Patrick Holland, "Buying Cameras in the Botanical Gardens"
Patrick Holland
BUYING CAMERAS IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS
When we got there the gardens were closed. It was just getting dark, maybe
half past six, and we were almost alone in the car-lot. We walked to the gate
that opened into the Herb Gardens by the lake, but the sign read The Gardens
Are Now Closed - Open Mon-Fri 8am-5pm
"Damn," said Rosie eyeing me.
"I swear," I pleaded, "last time I was here I got in way later than this."
"How long ago was that?"
"I can't remember," I said.
"What a shame," said Rachelle.
Bruce was there too. He said nothing, only followed with the others when I said,
"Come on, there is a way in. Let's walk round the other side."
We walked across the open car lot with the fancy Stuartholme Girls School
hanging triangular and barn like above us on a small green mountain then
walked past the dome planetarium to a revolving iron gate that could
revolve people out of the garden while at the same time locking on metal
flaps to prevent people getting in. We took one look and knew there had to
be a way through.
"Let's buy cameras!" said Bruce suddenly, as though the gate's secret mechanics
had been revealed to him, "That way we can take pictures of all sorts of strange
things that happen."
Now?" I said.
"Tomorrow."
"Good idea."
We soon figured out how one person could lean in and lift the latches before
they caught while another went through and you could do it from inside too
and then we were all in.
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"W000eee!" Rosie hooted into the fragrant night.
I wanted to show Rachelle the conifers, and also the jungle plants.
"Oh, look!" she said, discovering a sign on the road on the edge of the fragrant
herbs, "The Japanese Garden is this way."
"1 know," I said. "We can walk through there if you like."
And so we did. We entered by a funny little oriental pagoda.
"There are usually a lot of big lizards in here," I said to her as we walked. "Just
o you won't be alarmed when you see them."
It was a little too dark to fully appreciate the subtle details of that Garden. We
continued on though like regular after-dark botanists, appreciating it in a kind
of imaginary way. Suddenly, betwixt the delicate shrubbery and tranquil pond
on the path before us, looking very un-Japanese, was dark and thorny "blue
tongue." Rachelle did not seem afraid. I would have thought she must be.
"C'mon," I said. "No need to disturb him. And we took an alternate route over
steppingstones by the waterfall and out of that garden. Out of the covering we
came into the place I love best, "The Bandstand." The Bandstand sat on the flat
bottom of a gently rising slope and coming from behind, as we did, you saw
first the apex of its triangular frame which was in fact a narrow doorway for an
imaginary group of musicians that have never played there. Long ago
someone dedicated The Bandstand to the people of this part of the city in a
ceremony worthy of a small copper plaque and that was probably the last
action even seen there. We walked alongside the maroon-sunburst brick walls,
up to the empty stage and onto that wide sloping rise of grass above it,
inhabited by eight or so park benches under exotic trees and the grass as soft as
grass can be. I pondered the green and tranquil scene under the coming stars
and waxing crescent moon. We were still in the west of the city, but somehow
apart from and beyond it. I imagined people on those benches and people way
up on the far ends of the hill, sitting in the grass, sitting in the trees, maybe one
thousand or so people, and the Rheostatics playing on the stand, Tielli's voice
soaring out across the minute jungles and forests and desert terrain of the
Garden, permeating all the strange dark. Bruce imagined some Gypsy band he
had seen play in Romania.
"We'd make sure to tell people not to bring valuables. Or an Eskimo band," he
wenton. "An Eskimo band playing whalebone flutes and drums made out of
the march of the seasons over the ice."
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Patrick Holland, "Buying Cameras in the Botanical Gardens"
We knew for sure we would have that show, that it was possible, but for now
the night was still and empty and pregnant only with possibility. I said to
Rachelle, "I'd like to take your photograph here."
"Alright." She smiled.
"Over there," I pointed to a bench under a big tree. The boys had left us alone
and were exploring the possibilities of the stage by themselves. She sat on the
bench and brought her knees up to her chest in her arms and rested her head
on her knees like she was asleep with her eyes open and looking at me. I
caught the lights of the highway, distant as she sat on the bench under a.
Mexican Tabebuia. It was a shame. Tomorrow we would definitely get those
cameras. Then she stood very close to me and I felt like she wanted me to touch
her. I would have put my hand on her fragile neck but it was not the time yet.
She wanted me to know she wanted me to touch her. That was all for now.
When we came back down the hill closer to the stage the boys were laughing.
Then we kept on.
We walked around the mountain plants and I thought about casting the line I
did not have for trout amidst those conifers.
Then it was dark.
"Let's not go to the jungle," I said. "It's too dark."
"Let's go home," said Rosie.
"I wonder if we can get into that hot-dome for tropical plants," I said as we
walked back over The Bandstand and across the first part of the gardens to the
gate, but it must have been too dark even for that because no one answered.
We saw a taciturn figure moving stealthily amongst the fragrant herbs ahead.
"Hey!" came the tall man's voice. "How'd you lot get in here?"
"What?" said Rosie with feigned surprise.
"It's eight o'clock!"
"Oh," I said. "We've been in here for hours."
"We cleared the garden at five!"
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"Yeah?"
"Well ... we were making out," I said, grabbing Rachelle by the arm.
"Really," he said. "And you didn't see the tractors come round?"
"Come to think of it," said Bruce, "we did see a tractor, didn't we." Looking at
me. "We were over in the and zone."
"Well what were you two doing?" he said, eyeing Bruce and Rosie.
"They were making out too," I said. "They're queer."
"God help us!" wailed the security guard - if that was what he was!
And with no further obstacles we passed through the revolving steel gate, out of
the garden and back toward the lot that was lit up with bulbous yellow lamps.
We walked.
"Is that a toilet down there or a bus stop," said Rosie with perfect innocence.
Not at all like a terrorist, genuinely wanting to know.
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