The Verse:
When the bee tastes of the apple bloom
It realizes its nakedness.
The Vision:
I am in my poison garden, assisting in cross-pollination like I have done hundreds of times before. Suddenly, my skin flushes and my heart begins to race. I am strangely conscious of the significance of the act to the flower. My actions are no longer horticultural; they seem personal and intimate.
Commentary by Archbishop Co’oal Venesti:
With his penchant for thorough investigation and utmost respect for tradition, Archbishop Seth is an inspiration to us all.
Commentary by Elma, High Prophetess of Skarsia:
Seriously, all they think about is sex.
Commentary by Archbishop Seth:
As I mentioned in my autohagiography, I instituted the custom of the Valentine Festival on Dolparessa. Since the Dolparessan calendar coincides so infrequently with Earth’s, and since CenGov had long banned the holiday, I decided that the holiday should be situated at a parallel time of year, a turning towards sunlight, and yet a time when the chill of evening would inspire lovers to seek warmth in each other’s arms. The first festival was held on the 2nd Archonsday of Fireside, 3611.
Unfortunately, circumstances kept me from attending. It was not until two years later that I first participated in the celebration. Something about the proceedings left me unsatisfied. I felt that the festival was in need of reform. As we found ourselves on Dolparessa during the Fireside of 3615, I arranged to emanate so that I could devote careful consideration to the matter.
“Are you certain it’s a good idea for you to attend the festival?” Tara asked. “You might get mobbed. Remember what happened to Ailann when we went to Chalkolo.”
“It is a ceremonial event. I will have an honor guard.”
“I still don’t trust it. The problem is that there are too many new settlers on Dolparessa, and they’re diluting the culture. So many of them are celebrity-hounds. The days where I could fuck Jack in the courtyard during the Nau’gsh Festival are gone.” Her enormous eyes, staring into the distance, had a touch of wistfulness about them. “Nau’gshtide is so commercial now,” she said.
“You may have pinpointed two very definite problems. Our culture is becoming diluted and commercial. We should seek a remedy.”
“Or maybe we’re just getting old. You can’t fight things like that. Times change.”
“With age, we accumulate wisdom in our branches. I suppose that there is a survival advantage to youth in the animal kingdom, but no tree would prefer to be a sapling again.”
Tara sunk back into the couch, folding her arms behind her head. “That’s an interesting point. The value system of a species of virtual immortals is very different from a species on the clock. We should probably take planning more seriously.”
“I wonder if the Twist are having the same issues that we are. Wynne’s retinue receives the same benefit as Ailann’s, and the lifespan increase is even more dramatically noticeable.”
“Huh. Maybe, maybe not. Humans have visible signs that aging and infirmity are occurring. Particles decay all at once. But this isn’t helping with the Valentine Festival.”
“If the problem is a drift away from tradition, I shall research the matter. Perhaps I can add a few more authentic touches – get back to the real spirit of the celebration.”
*****
Depressingly, the research confirmed that the current spirit of the holiday was entirely correct. The more I searched, the more I found that a slight folk-tradition associated with performing predictive rituals about the identity of one’s future mate had evolved over time into a corporate-driven festival of guilt-inspired spending.
There was slight mention of sex. Most of the true lovers’ holidays were celebrated closer to spring, as would make sense for fertility rites. At the height of the Valentine Festival’s popularity, most of the exchanges were obligatory gifts between schoolchildren and co-workers.
A connection to the ancient Roman Festival of Lupercalia proved to be a false lead – which was a pity, as the idea of hitting each other on the buttocks with leather straps to promote fertility seemed rather stimulating. Cillian agreed with me. Then I discovered the connection between Lupercalia and the holiday known as Dyngus Day, and all fell into place.
The revelers sprayed water and hit each other with catkins. It was clearly a pollination rite.
The Nau’gsh Festival was an occasion where the trees provided sweet wine that induced humans to copulate. The Valentine Festival should be an occasion where humans returned the favor. To this effect, the traditional Valentine offerings – chocolate and greeting cards – were a pointlessly hollow gesture. No wonder the ritual seemed devoid of meaning.
I sought counsel. I found out from Jamey that there was little that could be done to physically increase pollen production through horticultural means. Soil and weather conditions were already optimal. Fertilization – including the ever-popular RootRiot – actually became detrimental after a certain point. If root and collateral branch growth were overstimulated, the tree would produce fewer flowers. However, he noted that anecdotally, the oral consumption of cercrotic acid by Cu’endhari emanations seemed to have a vitalizing effect.
The one physical factor which could be optimized was proper pruning. This vital part of any Cu’endhari’s hygiene was an art form – too much, and again, growth would be diverted into branching instead of fruiting. Too little, and sunlight could be blocked by the tree’s own canopy, or the branches would grow too vertically, which would lead to breakage if the fruit load became heavy. I realized it was not a bad idea to once again reiterate the message that Cu’endhari should engage the services of a professional, treating it as seriously as their human families treated the advice of a physician. I made a note that Sir Kaman, as Tree Surgeon General, should run another public service campaign.
Psychological aspects were my next consideration. With some hesitation, I approached Tarlach.
Pollination? he mused. There are two factors involved. The amount of pollen is influenced by the overall arousal of the tree. But the amount of pollen that results in fruiting is actually determined by the receptivity of the flowers on the emanated branch. Maybe you should ask Patrick about that. In fact, perhaps he could become the public face of inter-branch sexuality.
No, said Patrick.
But it’s perfectly healthy. Our saplings need to realize…
You’ve already written an article about it.
But that sort of dry scientific approach lacks popular appeal. If you were to go on my talk show, hearing the message from a respected figure would encourage our youth.
Why don’t we have a two-part show where I discuss inter-branch stimulation, and then Lord Danak presents the benefits of masturbation?
That’s an interesting idea, but Lord Danak is a bit stodgy. The message might better be received from, say, Sweet Blonde Suzanna.
I think Patrick was being sarcastic, I injected. Besides, this whole thing isn’t quite going in the direction I’d hoped. Public service messages are one thing, but I was looking for something a bit more symbolic. Romantic, perhaps, with mystical overtones. Think of the profundity of the Nau’gsh Festival. It’s sexualized without being either clinical or tacky.
Where did the Nau’gsh Festival originate? asked Patrick. Did the Cantor develop it?
It doesn’t seem her style, said Tarlach. But given the current situation, we can’t exactly ask her.
It probably came from Elma, said Patrick. One of her visions. That’s why the whole thing has such a mythic quality.
I suddenly realized that I had been going about it all wrong. I knew exactly what needed to be done.
*****
“You are our prophetess,” I said. “You should determine the new direction of the Valentine Festival.”
“Prophecy doesn’t work like that,” said Tara. “The visions are random – sometimes years in the future. I can’t direct them.”
“Then perhaps you’ve already had the vision.”
“That would be convenient,” she said, and then a look of consternation crossed her face. “Actually, I have. I just didn’t understand it.”
To say I was eager would be a gross understatement. I joined her upon the couch.
“But it’s a private thing,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you should leave the public festival as is. Let the tourists buy their chocolate hearts. This should be between the Cu’enashti and their Chosen.”
“A secret teaching,” I mused.
“The vision was of realizing the importance of something every horticulturalist does to encourage a particular specimen to develop seeds: hand-pollination. Basically, I would do the service of bird or bee for flowers I wanted to propagate. It was more sure than wind or waiting for an opportune animal, and I could be certain that exactly the plants I wanted…”
The world spun. Suddenly the floor was rushing towards me.
“Seth!” Tara grabbed me and pulled me backwards onto the couch before I completed my collapse. “Are you all right? Your face is as purple as your greatcoat.”
“Need air,” I said. “Room too hot.”
“You’re hyperventilating. Calm down.”
“I can’t hear you over the excited shouting.”
“Let me get you something to drink to steady your nerves. I’ll make you one of those things…what do you call them?”
“I didn’t call them anything. Driscoll made up the name – a Vlad’daiquiri. He liked the vampire angle. Just make sure to use two parts mooniberri juice to one part rum to half part licorice syrup.”
“Of course, pollination requires a branch already in bloom,” she mused, mixing my libation. “And the ready presence of active pollen. So the Chosen should have a private woodland celebration with the currently emanated branch involving a lot of nau’gsh wine. Once the branches release their pollen, the human partner transfers it from each unemanated branch to the flowers of the one present.”
The image arose unbeckoned of her long and nimble fingers caressing the most tender and secret parts of my blossoms. “I need oxygen. No, carbon dioxide. Maybe both.”
“This could be an entirely new kink,” she said. “Not bad for a woman of nearly sixty-one. I guess it’s never too early to start being a dirty old lady.”
Commentary by Her Eminence Tara del D’myn, Matriarch of Skarsia:
The sad thing was, of course, that as we were on Dolparessa that year, Seth, as a Goliath emanation, could not be the participating branch. I said nothing, deciding to wait and see what happened. Ash made his choice using equal parts wisdom and sheer perversity; on Valentine’s morning, I woke up with Evan.