In Mandragora We Trust
You know what your problem is? My sister Stella asked me the other day. You’re a loser, she says. You never try. All you do is complain. And like that was rich coming from her. All she does is complain about me.
Anyway, she’s still banging on. She’s like, look at this place, and waving her hands around like some manic orchestra conductor. And she has this really shrill voice that gets all nasally when she’s angry –and she’s angry a lot, my sister. Mushrooms, Livvy, she shrills. You got mushrooms growing in your bathroom. You’re a slob. A disgrace. I’m sick of cleaning up after you, she tells me, like I’m this huge terrible burden she’s been lumbered with.
Well, no one’s making you, I shout back, don’t I? ‘Cuz I don’t have to take that, do I? No, I don’t. It’s my life, I yell ‘cuz she’s always judging me and I’m sick of it. I’ll screw up if I want to, I tell her. You can’t tell me what to do!
I’m crying at this point, which is just typical. I hate that I’m a crier, ‘cuz it makes Stella go all superior, acting like I’m just crying for attention or ‘cuz I’m a whiny baby. I mean, it’s not my fault. It’s like I got all the most pathetic traits at birth and none of the good ones. Not like Stella.
Sometimes I really hate Stella. My got-it-all-together sister. Goody-goody two-shoes, perfect first-born, straight-A Stella with her perfect hair and perfect teeth and perfect barbie-doll corporate drone wife. She don’t understand how hard it is to be me.
Anyway, what was I saying? Right, about the other day. Stella gives me this look, alright? Like I’m something nasty stuck to her shoe –not that anything nasty would dare stick to Stella’s shoes. Grow up Liv, she says, looking all serious and haughty. You’re thirty-two, not a teenager. Do something with your life.
I tell her to go to hell. She leaves. And then I’m alone, right? Stuck in my crappy flat with the mouldy floors and mushrooms growing up alongside the bath. I mean, you don’t have to worry, I cleaned up before you arrived so it’s not that bad now. But anyway. Mum and Dad pay the rent on this place ‘cuz I’m still looking for work. It’s not like I’m lazy, mind. People just have it in for me.
They can’t deal with my realness, see. I got self-respect, I’m not picking up after other people who can’t use a stupid bin. I don’t care what it says in my job contract. I know I was born for great things; it’s just that no one will give me a chance. I haven’t found my niche yet, you see. That thing that I’m super good at that no one else can do. Circumstances are against me. The whole world wants too much from me while I’m still trying to find myself. No one can see that I’m special. Different. Sensitive and stuff.
It’s like all them suffering artists from the past, yeah? Did anyone tell Van Gogh, Oi mate, you can’t go ‘round cutting off your ears like that, you got to sign on. No, they didn’t. They just let him get on painting his sunflowers and self-mutilating ‘cuz they recognised he was special, didn’t they? Old Van Gogh even had a brother who took care of him, not like me and Stella.
But you know, Van Gogh had to deal with idiots who didn’t understand him too. He was painting his Starry Night and people were like whose that ginger weirdo with the one ear? We should lock him up.
That’s life though, ain’t it?
Special, sensitive, tortured people suffer. They get no appreciation until they die and then everyone is like, wow, look at them Sunflowers, that’s genius. Let’s write sad, hippy songs about how no one appreciates artists ‘til they’re dead. It’s like, a cosmic rule or something.
And like I know I’m one of them tortured artist people. I got to be right? ‘Cuz I’m living in a crappy housing estate full of winos and druggies. And that weird pale guy on the top floor with the widow’s peak who’s probably a serial killer ‘cuz he only goes out at night.
But like, I’ve been working on a novel right? About a girl who fights against the whole stupid world that only sees her loser outer shell. ‘Cuz the world’s shallow and judgy and wouldn’t know greatness if it slapped ‘em silly with a giant sturgeon, would it? No, it wouldn’t.
It’s gonna be a best-seller, my book. I mean, I’ve only written, like, four thousand words in four years, but you can’t rush the creative process. Genius takes time to sprout.
Anyway, I started a Kickstarter to drum up funds but people were all like, well what’s the outline? What’s the plot about? When’s it gonna be done? What’s the genre? And I’m like, don’t distract me with all these questions. My book’s not like other books. It don’t need things like plot or character or whatever. I’ve got tortured genius, don’t I?
So yeah, I read about Mandragora online, that’s how I found about your offer. I was doing one of those “what sort of vegetable are you” quizzes. I’m an aubergine, by the way. Did you know the aubergine is part of the nightshade family? Yeah, like related to deadly nightshade? I thought that was pretty cool. Anyway, I saw your ad saying you were looking for people who wanted to cultivate a new version of themselves, and I was like, that’s me, that is. I’m all about cultivating myself.
By the way, just got to say, your hair is awesome. It’s all bright green and springy like moss. What brand of dye is that? ‘Cuz my friend Oona –well, Beth actually, but she’s been Oona since she went Goth at, like twenty-three–Anyway, she tried to dye her hair green and it came out like a cat wee’d on some straw or something.
But your hair’s nothing like that. It’s awesome. I mean that green lipstick is awesome too. What’s the shade?
It’s natural?
Is that some kind of genetic condition? Err, you don’t have to answer that if it’s personal or anything. Forget I asked.
Mandragora did that? Um, is that supposed to happen, ‘cuz the ad didn’t mention any side-effects.
No way! That’s what you used to look like? Seriously? This picture isn’t photoshopped or nothing? Oh my god. That’s amazing. You look completely different. Way thinner and your skin is, like, flawless now.
I will definitely take green hair and weird lips if it means I get to look like you. Err, you know what I mean right? I’m not trying to come on to you or anything.
Wow, your eyes are so shiny. It’s like they suck in all the light, but they’re so dark and mysterious too. Is that a mandragora thing as well? ‘Cuz in your picture your eyes are blue.
Yeah, I’ve got a credit card. I mean I’m kinda paying off the overdraft, but like, you have an instalment plan, right? You don’t? Oh wow. Err, I’m really sorry but I’m not sure I can pay…free trial? Are you serious? Wow, that’s wonderful.
I’m really glad you think I’m a good candidate for cultivation. It makes me feel better about your company that you care so much about your clients. Y’know, you got to be careful about these internet ads, ‘cuz a lot of them are scams. Not that I’m implying anything about Mandragora, but like, it’s too good to be true, isn’t it?
A glass of water, uh, okay. That’s like your third glass since you got here. Are you sure I can’t get you a coffee? Just water. Okay. I guess hydration is good for the skin and that, right?
I got to ask, your fingers? They’re kind of green. I mean not just the nails, which are like, lethal long, but your skin is like, cauliflower pale, you know? So white it’s sort of greenish? Sorry. That was super rude. I shouldn’t have said anything.
Oh, that’s mandragora as well?
Is there a pamphlet or something that explains all the side-effects? ‘Cuz I don’t know, I might be allergic to going green. I’m allergic to gluten, you know? And strawberries. And cheap silver jewellery. I had silver earrings once and my ear got infected and it was like –Boom –puss and blood everywhere.
Mandragora uses my blood? That’s, um, are you sure this is legal?
Oh, I see. I guess that makes sense. So I just plant this seed thingy in this sack and what, bleed on the soil? ‘Cuz I got to tell you that sack looks like a body bag. Oh, I have to lie in the sack. And what? Put dirt all over me? Isn’t that a bit weird?
Yes, I have heard of mudbaths, but isn’t the mud usually wet and like, don’t you have to sit in a spa bath and put cucumber on your eyeballs?
Okay, no cucumber. No other vegetation. No contaminants. Got it. You know, you were a bit intense then. You might want to chill a bit, ‘cuz it was a bit off-putting. Just saying, for future customers.
Oh, I know, I know. Sales is awful. There was this one time I was working at a call centre, right? Worst forty-five minutes of my life. I walked out. Had too. Those places are like a living death. Soul-destroying, you know?
Well, I guess when you put it that way, sleeping in a sack of dirt with a giant seed thingy on my chest isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done. And like dirt is good for you, right? Therapeutic and all that?
A pint? I have to pour a pint of blood into the dirt? That’s like, a lot, isn’t it? I mean won’t I get anaemic or something?
Well, yeah I guess that’s alright if it’s the same as giving blood. I mean, you are trained to draw blood, aren’t you? ‘Cuz, I don’t want you missing the vein so I end up haemorrhaging under my skin or something.
Wow, you just carry around needles and blood bags? You must be real confident you’ll make a sale.
The questionnaire? I mean, I remember filling it out and it was super long, like those personality profile quizzes. Wait, so you only do home visits of people pre-approved for cultivation? The questionnaire is that good at weeding out bad clients? Huh, I think this is the first time I’ve ever been pre-approved for anything.
You know what, go ahead. Stick that needle in me. I’ve got a good feeling about this.
Talk to the seed?
What like Prince Charles talks to plants? That actually works? And like, what is this cultivation process anyway? What sort of changes should I see after doing this? How often do I repeat the treatment?
I have to say, I don’t think I want to do the whole bleeding into a bag thing all that often.
Look, I get that the “Whole New You” thing is, like, Mandragoras catchphrase or whatever– but what does it mean, like really? When will I start losing weight? Will my hair change colour gradually or all at once? These are kind of important details and you haven’t told me anything.
Overnight? Seriously? I’ll be like you in less than twenty-four hours?
Is there like a money-back guarantee if it doesn’t work? ‘Cuz I’ve done fad diets and bought like, fat buster products before and they never work as advertised.
Eww, I have to sleep naked in the bloody dirt? Isn’t that like really unhygienic?
Okay, I mean I guess. If the seed needs to be against my heart, but like, there’s still my skin and my ribcage and lungs and stuff in-between? So I don’t see why a nighty is really going to matter that much—
Well, yeah. Of course, I want to blossom as a life-form. Although, just saying, that is a weird way of putting it.
Okay, I mean, this is like a free trial and you’ve already taken my blood, so what the hell? I’ll do it. I should tell you though, I’m still a bit sceptical about all this. I’m not like those gullible people who will jump on any fad or quick-fix. I’m discerning. That’s always been my problem.
Wow, would you look at that? This seed-thingy is super creepy. It looks like it’s got a face. A scary, screamy face.
Do I really have to put this on my chest, seriously?
Alright, so do you have a number or email I can reach you on if this doesn’t work?
Well, aren’t you confident? Maybe your other clients had no complaints but as I said, I’m not like other people. I want a number for your complaints department, or you can take your creepy screaming seed back and leave.
Thank you. Yes, I will do as instructed. I’ll lay out the dirt and pour in the blood soon as you leave. What no, I’m not going to go to sleep immediately. It’s four in the afternoon.
Germination happens when the blood is still warm?
Fine, alright. I’ll do it. But seriously, you need to work on your sales pitch because you are kind of pushy with your weird void-stare and monotone delivery.
Yeah, whatever you say. I’m sure I’ll enjoy my blooming too. What? You’ll be back for the harvest? What harvest? Holy crap. Why is the seed screaming?
Wait, come back—
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If you liked In Mandragora We Trust and would like to read more of my work my short story collection The Innocent Have Nothing to Fear is available from Amazon.
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