Social Events: The Night-Blooming Cereus

 Social Events

THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS

Of all the women that stayed at Grandma Wiley's boarding house, the oldest by far was Miss Crouch. The other "girls" were in their twenties, and since they were still dating, they made an effort to be pleasant in both appearance and personality. But Miss Crouch wore her hair in a bun and maintained a serious expression. Sometimes when Billy and I were playing in the yard and she would appear at the door, we would whisper,

"Ol' Miss Crouch

Is a grouch."

But she really wasn't. She was just quiet, serious, and very religious - I believe that she attended the Nazarene church. She worked at the "silk mill" as did the other girls, but she always struck me as being more like a school teacher. I suppose it was by reason of seniority that she occupied the front upstairs bedroom, which was considered to be the best room in the house.

Grandma Wiley did not have a "green thumb", as did Nandy (Granddaddy Wiley), so she left the outdoors gardening to him, while she maintained a few houseplants. That is, she maintained them in the wintertime, keeping them sunning in the south-facing windows. In the warm weather she moved them to the front porch where, being out of sight, they were also out of mind, and she tended to neglect them. I don't know just how it happened, but Miss Crouch gradually took over the care of the porch plants, watering and feeding them with all the affection of a nurturing parent. The plants were mostly begonias, including one tuberous begonia, and cactus plants.

On weekday evenings we all (family and boarders) gathered at the oversized dining room table for supper, which was the only meal that we ate together. At these meals the talk was mostly about the dating experiences of the younger boarders and anecdotes about the work at the silk mill. Miss Crouch rarely entered into the conversation, Nandy was mostly silent, and I only spoke to ask for more food. But then, one day, Miss Crouch started talking about something called a "night-blooming cereus". At first I was no more interested in that whatever-it-was than in the girls' dating escapades or their problems at the silk mill. But since everyone eventually seemed to be fascinated with this mysterious marvel, I asked my mother what they were talking about, and was informed that it was nothing more than one of the porch cactus plants - one that only bloomed at night. "Nothing more", that is, to me, but to the rest of them, apparently, the incipient blossoms that Miss Crouch had observed on the plant heralded an event of some importance. I don't know whether it was just that her day-to-day updates on the progress of the budding cactus were welcomed as a new subject of conversation, or whether it was the incongruity of her enthusiasm, but that plant became a regular topic of conversation, not only in the boarding house, but also among the ladies in the neighborhood.

Finally, one day, Miss Crouch announced with appropriate fervor that she was certain that the cereus would open that night. Unfortunately, this was a weekday night, and the other boarders elected to forego witnessing the long-anticipated event in favor of getting the sleep that they needed for the next day's work. But Miss Crouch was not alone in her vigil that night - not by any means. My mother and grandmother were almost as eager as she was, and three or four neighbors wandered over in the early night hours, after they had washed the dishes and put the children to bed. But Betty and I didn't go to bed. My mother not only permitted us to stay up, but actively encouraged us to take an interest in the event. I didn't know exactly what to expect, but I reasoned that anything that was worth a reprieve from my usual eight o'clock bedtime must, at the least, border on the spectacular.

Nandy brought a couple of extra chairs onto the porch to accommodate the company, and then retired to bed. So, there they were, occupying the porch swing, the glider, and the chairs - that little group of ladies, conversing in lowered voices lest they wake one of the boarders or one of the neighbors, and waiting patiently for the opening of those two blossoms. I was not so patient. I could play, but it was growing dark, I didn't have anyone to play with, and I couldn't make any noise. By eight-thirty I was sleepy. The cereus had made a little progress, but it was painfully slow. I looked at the pictures in a story book, but I couldn't read it without straining my eyes, because the porch light was a weak bulb, dimmed further by a globe diffuser, and the light often appeared to flicker because of the moths that fluttered around it. I went into the house and read for a while, but when I came out, I made the mistake of letting the screen door bang, which, at night, was an unforgivable sin because of the sleeping boarders, and as a result I was forbidden to go back in. Fortunately, Grandma Wiley had prepared a large pitcher of iced tea, and someone had made cookies, so I entertained myself by eating and drinking until my mother suddenly terminated the fun with the statement, "I'm afraid you'll get sick".

By nine-thirty I could hardly keep my eyes open. My eyelids were already heavy, but the sporadic shadows cast by the moths beating at the light diffuser added a hypnotic effect that almost forced them to close; and I think I may have napped intermittently while sitting there on the porch steps trying to find something interesting in the hushed conversation that droned on. Now the blossoming had made definite progress, and the excitement began to grow as the ladies took turns peering into the depths of the blooms.

But it was nearly ten o'clock before the first of the blooms had fully opened. Now at last it became apparent why Miss Crouch had such a reverence for this plant. She had somewhere been taught that the flower had a religious significance. She looked into that blossom and saw in its component parts - the petals, the stamen, and the pistils - a symbolic nativity scene, with the manger, the shepherds, and all the rest. She pointed out all these details to each of the other ladies, and my mother tried to explain it to me; but when I looked at it, expecting to see something that actually looked like the baby Jesus in a manger, all I saw was a very long flower with pure white petals and a rather odd shaped yellow stamen. But I didn't want to appear stupid, and I was sleepy, so I nodded yes when my mother asked if I could see the symbolic figures; then went indoors and dragged myself up the stairs to bed, leaving the others to await the full opening of the second blossom.

Today, I only vaguely recall the actual appearance of that flower; but the scene on the porch that evening is a vividly recurring memory. Some time ago, when I happened to be leaving a night class at a local high school on a Friday evening, I found the parking lot filled with cars of students arriving for a prom. The electronically amplified sounds of the rock band penetrated the brick walls of the gymnasium. Curious, I walked over behind the latest arrivals, and stared into the gym when the doors opened to admit them. Inside, there were possibly a couple of hundred youths, many dancing - or at least moving in a more or less rhythmical manner. That I expected; but I was astonished that some of the students appeared to be conversing, which would seem to be an impossibility, in view of the painful decibel level of the music, blasting out through the door and almost exerting an acoustic pressure on my body. I was also impressed by the fact that they all appeared to be thoroughly enjoying what I would have thought to be sheer torture.

I walked to my car and drove away, thinking, "It is certainly a world of contrasts", as I reviewed that scene in the gymnasium in my mind's eye, with all the noise and motion and enthusiasm of the school kids, and then remembered the enthusiasm of those ladies on the dimly lit porch, waiting quietly but eagerly for the opening of the night-blooming cereus.

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