never seen a cut melidrop before. Mordi showed the fruit around. Then he pointed with the tip of his knife to the places where the flesh had already changed from yellow to brown. Just under the skin, in tiny spots, the flesh had darkened.
‘You could still eat it now,’ he said to Bartlett, ‘although an expert could easily tell it was too old. In another six hours, no one would be able to eat it.’ He tossed a half of it to his dogs, who sniffed at the fruit and pushed it away. ‘Spoiled!’ he said, laughing.
Bartlett took the other half of the melidrop. He examined it closely, and handed it to Jacques le Grand. Jacques gave it a quick glance and bit into it.
The other harvesters began to walk away, carrying lanterns and baskets into the orchard.
‘Of course, you could take the Queen a pickled melidrop,’ said Mordi. ‘That would keep. We could give you a whole case of pickled melidrops.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mordi,’ said Vara. ‘Who wants pickled melidrops when they haven’t even tasted fresh ones? What a ridiculous idea!’
Jacques le Grand didn’t think it was so ridiculous. A pickled melidrop in exchange for an expedition to the Margoulis Caverns! It seemed an excellent deal.
Bartlett shook his head. ‘No, Jacques. I don’t think that’s what the Queen meant. Vara’s right. Pickled won’t do.’
‘Well,’ said Vara, looking around the yard, ‘the others have all started. Come on, Mordi, we’d better get going as well. It’s a shame we can’t help you, Bartlett. It would be nice to do something for the Queen. Anyway, you’ll stay here tonight. Gozo will show you where to sleep, and in the morning he’ll take you back to town.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bartlett.
Vara nodded. She and Mordi each picked up a basket and crossed the yard.
Bartlett, Jacques and Gozo were left by themselves in the darkness. Far off, in the shadow of the orchard, they could see the glow of the lanterns between the trees. They heard the shouts of the harvesters calling to one another. And between the shouts, there was only the silence of the warm night, and the chirping of crickets hiding beneath the house.
Jacques and Gozo went into the farmhouse. Bartlett gazed at the distant lights under the trees. How was it possible to transport the melidrop? No one could tell him. The people who sold melidrops, the people who ate melidrops, and now the people who grew melidrops: none of them knew. If there was a way, Bartlett himself would have to invent it.
Gozo woke them at four in the morning. He had already been up for an hour. They followed his candle down the staircase and out into the yard, blinking and yawning. It was still dark. Now the lanterns hung on the wall of the farmhouse. The wagon was piled high with wicker baskets crammed with melidrops, and the horses were already harnessed. The whole family was there, sitting on the ground or leaning against the stable wall, tired out after the night’s work.
‘All right, Uncle Mo?’ shouted Gozo.
‘Not yet. We haven’t sprayed them.’
Mordi’s voice echoed. Bartlett looked for him. Mordi was leaning over the well, hoisting the bucket. When it came to the top he emptied it into a huge brass tin with a spout like a watering can. There was a second watering can next to him, already brimming with water.
Bartlett and Jacques stared at Mordi, wondering what he was doing. They watched as Mordi climbed onto the front of the wagon and raised the weight of the full can with straining arms. He lifted it to the height of his shoulders. Then he tilted it. Bartlett and Jacques saw the water spray out of the spout. The droplets glinted in the light of the lanterns and a mist rose above the dark mounds of melidrops. A shimmering rainbow appeared in it. When the first can was finished, Mordi raised the second and emptied it as well. The melidrops glistened.
‘Well,’ Mordi said to Bartlett and Jacques after he had climbed down from the wagon, ‘it’s been a pleasure having you here. At least you’ve seen a melidrop farm at the height of the harvest. That’s something to tell the Queen, isn’t it?’
Bartlett didn’t answer. He was deep in thought, gazing at the glittering droplets that clung to the melidrops. ‘Mordi, why did you water the melidrops ?’ he asked.
Mordi grinned. ‘That’s our secret. Vara thought of it.’
‘Why, Vara?’
Vara shrugged. ‘To keep them longer,’ she said simply.
‘And does it work?’
‘Does it work?’ shouted Gozo from the wagon seat. ‘Does it work!’
‘Our melidrops are the freshest in the bazaar,’ said Mordi. ‘Ask anyone.’
‘Of course, people have found out,’ added Vara. ‘And everyone does it now. But ours are still the freshest.’
‘Come over here,’ said Mordi. He led Bartlett to the well. ‘Do you remember the freshness of this water? Taste it again.’
Mordi dropped the bucket in the well and hoisted it up. Bartlett dipped the drinking mug and put it to his lips.
The water was pure and cold. Even colder than he remembered.
Bartlett looked down into the well. It was too dark to see the surface of the water.
‘Do you know how deep this well is?’ asked Mordi. ‘Two hundred feet. More. And it goes through rock, Bartlett. Hard rock. Cold rock. Rock that has never seen the sun.’ Mordi grinned with pride. ‘We have the coldest water for miles around. When they’re sprayed like that, those melidrops reach the bazaar as fresh as if they’ve just come off the tree. No one else can beat that!’
Bartlett nodded. He squatted and put his hand in the bucket of water. After a few seconds, his fingers began to go numb.
‘It’s cold,’ said Bartlett.
‘It certainly is,’ said Mordi.
‘Thank you,’ said Bartlett.
‘What for?’
‘You have given me an idea.’
He climbed up onto the wagon beside Gozo, who was ready to go. Jacques climbed up on the other side.
‘Thank you,’ said Bartlett, to Mordi and Vara, ‘for everything.’
‘It was nothing,’ said Vara.
‘No, it was much more than nothing,’ said Bartlett, ‘much, much more.’