View source for Mnemosyne's Honey Vignette

''story by Sirocco''

I took the package with shaking hands - shaking more than normal. I finished signing off on the delivery, wished a nice day... evening, I mean. Was it evening already? ...a nice evening on the young man who'd brought it. He smiled and left, and I carefully closed the door. This deserved some care. Martha was sleeping already, bless her. That would make this easier. I took it into the kitchen, and laid it on the table.

I stared at it, then, stared for a long minute as I thought about what I was about to do. Then I went to fetch the herbs.

The busywork was over too soon. Time to do what had to be done. I opened the cardboard box, and pulled the small glass jar out from inside - the small glass jar filled with a liquid like dark honey. Even had a picture of a bee on the label. No turning back now. I opened the lid and spoke to it. They said that talking to it helped.

"Listen, I need help. They say that you can help with memory. I..." my voice cracked. I hoped it would be enough. I picked up the long, uncut sprigs of parsely, sage, rosemary and thyme off of the table and pushed them into the stuff, and then I sang.

''Are you going to Scarborough Fair?''

''Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme.''

My voice is old now, and weaker than once it was, but, it will be enough.

''Remember me to one who lives there.''

''For she once was a true love of mine."''

Memory, that's the first mark. I let it take me away into the song.

''Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Without any seam nor needlework,''

''And then she'll be a true love of mine.''

I could have gotten a tape player for this, but it wouldn't have been right. This has to be right. Has to *make* it right.

''Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Which never sprung water nor rain ever fell,''

''And then she'll be a true love of mine.''

It hurts to sing. I remember too many things. I remember how she used to look at me, up on the stage.

''Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Which never bore blossom since Adam was born,''

''And then she'll be a true love of mine.''

I remember the lights and heat of the lamps, and the roar of the crowds, and her face outshining them all. I remember how she'd sing my songs back to me, note-perfect, just from hearing them once.

''Ask her to do me this courtesy,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''And ask for a like favour from me,''

''And then she'll be a true love of mine.''

I remember it all... and she doesn't remember any of it.

''Have you been to Scarborough Fair?''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Remember me from one who lives there,''

''For he once was a true love of mine.''

My voice almost fails me as I reach the solo that should have been a duet, but I keep going. Fresh tears spring from my eyes, and I let them fall into the jar. They say it likes symbols.

''Ask him to find me an acre of land,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Between the salt water and the sea-sand,''

''For then he'll be a true love of mine.''

...and now I have to sing her part for her, because she can't sing for herself. I've been doing a lot of that, lately. I do it because I have to.

''Ask him to plough it with a lamb's horn,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''And sow it all over with one peppercorn,''

''For then he'll be a true love of mine.''

I've done impossible things - mad things. Just here in front of me, I have enough of the "demon goo" to get me shot - but love asks for impossible things, sometimes.

''Ask him to reap it with a sickle of leather,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''And gather it up with a rope made of heather,''

''For then he'll be a true love of mine.''

Just getting in touch in the first place wasn't the hard part. I just walked into the local gaming store and asked. That wasn't the hard part.

''When he has done and finished his work,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Ask him to come for his cambric shirt,''

''For then he'll be a true love of mine.''

The hard part was going through with it. The hard part was standing up, however hidden, and saying that I was willing to break the law and pay the price for it if I was caught. I've never... except now I have.

''If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''Oh, Let me know that at least you will try,''

''Or you'll never be a true love of mine.''


''Love imposes impossible tasks,''

''Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,''

''But none more than any heart would ask,''

''I must know you're a true love of mine.''

Love asks the impossible, and love does its best to answer. The song ends, just one old man's reedy voice, and then I start it up again. They say that it needs the song to do right. I'll keep singing until dawn, if I have to. I don't really know what will happen to her. I don't know what she'll think about it - about *me*, but I have to. The Alzheimers has taken my baby away, and I need her back. Please bring her back.

...then She'll be a true love of mine... 

[[Category:Fiction]]