“What do you need?” He shrugged, and continued without waiting for an answer, “I have treatments for all of the common ailments: cold and flu, fevers and chills. I have an elixir for arthritis and another for aching backs. I have something for the pain one gets in her head from worrying too much, and the same thing can be used to treat menstrual cramps.” He was pointing, as he talked, at drawers in the immediate vicinity of the chair. Now he stood and began to move slowly down the long counter. “I have chamomile and valerian, if you are anxious or cannot rest. I have echinacea, gingko, milk thistle, Saint John’s wort, to treat everything from asthma to gout to problems of the liver. I have ginseng.” He paused. “You know what that’s for?” Karly shook her head. “Everything!” he said, laughing. “All of these ingredients have a variety of uses, and ginseng has the most!”
As he walked, Karly had followed slowly down the long counter, occasionally looking up at the apothecary, but mostly at the countertop, where she had been tracing the grain of the wood with her finger. She almost bumped into him when he stepped through the open flap of the bar gate, out into the room. She looked up, but he was now turning to point in various directions.
“I have potions, ointments, and elixirs for doctors, too. Treatments for colicky babies, and elderly digestion. I have cream for severe burns, powders to stop bleeding, and strong drinks to prepare a patient for surgery. These things make the world a better place, don’t you think?” Karly made noises of agreement into a non-existent pause. “But the usefulness of other things can be hard to see at times—at least to see them in their fullest extent.”
Karly was getting curious again, a fact which must have shown on her face. The apothecary continued, sounding somewhat like a carnival barker extolling the virtues of his marvelous wares.
“I have a drawer over there that has keys to various interesting things, and another that has only buttons. Somewhere in that corner is a cure for cancer, although I haven’t actually assembled it yet. There are drawers of summer sunshine, autumn leaves, and candied peel for winter’s baking. In this room are the tears of a parent, and alongside them is the first homerun of the season. The jars hold clean bandages, romantic connections, found socks, future generations of holiday gatherings, and empty space for the thoughts of our elders. Somewhere in this shop are unwritten novels, repaired cartwheels, rodeo rides, bridges to faraway shores, warm regards, the rise and fall of governments—each of them waiting to be placed in the hands of the right person.”
Although Karly was somewhat dazzled with the wonder of it all, she had a nagging question. She asked, “Can we go back to the happiness?”
“Ah. You are interested in that, are you? So, what do you think might be in that drawer?” The apothecary began moving back to his original position behind the counter, eventually to sit in his ancient, spindly chair with a slight squeak.
Karly thought it over. “I don’t know. Something that makes me happy, I guess…?”
“And what makes you happy, Karleen?”
“Warm things?” It was a questioning sort of answer. “I think happy, warm things.”
The apothecary turned and reached, removing the whole box, and set it on the counter in front of the girl. “Lucky you.” He said simply.
Before Karly even looked into the drawer, she could smell its contents. She perked up visibly. “That smells gooood!”
It was like opening a pie cupboard in late December, with the warm, spicy steam of mincemeat spilling out and caressing your face. The smell was that of a magical, foreign land, whose roads were paved with cardamom shells and cinnamon bark was used as writing paper. The smell was the texture and color of her grandfather’s tweed jacket, seen every Friday when he would take Grandma dancing at the speakeasy on 57th Street. It was like hot apple cider, served with rum cake.
Karly was somewhat disappointed when she looked at the actual contents of the box, which had three compartments of dry, brown, crumbly stuff.
“What is it?”
“Cinnamon, clove, and garam masala.” He was beginning to scoop a little of each into a small muslin bag.
“This is ‘happiness’?” She seemed skeptical.
“Is it not? You seemed to like the smell. Wait until you taste it.” He smiled, rising and walked a short distance down the bar. He lit a burner under a large water kettle and returned. He explained, “We make a pot of tea, and add a teaspoon of this mix to it. We will let it steep for a while, then add honey and cream. It’s known as ‘chai’.”
Jan 3 2025
Excerpt from “The Apothecary”
“What’s in that one?” Karly pointed at a greenish drawer with a yellow knob.
The apothecary turned in his seat to look. “Happiness.” He said simply.
“Really? You have a drawer of happiness?”
“Oh, I have many kinds of happiness here.” The apothecary gave a bouncy nod. “There are over a thousand drawers in this shop, most of which are divided into several additional boxes inside. Then there are the jars, pots, and crocks on the other wall. In the back room, there are bags and pallets containing ingredients for more things than even I can imagine. And I can imagine a great many things. Many of these are, indeed, some form of happiness.”
Karly now had her elbows on the counter, hands under her chin in rapt attention. “Like what?” she asked, “What else do you have in here?”
“What do you need?” He shrugged, and continued without waiting for an answer, “I have treatments for all of the common ailments: cold and flu, fevers and chills. I have an elixir for arthritis and another for aching backs. I have something for the pain one gets in her head from worrying too much, and the same thing can be used to treat menstrual cramps.” He was pointing, as he talked, at drawers in the immediate vicinity of the chair. Now he stood and began to move slowly down the long counter. “I have chamomile and valerian, if you are anxious or cannot rest. I have echinacea, gingko, milk thistle, Saint John’s wort, to treat everything from asthma to gout to problems of the liver. I have ginseng.” He paused. “You know what that’s for?” Karly shook her head. “Everything!” he said, laughing. “All of these ingredients have a variety of uses, and ginseng has the most!”
As he walked, Karly had followed slowly down the long counter, occasionally looking up at the apothecary, but mostly at the countertop, where she had been tracing the grain of the wood with her finger. She almost bumped into him when he stepped through the open flap of the bar gate, out into the room. She looked up, but he was now turning to point in various directions.
“I have potions, ointments, and elixirs for doctors, too. Treatments for colicky babies, and elderly digestion. I have cream for severe burns, powders to stop bleeding, and strong drinks to prepare a patient for surgery. These things make the world a better place, don’t you think?” Karly made noises of agreement into a non-existent pause. “But the usefulness of other things can be hard to see at times—at least to see them in their fullest extent.”
Karly was getting curious again, a fact which must have shown on her face. The apothecary continued, sounding somewhat like a carnival barker extolling the virtues of his marvelous wares.
“I have a drawer over there that has keys to various interesting things, and another that has only buttons. Somewhere in that corner is a cure for cancer, although I haven’t actually assembled it yet. There are drawers of summer sunshine, autumn leaves, and candied peel for winter’s baking. In this room are the tears of a parent, and alongside them is the first homerun of the season. The jars hold clean bandages, romantic connections, found socks, future generations of holiday gatherings, and empty space for the thoughts of our elders. Somewhere in this shop are unwritten novels, repaired cartwheels, rodeo rides, bridges to faraway shores, warm regards, the rise and fall of governments—each of them waiting to be placed in the hands of the right person.”
Although Karly was somewhat dazzled with the wonder of it all, she had a nagging question. She asked, “Can we go back to the happiness?”
“Ah. You are interested in that, are you? So, what do you think might be in that drawer?” The apothecary began moving back to his original position behind the counter, eventually to sit in his ancient, spindly chair with a slight squeak.
Karly thought it over. “I don’t know. Something that makes me happy, I guess…?”
“And what makes you happy, Karleen?”
“Warm things?” It was a questioning sort of answer. “I think happy, warm things.”
The apothecary turned and reached, removing the whole box, and set it on the counter in front of the girl. “Lucky you.” He said simply.
Before Karly even looked into the drawer, she could smell its contents. She perked up visibly. “That smells gooood!”
It was like opening a pie cupboard in late December, with the warm, spicy steam of mincemeat spilling out and caressing your face. The smell was that of a magical, foreign land, whose roads were paved with cardamom shells and cinnamon bark was used as writing paper. The smell was the texture and color of her grandfather’s tweed jacket, seen every Friday when he would take Grandma dancing at the speakeasy on 57th Street. It was like hot apple cider, served with rum cake.
Karly was somewhat disappointed when she looked at the actual contents of the box, which had three compartments of dry, brown, crumbly stuff.
“What is it?”
“Cinnamon, clove, and garam masala.” He was beginning to scoop a little of each into a small muslin bag.
“This is ‘happiness’?” She seemed skeptical.
“Is it not? You seemed to like the smell. Wait until you taste it.” He smiled, rising and walked a short distance down the bar. He lit a burner under a large water kettle and returned. He explained, “We make a pot of tea, and add a teaspoon of this mix to it. We will let it steep for a while, then add honey and cream. It’s known as ‘chai’.”
By Andy Brannan • Uncategorized 0