“You can call me Mr. Igneous. That's what everyone else does.” The man grinned and tipped his black, buckled hat in a greeting custom unique to this rural part of the world. “So you're interested in my family business, eh? Well let me introduce you to the rest of my fine folks.”
Mr. Igneous grabbed a bell off the wire mesh table on the porch of his farm house and gave it a good shake. The ringing carried far and wide. “My wife's not home today, so it's just the three of us here: myself and two of my daughters.”
Speaking of which, they came running in from the barren fields. Both of them were young. They looked like teenagers with the elder being no more than twenty. Both of them had pale, grayish skin with the older one being slightly darker then the other.
“You don't have to raise your eyebrows, Miss., they're not zombies or walking corpses. Well, no more than the rest of us are anyway.” Mr. Igneous stepped behind them and wrapped his arms around both in a family hug. “So what say you introduce yourselves to our fine visitor here?”
The elder sister stepped forward and curtsied. This looked odd, because she wasn't dressed like a girl. She was wearing long sleeved shirt, heavy overalls, thick black gloves, and thick black boots to match. Her pants had knee pads and she was covered from top to bottom in grime. “I'm Inky,” she said.
The younger sister stepped forward and did the same. “I'm Blinky,” she said. Both sisters had straight hair that was cut off at the shoulders in a bowl cut. It was notched in the front to keep the hair out of their eyes.
“Thanks girls. You can get back to the fields now. Let me chat with our guest and then we can do the tour while you're working.” Mr. Igneous shooed them off. Inky dutifully walked out, but Blinky hesitated.
“Um, if you don't mind my asking, what's your name?” she asked.
“Our guest is mute, dear,” Mr. Igneous cut in.
“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize.” Blinky awkwardly curtsied again. “I didn't mean to bring it up.”
Mr. Igneous waved his daughter off. “It's fine, dear. I'm sure she hears about it often.”
Blinky waved back and ran out in the barren field to join her sister. “Bye lady, see you later.” The grayness blended in with her stained clothes and she seemed to vanish amongst the boulders.
Mr. Igneous sighed. “Kids, you got to love them, right?” He wrinkled his nose. “No? You don't have to love them? Oh, you don't have any? Is that it? Huh, I'd have thought that a woman your age—oh sorry, that's rude of me. I guess things work differently in the city.”
Mr. Igneous looked up at the sky and out at his empty fields. “So enough about you. I don't know if you guessed it, but we named our daughters after the ghosts in Pac-Man. I have a third daughter too, be she wasn't cut out for life on the farm and moved into town a few years back.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down. It rocked under his weight. “Yes? You nodded? Did you have family move away too? No? You were the one who moved away? Ah, I see. Well don't let that bother you none. I love all my daughters. Just remember to write to your folks every once in a while. They'll appreciate it.”
He took a swig from the canteen at his waist and set it down on the table. “I'm sorry I'm not much of a host by myself. My wife usually handles the refreshments. You can have a swig from my canteen if you like. Heh. Didn't think so. But seriously, if you're thirsty I can pour you a fresh glass from the house.”
As appealing as a drink would be, this strange farm of his was beckoning. It didn't look like anything was growing out there. There wasn't any sign that anything ever had.
“What? You want to know about the fields? But I just sat down. Well–” he scratched at the back of his head “–I guess I've left you wondering what we grow here long enough. We're not like other farms. No siree.”
His fields looked so barren that they were completely devoid of life. They were muddy flats strewn with rocks and boulders. A mostly dead tree with only a few leaves left was the only organic thing out there.
“On this farm, we grow rocks.”
He sat back and grinned. He wanted to let that sink in before he responded.
“Oh yes, your eyes of wonderment and confusion are spot on. You might be wondering how that works. You might be wondering how we can make any money. You might be wondering if, perhaps, we're completely off our rockers.” He leaned back and cackled. “Well, I'm not going to tell you—Oh don't give me that look! It's easier to just show you than it is to explain it, that's all.”
Mr. Igneous stretched and leaned forward. His bones popped when he forced himself back upright. “I'm getting too old for this,” he muttered. He snatched a weathered cane from the masonry jar on the porch and used it help support his weight. There was also an umbrella in there. “Well, time for that tour.”
He led the way behind the house. “You might want to put on some boots. It's the wet season here so the fields are quite muddy.”
The boots he provided were big and black just like the ones his daughters wore. He actually had a fair selection including sizes that were too large for any of his present family to wear. They still looked used, though. Perhaps they belonged to hired help? He couldn't get that many visitors out here could he?
“Ah, yes–” he pointed at the barren wasteland that he claimed to call a 'farm' “–these here are our fields. You probably can't tell at a glance, but they're divided into quadrants. This section flooded recently, so we're sifting through the silt to find the best rocks to plant.” Mr. Igneous put his fingers to his lips and whistled. “Inky, care to demonstrate the selection process?”
What looked like a boulder suddenly sat up.
Mr. Igneous laughed. “Easy there, lady. You don't have to jump. I know field work's a bit dirty, but there's nothing unusual about her. She's just as human as they come.”
Inky wiped some of the mud off her face, but her skin remained just as gray as before. It appeared to be her natural complexion. “Sure, dad. Come over here. I've located a promising candidate.” She beckoned with her hands for them to follow. It was a good thing those boots were so tall, because the muck was at least ankle deep. It slurped and sucked at the feet. It was worth checking after every step to make sure that they hadn't been left behind.
Inky crouched back down onto her hands and knees and sank partially into the muck. She pointed at the rock with her nose. “This one,” she said, “is the best of this wash-up. He's got a vein of quartz and should be dazzling as a boulder. I'll take him to the planting field now.”
With that, she grabbed it with her teeth, and crawled off towards the next field leaving a wake of grime behind her. Blinky also crawled that direction, but she rolled her stone with her face.
Mr. Igneous grinned wildly. “We like to take a hands-off approach to farming,” he explained.
Inky dug a hole with her elbow, of all things, and spat the pebble in. After packing soil on the hole, she grabbed a watering can… with her teeth… and tilted her head to pour liquid on it. White smoke rose from the ground where the liquid made contact.
“That's our special recipe. I can't divulge family secrets, but I will say it's not water and leave it at that.” Mr. Igneous motioned over to the next field and left his daughters behind to finish their work. This part of the fields hadn't been flooded so it was only muddy and not mucky. There were more rocks in this one. They varied in size but aside from a few boulders they could all he held in one or two hands.
“Once the rocks have grown enough, we have to socialize them to get them used to people or they'll be wild and uncivilized.” This area of the fields had a building, but it wasn't an outhouse—it was full of books—children's books. There were also toys and a radio. He selected a little red fire truck and placed it on a larger granulite stone outside. He gave it a stern look.
“Try not to break this one, okay?” he said to the rock. It didn't respond. It looked like a plain, ordinary, rock. Mr. Igneous whispered so that rock couldn't hear. “Watch out for that one—he's a biter. He'd just as soon stub your toe as give you the time of day.”
It was… a rock… with a fire engine on it.
“Lastly, these are the rocks that have been tamed and are ready for sale. Any questions?” The last part of the field looked much like this part of the field but with more rocks and less toys. Er, rocks with toys.
They were… rocks. More rocks. They were all rocks. None of them moved. None of them did anything. Rocks! All rocks! This whole place was just a bunch of rocks with this strange man and his weird gray daughters. Plain. Ordinary. Rocks. Aaargh!
“Miss, you don't have to pull your hair out. We can skip the questions. Sorry I forgot about your speech impediment. Perhaps you'd like to buy one?” He half-smiled and winked.
All of these rocks were just like every other rock. The thought of buying one was—wait. The one with the fire engine on it—the mean, feral one…
“What? That one? Are you sure?” he asked. “Well, you don't have to nod so enthusiastically. Normally I wouldn't sell a rock that hasn't been socialized yet, but for you I'll make an exception. Just don't complain if you break a toe, okay?”
***
That had to be the weirdest place ever. His tour explained nothing…
Well, my friend, at least I got a memento to share with you.
***
Dear Vinyl Scratch,
I do not know where you found this address, but it did indeed 'rock' every bit as much as you said it would. In fact, it 'rocked' so much that I've included forty-five pounds of this 'rock' (postage due) for you to enjoy personally.
Sincerely,
Your nonplussed friend,
Octavia
