Drowning Roses
“What do you do for a living?”
“I drown roses.”
“You …?”
“I drown roses,” he said, “especially miniatures and climbers. Deep reds and deep pinks are also a specialty of mine.”
She was perplexed and fidgeted in the airline seat as she struggled to understand. “I must be missing the lingo. I’m not very ‘hip’ these days. I mean, my point of reference for pop music ends at Fleetwood Mac. So. Drowning roses. Interesting. You work at a florist’s shop or something like that?”
“Of course not. I break into flower shops, after hours naturally, and drown their roses. Kill them, effectively. It pays very well. And it’s terribly gratifying. ” He smiled. “Also I have a good health and dental plan for the first time in my life.”
“Drowning roses?”
“Yes. As many as I can get my hands on, as per my contract. The only good rose is a dead, waterlogged rose, or so my employers would have me believe. And given what they pay me, I’m a convert.”
“Why … who … I don’t …,” She fumbled and clawed at the wrapping on a bag of airline peanuts. Dry-roasted. She recalled reading in Consumer Reports that freeze-dried peanuts were healthier than the oily alternatives. ”I apologize, I really don’t get what you’re saying. I mean, I’ve heard of some bizarre occupations but .. drowning roses? You break into flower shops and kill their roses. Professionally.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is it some weird flower shop Mafia thing?”
He picked up the official airline magazine from the seatback holder. “I’ve probably already said more than I should.”
She wrinkled her nose and chewed a mouthful of peanuts thoughtfully. “Strange. Drowning roses. It almost sounds artistic.”
“I like to think of it as an art.”
He sipped his scotch and soda and stared at her with cold eyes. Blue. As blue as she had ever seen.
“You think drowning roses is strange?” he said in a low whsiper. ”You oughtta hear what I used to do for a living.”
This is like how one might wish to conduct conversations with seatmates on flights.
“Oh, I could crush a rose!” G
Thanks for stopping by! Not often one meets such a prolific sixty-year old blogger. I’m impressed.
That was much fun! That’s the sort of story I could ponder for most of the day. Not directly, but more in a 5 hours from now I might say to myself, “But WHY does he drown roses?” and go back to pondering it again.
There are strange occupations — and strange preoccupations — that people have around the world that we know nothing about, Julie. The piece as written simply underscores The Bard’s observation in Hamlet that “there are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in (our) philosophies” or daily lives.
Rodger, (had to go backwards to see all a few pages) speaking of strange occupations/preoccupations were you able to understand Pynchon’s “Vineland”—?
To me it was like trying to get through…dunno.
I stopped reading but maybe should try again?
“Vineland” can be headache-inducing, Val.
I can’t believe I missed this.
It’s a truly fascinating tale.
Thank you, Zel.