Robert could not tell from where this headache came from. Was it a lack of caffeine? Was it a lack of alcohol? Or was it the cloying smells that permeated the aisles of neatly stacked, but otherwise maddeningly disorganized packages of spices and ingredients. The artist felt he had spent the remainder of his morning scanning through the boxes and baggies. List in hand, he could not find a single item he required.
“May I help you, sir?” said the older woman working the ancient cash register.
There were three other highly recommended herbalist stores when he searched online and this one was both the last on his list and the closest to his home. So far he had only found a few of the recommended ingredients and a lot of queer looks. Each previous shop had started much the same: Fruitless searching, an offer of assistance, a look of weird concern after reading the list, and barely any help afterward. Robert made to search more, but it was more for show. His headache and frustration made it increasingly difficult to read the infuriatingly small printed labels on each of the containers. It wasn’t until the lady walked towards him did he futilely relent.
“I am looking for these ingredients, and so far all the other stores have not been helpful,” Doddson replied.
He handed the lady the list who scanned through the lines with her trifocal lenses. She turned the pages over and over several times before looking up at the artist. Yep, he thought, that look. A mixture of questioning and apprehension.
“Let me guess, you can’t help me.”
“I can’t help you because we don’t carry half of these items anymore. Haven’t carried them since the 80’s. Granted ain’t none of these really against the law, just that not a lot of people need to get LSD and other hallucinogens out of their systems.”
The tumblers in the artist’s head fell into place. It would make sense that the notes would have been handwritten if they had been that old. Professor Eldwyn must have been much cooler in his younger days than he was now in his tenure.
“So how do I go about getting the missing items?”
“Well you would have to place an order, but to do so would probably cause an FBI inquiry due to suspicious drug-related activity…”
The older lady let the sentence hang for a moment. Robert spurred her on.
“There are other places in the city that you might find. Old apothecaries and such, but they will not be easy to locate.”
“I have only one more day to gather these together.”
“Well there are a lot of places that would take you months of seeking invites, but you may try the Night Market.”
“The Night Market?”
“It is a difficult, but not entirely hidden underground mall that has very eclectic items and shops. If you have such short notice, I suggest you try there. To get there, you have to take the J Line from Fulton towards Bowery and Marcy at exactly midnight. As a first-timer, don’t go past Bowery or any stop before Fulton as you will surely miss it. The train will not be on the schedule, but it’ll be there. It will not stop either, but rather slow down to a crawl with its doors open. If you miss it, then you’ll have to make do with the handfull of herbs and remedies I can set you up with here.”
The older lady went down the lines and carefully picked out quite a few packages. Each one she carefully checked against Frans’s list twice before handing them to Robert. Every now and then she would grab one and check again, before putting the item back. Once, Doddson’s arms were quite laden, she indicated that they were finished.
“Must have been asking kids to help you at these other stores,” She said as she rung up the haul. “Ain’t no reason why they couldn’t find at least half of these on your list.”
“So this night market…” He began, helping her to double-bag his purchases. “Do I need some sort of special password or handshake or something?”
The older lady looked at him briefly, as if expecting a joke or jibe.
“Bring cash. There’s an ATM down there, but it’s very shady and I don’t recommend you using it. Other than that its fifty bucks for admittance.”
Robert thought about this the entire way back to his apartment. While he had most of the ingredients from the list, he did not have the key ingredients for most of the recipes that were prescribed. Robert wondered whether or not the half concocted mixtures would be potent, but he did not know if they would be effective or not. Once again he checked the time. It was barely lunchtime now, and he had already exhausted all the recommended herbalist stores in the greater New York City. If he got some or all of the remaining ingredients, he would have at least one full…whatever you want to call it to try tomorrow before grinding his last effort onto canvas. Robert set an alarm on his cellphone and reclined on his couch. Maybe a nap is in order, he thought, before venturing out so late at night.
Chapter 6: Effortlessly Spoken
James C Gilliam 