from his pocket, he cut the apple in half, the juice streaking the blade. He carved the apple into slices
and handed Vera and Sveti a crescent. Azov watched as the others tasted it, detecting the same
reaction as he’d had seconds before—unequivocal repulsion.
“This very well may have been the fruit that caused the exile of Adam and Eve. But then again,”
Valko said, stepping past the apple tree and stopping before a beautiful citrus tree, its leaves lush and
glossy. Between the leaves grew clusters of tiny, bright yellow fruit that looked like miniature
lemons. “If I were to trade paradise to taste a fruit, it would have to be this one.” He plucked one of
the clusters and offered it to his guests. Vera pinched a lemon free and held it under a neon light. It
was no bigger than the nail of her thumb, the peel supple and pliable to the touch. “No need to peel
it,” Valko said. Vera put one in her mouth.
Azov followed her example. As he bit into the fruit, sweetness filled his tongue, a rich taste that
seemed to be distantly related to citrus but had been overlaid with strawberry and cherry, and with
darker, more subtle tastes, such as fig and plum. He looked at the tree, wanting to pick a cluster of the
lemons.
“How were you able to get so many of the seeds to grow?” Sveti asked.
“I developed a solution of fertilizer and plant hormones in which I soaked the seeds until they
began to sprout. In the protection of the greenhouse, most of them thrived. I have kept a record of
every blossom on every tree and every fruit that has ripened.” Valko’s delight was apparent as he
gestured to his work. “When I close the door to this greenhouse, shutting myself inside with these
ancient forms of life, I can almost imagine what the world looked like before the Flood.”
Azov looked carefully at Raphael. His skin was pale and carved with wrinkles, his white hair had
been pulled back into a ponytail, and a fine white beard curled to his stomach. What Azov had
believed to be a greatcoat revealed itself, under the lights, to be a midnight blue gown that swept to
the ankles and made the old scientist look like a magician.
Azov wanted to simply move through the garden, examining the plants. “These new varieties are
even more strange and wonderful than I had imagined,” he said at last. “Have you lost any of the
seeds?”
“A few,” Valko said. “But not as many as I had initially anticipated. Now that I have the solar
energy panels, I have been very successful in growing nearly all of them, and have made enormous
progress with my various medicines.”
“Medicines for whom?” Vera asked, her voice trembling. Azov found her excitement charming—
he’d delighted in her intelligence and curiosity since she was a child.
“For my own consumption, mainly,” Valko replied.
“Is that wise?” Azov asked. Although he hadn’t mentioned it to Vera and Sveti, he had been
tempted to dabble in the medicinal arts but had ultimately resisted. The potential dangers of mixing
such medicines outweighed the possible benefits.
“Most are tinctures of ingredients that are perfectly safe when ingested in small quantities,” Valko
explained. “I have had only one case of serious toxicity, and that was because I ground the seeds of a
cluster of prehistoric grapes into a tea. I should have simply eaten the fruit, I suppose, but I wanted to
know if the seeds contained properties associated with longevity, concentrated amounts of undiluted
polyphenols that are found in diluted quantities in the seeds of modern fruits. It turned out that the
seeds were more powerful than I could have imagined. And, in fact, despite the fact that I got sick a
time or two, there were extreme benefits as well. I am an old man, and yet this garden has given me a
second youth. I feel and look younger and younger each year.”
Azov studied Raphael closely. At one hundred years old, his vitality was nothing short of
astonishing.
“Once I felt the effects of the seeds, I mixed them with the extract from the hemlock plant. It is an
extremely powerful concoction.”
“It’s a lethal concoction, Raphael,” Azov said.
“Not quiet lethal,” Valko replied. “With the right dosage, it is a classic example of the
pharmakon.”
“That’s Greek,” Sveti said, glancing at Vera to make sure she followed. “It refers to a substance
that is both a remedy and a poison at once.”
“Well put, my dear,” Valko said. “The seeds have the power to kill me, but the seeds also have the
power to prolong my life. This is the basis of homeopathy: At one dosage a substance may do great