Part 3

Some aisles were crowded while others barely had any life at all. Leah became speechless at the varieties and characteristics that were brand new to her.

A creeping kind of ivy had leaves that seemed to change shape every time she looked away. Under it, the plaque read “The God of Campfire Stories That Grow Darker the More You Tell Them.”

A giant pale cactus bloomed beneath a massive domed lamp that appeared to emit artificial moonlight. “The God of Empty Parking Lots at Night.”

A graceful, but somber-looking willow leaned directly toward a small patch of asphalt laid down behind it. “The God of Looking Out the Car Window Instead of Talking.”

As they walked through, Pliny greeted each one by name. He didn’t address them by the descriptions on their brass plates. He used much older and much gentler names as though he were speaking to old friends whose glory days had long since passed.

Deeper into the greenhouse, an enormous tree stood so massive that its branches disappeared and weaved through the rafters. Heavy hanging leaves sprouted from everywhere, and none of them looked the same. Some resembled the skeletons of half-finished model airplanes. One looked like a poorly knit scarf and next to that, a set of crochet hooks. A single roller skate hung low near a long bandolier of wood-carving knives.

“What is happening here?” Leah asked, completely enamoured at the sight of the tree.

Pliny rested a gentle hand against the bark. “This was one of our busiest. They all loved the beginning of a thing.”

Leah looked down at the plaque.

“The God of Half-Finished Hobbies.”

Pliny took a deep breath. “The problem was that they all confused beginning something with becoming something just from the sheer act of starting it. It used to happen so much.”

As they continued, hours passed. Leah completely stopped taking notes as she slowly came to the realization that there was no point. This entire place and everything in it refused classification. Leah was fascinated by the speed at which every fantastical and impossible thing became ordinary to her. She and Pliny finally reached the end of the greenhouse, and the doors opened to the sprawling valley outside. Immediately, Leah noticed another greenhouse nearby. It looked pristine, almost brand new. It shined blindingly in the filtered overcast light and didn’t appear to have any rust or cracks at all. Vines climbed the outside of the building, and Leah could swear she could see them growing longer as she looked at them.

“There are more greenhouses? What lives in that one?” Leah pointed.

The smile Pliny had been wearing throughout the entire tour disappeared. “Nothing. We don’t really go near that one.”

“Why?” Leah dropped her arm and began noticing the other greenhouses scattered around the valley.

“Well, it isn’t really finished yet. It has been going for some time, but it hasn’t quite decided what it is.” Pliny stared at the building while he talked like a man watching storm clouds gather over a home he loved.

“You seem afraid of it,” Leah observed.

“No. I am afraid for it.”

“What is it?” Leah looked back and forth between Pliny and the greenhouse.

“If I knew,” Pliny laid a comforting hand on Leah’s shoulder, “It would have a name. Come on, let me show you some of the other greenhouses first.”

Where the first greenhouse had aisles, this next one had paths. Leah reflected on this and thought that aisles implied someone had planned a way for someone else to walk. The paths in here felt like they only existed because something had passed through often enough. She didn’t know why, but she thought this distinction was important. Instead of more plants, this greenhouse held dozens, maybe hundreds, of brass cabinets. Pliny stopped in front of one and gestured to Leah to open it. Leah swung the double doors open to reveal numerous shelves containing thousands of index cards. She picked one at random and slid it free from the others. In a careful, handwritten script, the card read: “Nantosuelta,” and Leah slowly sounded out the word.