A Skein of Fables

A Skein of Fables

I entered our local town’s bookstore and surveyed my children’s books lining a section at a  corner where the children sat on yellow, soft pillow-like seats like mushrooms beneath them. They lolled, laughed and ran around while others sat quietly reading the books. These were moments I appreciated. The delight I had of bringing books to children for them to read. My illustrator, Maggie Dill, made them more magical with colorful drawings in pastel crayons which made the books more accessible to children, as though they drew the books themselves with the simplest of figures. Daffodil flowers in whirls like sugar candies, sugar candies twirling with the color of flowers and people which was how they would have drawn them themselves. I loved Maggie and sometimes we’d have coffee in a New York cafe where I’d visit her when personally bringing my manuscripts and discussing my book.

My name is Sharon Tate and I have been a children’s book writer ever since I gave birth to my first child Idyll. I have another, Crystal. Two daughters now grown up both living in New York. Idyll was a married, craft-maker with children of her own, while Crystal was single and deeply involved working at a publishing house.

What can I say, I had an empty nest syndrome which I assuaged by visiting my children in NY on weekends where Idyll set a guest room specially for me, to the delight of my grandchildren.

My husband is another matter. You know what they say. There are those who are childish and there are those who are child-like. My children are child-like in their attitude towards life and I am proud to say they got that from me. My ex-husband, Alex, whom I divorced was plain childish, running after a model when Crystal was age twelve. And so, I was left with the children and would not have it any other way. Fortunately, my books became famous and I was able to raise my children that way. It wasn’t luck, though, it was more work really. I finished my Master’s in Creative Writing and immediately took to writing children’s books. Soon, they sold. Like pancakes. Like Harry Potter.

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I am reclusive by nature and in one of our coffee tete-a-tete, Maggie insisted it was time I dated people and give marriage another try. She showed me some dating sites which were viable from her phone and we would have a blast considering all the fishes out there.

I live in a forest at the fringe of Boston and I would go out on dates but would only do so out of our local town, in New York, away from gossip. Ssshhh. Sharon Tate was seen going out with an orthodontist, or a photographer. Tongues from the nearby town where I lived would definitely wag.

So far, I have gone out with a dishwasher, a lawyer, a banker, a delivery man. These were random choices based on how curious I was about them. The problem was is that the writer in me would not switch off and I would try going out with a spectrum of men from various fields and figure them into my stories. It wasn’t a flaw, more like a predilection. Whooo, that was a long word which would never be found in my books. The trick was to use the simplest of words but one which, when added, up emerged a moral in the stories I wrote.

The dishwasher turned out to be a mere-man who loved to swim in the middle of the night and fell in love with a princess whom he saved from drowning. The banker became a pauper who married a rich widow but realized they could not have children. And the delivery man was a newspaper boy who loved to redact the front news out of mischievousness.

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One morning, as I scrolled the dating sites, an Arab man typed: Hello. He seemed pleasant looking and I peered into his profile. He lived in Amman, Jordan and was a chemical engineer. He wore thick glasses and was standing before a cool lagoon in with a long shirt and boxer shorts.

I never usually meet someone from another country, let alone, from the Middle East. I wondered why the interest. In my profile I added I was a writer but did not use my real name and did not specify I wrote children’s books.

Do you like chemistry, he asked. No, I honestly replied recalling how I flunked chemistry in high school. For now, it would take me a Primo Levi book to get myself interested in chemistry. But I went along and we had a video call. He was into a lot profane language which I tried to ignore. He wore thick, black rimmed glasses which, I noted, had a lot of dust on them. Most probably, from the sand in their country.

I asked if he liked to read. He answered: not much. But the wit and the way he made me laugh with his devilish almost crazy experiences simply was refreshing. He claimed to be a bisexual which he said was a secret and was “normal” outside at work and when dating girls. Once, he asked if he could court this man’s mother and attempted to kiss him in the car. The man ran away and he scrambled to run after him as well. I ended up bent in laughter. Oh, how do I write about you, I wondered, not being too familiar with Arab literature. I barely read The Arabian Nights             and became determined to read it and retell it in such a way that this guy, named Nadir would be in it.

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One morning, as I waited for my teapot to fill with water from the kitchen sink, I looked out the window towards the green forest surrounding me and heard the birds cawing their morning call. It was very quiet, other than the warble of the birds. I realized I was in love and tears fell from my eyes. I felt alone for the first time in my life. Not the kind where I my children had to go on their own way but another kind. I quivered and wondered what if I never get to meet this Arab man for real. What if he loses interest? I guessed I would just have to comfort myself by, again writing about him. I never expected this and turned around to face my Formica table. Even though he was far away, I felt as though I had an affinity, a familiarity towards him who was halfway around the world. I thought of going to Jordan and visit him. Then I felt, we were really just friends than in a relationship, really. He said he taught at a local college and this surprised me for he didn’t seem anything professorial.

The Scent of Neroli

The green Queen from one of the Grecian islands married the Caliphate of the Arab Kingdom. She needed a love potion for the King to grant her a precious child. Living within the castle was an alchemist who brushed her green skin and she fell in love with him. But if the King knew of their love, he would put them in prison or worse.

One day, the alchemist and the Queen ran away from the castle to live together in a far-away place, away from the King who was known for his cruel ways. At an oasis, the alchemist picked the blossom of an orange tree and rubbed it within his palm. He gave the blossom of Neroli for the Queen to smell. It had a citrusy scent which he told the Queen to remember for all time so that if they were to die, they could find each other in another lifetime.

He placed his ear on the lap of the sands and heard the hooves of horses coming closer. It was the King running after them. Before they could run some more, a mystical sandstorm whipped them into a whirl of wind which dissipated them into another world, and time.

In another time, the professor of Chemistry entered his classroom of new students. He could smell the scent of Neroli and traced it to a student at the back of class. She had green hair and wore a green dress. She smiled at him when he entered. He smiled in return and pushed his thick glasses to his face.

They found each other again.

In time, he came over to New York and we met at a Chinese restaurant. He pulled something from his satchel. It was a book. The Arabian Nights. I smiled and breathed in the pages. I gave him a gift too. It was my children’s book. At first, I felt trepidation on whether to give the book or not. But I slid the book on the table towards him. The Scent of Neroli. He looked at the cover and blushed.

After our meal, I could not decide how to say goodbye and asked him where he was staying. He stayed at a corner boutique hotel, he answered.

“Well, I’ll see you sometime. Maybe we can drive around New York tomorrow.” I could have said but I reached out to his hand and led him to my car and brought him home to my moist, green forest of his dreams.

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