When Julien was nearly twelve, Baba began testing him. The time was approaching when he would be brought before the other collectors to demonstrate his knowledge. It was a rite of passage in order to be accepted among the buyers at the market. Nerves dogged Julien about this, because although he could identify most of the common botanicals by their individual melodies, he didn’t understand scent, and Baba always asked about scent.
On Baba’s good days, he would join Julien on the trail, questioning him as they walked. This was a good day, and Baba began by pointing to a shrubby tree.
“This one?”
Julien listened to the steady thump-thump of the sap. “Terebinth!”
Baba pulled out a handful of dried leaves and lifted them to Julien’s face. This was much harder. “Inhale,” he said. “Smell this. What is it?”
Julien obediently inhaled, and tried to identify the leaves the way Baba did—but inhaling didn’t magnify the sound. In fact, there was only a rustle. Still, Julien listened hard for the plant’s whisper.
“Artemisia?”
“Well done!”
Baba pulled out another handful of petals and coughed. He dropped the petals into Julien’s hands, trying to catch his breath. Julien listened to Baba for a moment. This cough wasn’t one of the bad ones. He lifted the petals to his ear, listening for the scent, but Baba’s coughing covered any sound there might have been.
“Patchgrass blooms?” Julien asked.
Baba, having recovered his breath, elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re joking, aren’t you? It’s gardia.”
Julien, who had been quite serious, broke out into a big smile. “Of course. How could I mistake that for patchgrass?”
Baba laughed, but a troubled feeling rained down on Julien. He didn’t understand how he could have known this. He didn’t feel ready to be questioned by the other collectors, nor did he think he would be ready until he figured out this elusive smelling.
