Betula Pendula: First Cycle - Spring

By Sarah Kassem

“In the first volume of Sarah Kassem’s highly imaginative Betula Pendula, our hero, the eight-year-old Viktor, learns more than a young boy should have to about life and death. His own life begins to change dramatically when he meets a talking hummingbird named Cristobal. A member of the League of Birds, which is on the verge of a war with the reptiles, Cristobal’s appearance coincides with unsettling developments in the relationship between Viktor’s parents. Kassem deftly portrays the workings of the mind of a young boy (who is about to face a nightmarish tragedy), and felicitously paints the milieu in which he is growing up. Kassem is an expert at crafting believable characters, and her talent shines like a beacon in the strange new world she has created with Betula Pendula.” —Justin Courter, Author of the internationally acclaimed novel “Skunk: A Love Story” and “The Heart of It All”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Kassem
• Release date: Sep 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311531490

Book preview

Betula Pendula

First Cycle: Spring

Sarah Kassem

Copyright © 2014 Sarah Kassem - Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, think for a moment of all the hard work the author invested and head to your favourite ebook retailer to purchase your own copy

Text & Illustrations: Sarah Kassem

Translated and edited by Nicholas John Greenfield

http://www.betulapendula.de

[e-mail]

CONTENTS

Chapter One: Site Conditions

Chapter Two: Sporangium

Chapter Three: Anemophily

Chapter Four: Androecium

Chapter Five: Gynoecium

Chapter Six: Anther

Chapter Seven: Filament

Chapter Eight: Microspore

Chapter Nine: Megaspore

Chapter Ten: Monoecy

Chapter Eleven: Mitosis

Chapter Twelve: Haploid

Chapter Thirteen: Phytohormone

Chapter Fourteen: Meristem

Chapter Fifteen: Pollengrain

Chapter Sixteen: Testa

Chapter Seventeen: Gametophyte

Chapter Eighteen: Nucellus

Chapter Nineteen: Endosperm

Chapter Twenty: Perisperm

Chapter Twenty-One: Embryogenesis

End

Site Conditions

Everybody has a small, ugly dark spot in their brain. A small mouldy spot, a Venus moving in front of the sun, a blind spot on the retina of the brain mass. Far away from any recognizable, visible location, is a small, ugly dark spot in the twists and turns of the brain.

Some know of the small, ugly dark spot – they revolve around it, constantly staring at it, scratching and rummaging around until it begins to proliferate and expand and occupy a vast space.

Others do not know of the small, ugly dark spot, they live their lives as usual, and the small, ugly dark spot never reveals any effect.

Others know of it, but ignore it.

Some feel a slight pressure on the site of the spot, but only really notice it during a heavy headache.

And very rarely does anyone truly perceive the small, ugly dark spot and then question the cause and effect of this black, marble-like induration.

It’s possible to live well with the small, ugly dark spot. To simply make a detour, hit a wide berth, ignore it, stay away from it, and then there’s no need for concern.

Those who do not wish to know where this little, ugly dark point lies, should not continue to read.

If you draw a horizontal line through the left eye and then turn that line around 30 ° to the East, you will find the point at the extreme end of the head, just below the skull.

I will now tell you a story about a boy named Viktor.

Viktor P. Abies was seven years old when, one evening, he first discovered his own small, ugly dark spot.

Viktor was sitting on his bed, flipping through his Star Wars sticker book and wanting nothing more than to stick his freshly exchanged Chewbacca sticker in box 23 when he felt it. It was just a little pressure, an unassuming pull, a gentle spasm at 43° on the NNE line, rotated by 18° to the NE and mirrored by 6 units along the z-axis in his left brain. Viktor blinked his eyes a few times, twisted the left side of his mouth once, twisted it again along with his cheek, this time stronger. He pinched his left eye shut, pulled his left shoulder briefly below his left ear and shook himself once. The pressure faded and so he was able to stick Chewbacca properly, doing so carefully and meticulously within the outline of box 23. He was careful to apply even pressure to avoid air bubbles, looking proudly at the final outcome.

Mom, can you sew me a Chewbacca costume for my birthday? he yelled.

When he got no response, he yelled again a little louder.

When still no answer came, he placed both hands around his mouth and yelled as loud as he could: Mom! Can. You. Sew. Me. A. Chewbacca. Costume. For. My. Birthday?

He heard footsteps in the hall then his door flew open, slamming into his toy box and bouncing against his locker before coming to a trembling and fearful stop.

His mother stood in the doorway, her red hair tousled and piled heavily on the dark blue fabric of her bathrobe. Viktor almost never saw his mother with open hair, and when he did, as now, it cast such puzzlement over him that it took a few seconds for him to be sure that this person was actually his mother. Helena Abies only opened her hair to sleep. Throughout the day – from the moment she got up to the second she went to bed – she wore her hair in a tight bun at the nape.

Why aren’t you sleeping? she asked. She spoke very softly and slowly, looking Viktor directly in the eyes while stretching out each word, doing so as if she wanted to make sure that each letter was understood. Such behaviour was a clear sign of anger.

I want a Chewbacca costume for my birthday, please please please. Can you sew me one? Please?

His mother said nothing and just looked at him, her gray eyes resting on him, motionless.

Please, Mom!

Helena blinked slowly, her long, upper eyelashes brushing lethargically on her lower eyelid, and asked, Why?

Because Chewbacca is cool! Look, Viktor sprang off the bed, ran to her and held up his sticker album. She looked at it, but apparently at the wrong image and in the wrong direction. Viktor pointed at box 23 and yelled: Here! Chewbacca! He’s a Wookiee and a pilot and rescued Yoda!

Helena looked down at him and said nothing.

Please Mom, please please please!!! Viktor pleaded, jumping up and down. Sew me a Chewbacca costume, please!

I’ve already sown you a Darth Maul costume, she replied, maintaining the slow and quiet voice that Viktor knew should be scaring and intimidating him.

Mama, please! I promise I’ll help you. I’ll do anything, anything! He hugged her legs and buried his face in her knees.

Helena bent down and picked up the album from where it’d been dropped on the floor. She held it at arm’s length and looked at the sticker of Chewbacca. This, she said, pointing to box number 23.

Viktor nodded, clutching her left hand and kissing her knuckles several times. Please, please, please!

Helena looked at the picture. He’s hairy, she said.

Yes! shouted Viktor.

She looked at the sticker again. Viktor leaned against her leg and looked up at her. Helena was a big woman, everything about her was huge. Her hair was very thick and long, her hands broad and bony, her muscular legs, her shoulders and upper arms forming a massive frame that was rare in a woman. The bones in her face suggested an energetic sculptor had had a good day and therefore created something immense. Such was her stature that Viktor thought his mother would be the best warrior in Star Wars, and that her stickers would be very expensive and valuable. Even Darth Vader might be afraid of her …

Furthermore it seemed as if Helena would be completely free of fear, as if the concept of ‘fear’ did not even exist in her world.

Once, when Viktor was four years old, Helena had had rats in her tailor shop. A shipment of silk from South Africa had arrived, and apparently several rats had made their way into the very boxes that Helena had received. Her employees had panicked and Viktor too had been infected by the hysteria. He had seen one as it peeked under a box with trembling whiskers, beady eyes, and a thick tail twitching back and forth. Viktor had been creeped out by that.

Gem, the son of a seamstress, had said that rats sneak up on people when they are sleeping, licking them with numbness inducing saliva so that when they wake, they notice that their nose, ears, or all their fingers have been chewed off. He added that it happened all the time to people in Philippine prisons. Oded, another member of Helena’s staff, had said that rats brought the plague, a disease in which one turns totally black, their skin rotting till they suffocate and begin to bleed from the ears. Two dressmakers, Maricel and Riza, both had said that rats ate cloth and fabric and so the studio would soon go bankrupt, as such all the employees would be unemployed and so they might as well submit their resignations already and try to find somewhere else to work. Maricel had also added that rats quickly produce many children, and Viktor had thus imagined how the rooms of the tailor shop would soon be full of rats, and the visiting room would be filled from floor to ceiling with writhing gray animals, and how, if yet more rats were produced, then they would spread across the city as everyone ran around and died of the plague without noses and fingers. Hedera Helix would thus be on the news as the United Nations would have to drop a bomb on the city so the rats can’t infect the whole world. And then everyone would die.

This was too much for Viktor. Amidst the excited arguing employees in the tailor shop he had burst into tears and had an asthma attack. His mother, towering above the chaos like a giant lighthouse surrounded by crashing waves, had looked calmly at the panicked dressmakers, the excited children, the weeping and hyperventilating Viktor, the upset chef Cherno, who shouted that the rats do not eat fabric but instead would soon appear in his kitchen. He had taken off his apron, had thrown it onto the floor and had declared as he left the room that he was going to quit.

When Helena had had enough of this sight, she had thrown them all out in the backyard and locked herself in the studio, after which all that was heard for the next two hours was the sound of furniture being pushed back and forth, boxes knocked over and things falling to the ground. From time to time small squeaking noises could also be heard.

The employees remained in the backyard as this happened, Viktor sobbing in the arms of Oded while Gem told him that his mother was now being eaten by the rats and he would therefore end up in an orphanage where he would starve to death. Upon hearing this, Maricel had yelled at her son that he should tell no such nonsense, adding to her words a whack on the back of his head that caused him to cry. Gem’s little sister, seeing her brother now crying as well, launched into tears herself. A few neighbours came over to see what all the noise was about and Kennedy the cat jumped into a tree hissing at everyone. Hearing this frightful noise, a flock of birds and crows, who were previously perched in the tree, leapt from their branches and circled the courtyard, chattering angrily. Two squirrels, also provoked by the commotion, jumped down from the tree only to find themselves surrounded by people, running a few scared circles, they then quickly scurried away under the gate.

After two hours had passed and the pandemonium had long since subsided, the door to the studio had opened and Viktor’s mother had appeared in the entrance way. While she’d been inside, Cherno had lit the barbecue and cooked a few steaks, all of which were now being eaten by those sitting on the grass and discussing their future plans. Viktor, having calmed down as well, was listening to Oded tell him how he would leave Hedera Helix and travel the world to see the magical Galapagos tortoises and the giants of Easter Island.

When Helena appeared, silence fell upon them all. She looked at everyone calmly with sweeping gray eyes, her famous bedroom eyes which gave her the aura of unshakeability, always suggesting that she was terribly bored while every adult who gazed upon them had the sudden feeling of being a small, nervous child. She had a large hessian sack in her hand which she dropped in front of Oded’s feet.

There were 26 rats, she said slowly and softly in her typical way of speaking when she was angry. Slow because she assumed that the listeners were underprivileged and therefore that the slowness of speech would increase the likelihood of her words being understood. And quietly because her quiet, deep voice, coupled with a volume just above a whisper, compelled all to silence, to listen very carefully and to concentrate.

Oded will bring the rats to the dump. Riza, take the children and help them with their homework. Everybody else get back to work, she announced, before she went up to her office and worked on the bookkeeping.

Oded then revealed to everyone that all the rats had broken necks, and the staff were amazed when they entered the studio to find that all the cabinets and solid oak shelves, as well as the heavy machinery, had been tossed around. It took them two hours to put all the equipment and furniture back into place. Despite the chaos, the rat problem had been solved and never again would a rodent stray into the tailor’s shop. Viktor was convinced that word had spread in the rat world, that now all the rats were afraid of Helena Abies and, as her apartment was above the tailor shop, it was now akin to a formidable fortress, indestructible and resistant to any invasion.

Helena put the sticker album on Viktor’s desk. Your cloak is finished, Maricel spent three days sewing it. You even tried it on yesterday.

Viktor sighed. He knew he had lost.

Did you try it yesterday or not? she asked. Viktor nodded and sighed inwardly at the question. His mother had been there, given instructions, staked the thick fabric with a few needles, and even ordered some last-minute changes – Viktor was slowly beginning to understand the concept of rhetorical questions, finding them both totally unnecessary and unnerving.

You wanted to be Darth Maul and, as Darth Maul apparently has a red sword, a double red sword, who then had to go to Salix Alba and spend an entire day there, because it took so long to find such a sword in stores? she breathed slowly and precisely.

Viktor saw a piece of lint on the carpet and pushed it around with his toe. She knew who’d been to Salix Alba, so the question was again unnecessarily rhetorical, serving only to deflate him further.

Who? she kept on, leaning slightly over him.

Oded Viktor whispered, crushing the lint with his toe.

And when we ordered your horns and make-up, how long did it take until everything came?

Viktor wanted to scream and throw his arms around angrily but he knew it would be for nothing. It was physically impossible to be in Helena’s presence and express anger. She just seemed to soak up all the rage and anger in him, like a vacuum or a black hole. It was as if she could just stop up angry people with a cork, thus reducing them to either bottle the anger within, or simply let it fade away peacefully.

Helena knelt before Viktor so she could look him directly in the eyes and she asked again, this time in a whisper: Where and how long?

You ordered the horns from Salix Alba, yelled Viktor. Oded had to go there because they don’t deliver! And you got the red makeup sent from New York, which is in America, far away, because that kind is better for the skin and doesn’t cause pimples, and it took three months till everything finally arrived. And you had to give the customs office a lot of money to pay for it all!

Viktor took a deep breath, let out a sigh of resignation and slumped his shoulders. He looked at another piece of lint on the floor and looked up again in order to check whether his mother was still looking at him. She was.

Are you going to tell Maricel to throw away the cloak and begin work on a new costume?

No.

Are you going to tell Oded tomorrow morning that the time he spent getting the sword and the horns was in vain?

No.

She picked Viktor up and brought him to bed. Your birthday is next month so we don’t have time for a new costume. You also need to learn how to make decisions. Once you’ve decided on something in life and all the levers are set in motion in order to realise it, you have to stay with that decision. You wanted Darth Maul and Darth Maul you will get, so you’ll stick with it and keep this decision. You can’t change your mind and wishes from one day to the other. Furthermore, it’s disrespectful toward the people who have worked hard to ensure that your request is fulfilled. You will be Darth Maul, but you’re not going to be a dictator, bossing people around. I don’t like this Star Wars thing and I’m going to talk to your father about it tomorrow. When you are older and have your own money and your own people, then you can do and say what you want. But until then, you’re seven years old and my staff are not your slaves and the people around you don’t have to jump at your bidding. Now, as you have school tomorrow and you’re still awake, you’ll go to sleep this instant.

She stroked his forehead and covered him with his blanket. Now she was talking in a normal tone of voice, which meant that she was no longer angry. And Helena’s voice in the normal volume had a very hypnotic effect. It was deep, with a billowing chant reminiscent of ocean waves in a dark, underground cave and those she spoke to in such a tone often became quite sleepy while listening.

Viktor looked at her. She sat on his bed, looking down at him, and he saw himself mirrored in her eyes.

Ok, he said.

Ok what? She asked.

Ok, I’ll be Darth Maul.

And what else?

I’m going to sleep now.

Yes. But what about what I said earlier?

Viktor thought. That I shouldn’t play Star Wars so much?

Yes, that too. But what else?

Viktor thought. When you make a decision, you have to do it and not change it.

Correct. Good night, sweetheart. She kissed him on both cheeks, her lips pressed firmly on his skin, then she turned off the light and left the room.

Viktor lay in the darkness, thinking about Darth Maul and about Chewbacca and decided that Darth Maul was perhaps cooler than the hairy Wookie.

Just before falling asleep, he felt it again, the small, ugly dark spot, the small black marble in his head. He blinked a