An Early Look at Basil and Time
Basil and Time is a contemporary story that has been on my mind for a while. It won’t be my main focus until after Weep: Man of Famine. Here is a bit of flash fiction to give you a flavour of that story.
Cliona ran her hand across the kitchen counter, feeling the shadow of time hiding in the grooves and notches, old scars from nourishing four generations. It was here Evelyn conducted her magic; consoled failures, softened broken hearts and remembered lost ones through effigies of their favourite foods. Hers was an odd art, to be shared, consumed and destroyed. The emulsifier that held her family of oil and water together. I don't know what her last meal here was, only that she spent it alone.
Did we ever cook for her? This realisation sent Cliona to the pantry to make a useless gesture. When preparing Evelyn for the care home, her children ransacked her valuables. Keepsakes they called it, removing temptation from other burglars. None of them bothered with the pantry, so Cliona found shelves full of rotting food and spices; cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg – these foundations of empires had spoiled in Evelyn's absence. An entire shelf was dedicated to cookbooks and journals. The discovery of cookbooks for Evelyn was like finding a coven she never knew she belonged to. In them she experienced cultures of the world and travelled in time through food. Pulling one free raised dust like a cat's hackles.
Even before her illness, Evelyn used words like she was salting to taste: sparingly and with the knowledge of how little it takes to ruin a dish. Yet, as Cliona turned the pages, she found Evelyn's voice preserved in ink. Not just recipes, but dated journal entries too. The line of books read like the rings of a tree. Each page full of memories, every book a year. The distillation of a life she thought was lost.
Cliona pulled notebooks off the shelf, a fistful at a time, her excitement only stopped when she unearthed a peeling leather wallet behind them, engorged with money. She felt like a trapped grave robber in the triumphant dream of a temple builder. This paper had more of an impact on her than the diaries. Unspent hours of Evelyn's life like empty pages in a journal.
This is not a gift, or a test. Guilt brewed while she allowed her mind wander. Background anxieties relaxed at the thought of spending it. Granny just forgot, another symptom of her illness. Reasoning with her conscience was a fight she would lose, especially if she won.
Nobody knows about it, or it wouldn't be here. If I tell the family, it'll just go towards care home bills. A crumb on the bib of investors that fed off the accumulation of her life.
Cliona left the pantry burdened with journals, a wallet and shame.