The Able Man

It was, at the near close of day that I arrived outside and sat around a glass patio table with the Able man and Apothis Mollis.

They were nursing their drink of choice. Apothis hydrated from a brass watering can and during frequent intervals she would pour water onto herself, sustaining the wide array of vegetation that grew from every derma-follicle. Her plant-life skin-suit seemed to sing as every hydro molecule was poured.

She was known as the green woman; her herbal house could heal any medical misfortune. The Able man, whenever parched, put his index finger to his lips and whatever liquid he so desired would shoot out; from a distance he seemed to be alternating between cherry limeade and vodka. Gifted with agile mobile transformation, movement is Able's performance.  His DNA is dormantly infused with atoms of everything, architecturally he can become anything. While the rest of us waltz around the Curio, delighting in using our charming talents, he studies, stooped over aged atlases, almanacs, picture books, and novels. In fact, to his left lay a supple brown leather covered tome entitled architectural designs of modern-day machines. I chuckled, and asked slyly

"still planning on transforming later",

while sliding into an empty seat opposite the pair. He glanced up at me, " hardly, this helio- human hybrid form is quite easily the hardest fusion yet".

I nodded, he was pragmatic with his power, preferring not to play or please ina performative, frivolous manner. Plus, a magnitude of energy was expended with each exchange of atomic fluidity.

He smiled at me, "may I interest you in a cocktail, Art" ?

"Hmmmm", I mulled over the offer, "could you cranially concocted me a frozen mojito by chance".

" Why certainly", he answered.

​Like unscrewing a lid from a jar, he opened the clamshell space between his mind and scalp, and set his brain and severed crown aside. "Ice", I asked.

His face contorted into a look of sorrow and the next thing I knew, teardrops bloomed from his oculars. But as they streamed down his cheeks they changed state and frozen beads of ice stopped in their tracks and glistened in the sun. I gingerly unplucked my makeshift ice from his cheery cheeks, I licked one, just to taste, marveling at the lack of salt. In wonderment I exclaimed, " is their anything you can't do able"?

His eyes caught mine, " yes, if the book hasn't been written yet ".

Apothis chimed in " silly, you can write the book if need be."

Four eyes turned towards her and the two of us erupted into laughter.

" You know", exclaimed Able in excitement, "that thought had I not ever entertained".

With that, he stared speculatively at the book that had boasted his blueprint and then tossed it over his shoulder, it sailed sky high and the momentum moved the imagery. Machines rained down upon us and we all reveled in his moment, our moment, of self discovery. From the pocket of my overalls, I unearthed a mostly filled sketchbook and a fine point pen. I clicked it open and slid the objects across the table, "a beautiful trade" I declared, drink for design".

He beamed at my jovially, "my friend, I believe I will transform tonight, however of my own accord and invention, perhaps this literary intention was the wrong convention".

" Exquisite" applauded Apothis as she abruptly stood up, "I've been brewing an alcoholic concoction that would sit so suitably in your cranial container". I stood up as well, "mint for the mind" I added. As we were sitting in a garden teeming with food and flowers, I walked into the mess of growth, unorganized, unlabeled, and untended, flourishing without the hand of man. The garden was an acre or two in length, by my calculation. It ended abruptly, as the edge overlooked an ocean and the whole affair was situated on a cliff. 

The only navigational indicator was a terracotta stone path that wound throughout.  

I passed blossomed rows of roses in every color, of whose petals I crushed into a pungent pulp to bathe with, later. Slipping them into my pocket I paused and and mentally managed the composition in my head, later hoping to scrape the sight from my memory into making. Around a bend, I found the missing ingredients. I bent closer to the earth and ripped some fuzzy mint leaves from their home, they scratched my palms and I was glad that they should soon instead be housed by my stomach. To my left was a lime tree, heavy bulbous ovular green fruit drooped to the ground and the branches seemed to sigh in relief as I unburdened it. 

I followed the path back to the table. Setting the lime next to The Able man, the nail of his middle finger elongated by five inches, using it to cut, he sliced the lime cleanly in two.

I deposited the mint leaves and squeezed sour juices into his able empty mind. Apothis had arrived before me and next to her was a glass bottle, filled 3/4ths of the way with a golden liquid that caught the ending embers of the day. " Glantheous Gold" she said with pride. "Straight from my skin", we all smiled, her body was completely covered, her eyes and teeth alone lay ungrowing. She slid her bottle my way and I uncorked the concoction, and took a long inhale. It smelled like sunflowers dancing in the sun. I poured a judicious amount into his head, the absence of brain created a blender.

He re attached his crown, and then using index and thumb, plugged his nose and blew, upon which the contents of his head tumbled, pulsated, and whirred within. 

After a decent duration, he unplugged his nose and removed the crown-cover. Then, Able cupped his right hand, and with the left, pulled at the edges of his right hand, like a pinch pot, and created a drinking vessel.

He looked up at me, “almost done”, he smiled. With a final flourish, he scraped his chair across the patio and stood up. He ripped his right hand-cup from his wrist and set it on the ground, and then planted his feet on either side of it. In a graceful arch of back and body, he jumped into a one handed hand stand and the blend of his head filled his cup. 

Right-side-up, again, with his left hand, he handed me his filled right ,“as always thank you Able”, I said. He shrugged, as if to say, my body operates this way.  

We settled back into our seats and I gripped his hand in mine. It was much larger than mine, and to my surprise his flesh was a great insulator, my cocktail was kept corpse-cold.

I took the first sip, and a flood of minty slush invigorated my senses and chilled the summer swelter. I glanced up in time to see Acanthus gingerly reuniting Able’s brain and body.

Taking periodic sips, I looked out onto the darkening jungled colors predominated by browning green. The sun had already kissed the jagged horizon goodnight and rusty red colored clouds interlaced with rich midnight fantasy blue blobs which became our celestial ceiling. What ethereal painter stood sky-high and mixed together these hues? And after arriving at the perfect shade who took a palate knife and with dolloped precision, smeared together their colors across the sky? The temporary sight stained my eyes and I hoped never to recover. At least from that. We are all, in our own way, recovering or recuperating here. At the moment, four of us inhabited the magical mannor: Able, Apothis, Giancarlo and I.

The Curio Auberge is our temporary home: a traveler’s refuge for the strange and curious.