Caruso and Webber walked to the end of the promenade. Where Jamala ended and the forest began, a thin line of white mushrooms stretched into the distance on either side. While it appeared as a straight line, the Zone 1 shroomline was the largest of all the concentric shroom circles, wrapping around the entire mushroom forest and all the Zones within. Due to its size, Caruso had never circumnavigated the entire Zone 1 shroomline—he’d heard it would take two weeks on a good horse to make the journey.
A couple of tourists wearing the flat hats common in Pali, winced as they crossed the shroomline from Zone 1 into Jamala.
‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ the woman said.
‘Not on the promenade!’ the man insisted. Despite looking a bit green himself, he managed to rush her off somewhere.
Webber turned to Caruso, ‘You don’t gotta worry ‘bout my sporesickness. I don’t feel anything when leaving Zone 1 anymore, and as for Zone 2, I can finally leave without shitting myself!’
‘That’s good.’ Caruso wondered if he should be saying anything else. It was always difficult to navigate these social situations.
They stepped over the shroomline into Zone 1, entering a large busy clearing. Looks like I’m really doing this, Caruso thought, mourning the easy comfort of his room. Webber didn’t share his trepidation, he seemed excited as he cut across the clearing towards the stables. Probably thinks I make good company.
In the fading light of the day, the Zone 1 clearing was a hive of activity. Groups of gatherers prepared for their evening expedition, while others returned from the surrounding forest, laden with full baskets of shrooms. A couple of Foresters were loading sacks and boxes into the carriage. At the clearing’s edge, panellers stuffed frames with forest mulch before sprinkling the would-be panels with shroom spores. Completed panels, set thick with white mycelium roots, were stacked ready to be sent out to building sites.
An oppressive waft of horse stink was waiting for Caruso inside the stables. Dozens of stalls lined the building, each backing onto a knobbly mushroom wall from which bluestems and breadshrooms grew for the horses to eat. Bozi’s stalls contained a couple of grey mares, all ready to go. Caruso led them outside where Webber was busy chatting with a stableboy. Caruso was weirdly curious about what they were talking about. He always wondered how some people could just strike up random conversations so effortlessly. He’d never figured out the strategy to it.
While Webber mounted his mare in one smooth motion, Caruso took a couple of attempts. He was taller than Webber, but he lacked the strength and coordination to do it without embarrassing himself. Thankfully, Webber didn’t comment.
They set out onto the main Zone 1 path that cut west through the swathes of pine and elm and the thick patches of orangegills that had been trampled by gatherers. A wooden sign indicated their path would take them to Zone 2 in a couple of hours.
The sounds of Jamala and the busy clearing were soon swallowed by the song of the forest. Caruso relaxed slightly, letting the buzzing of cicadas mingle with the cascading rustle of leaves up in the canopy. It was easy to forget the feeling the forest evoked.
It felt right. It had always felt right.
That feeling was short lived as Webber sidled his mare up beside Caruso’s on the forest path to commence the talking. ‘You ride much?’
‘Not recently,’ Caruso said. ‘As a kid I used to.’
‘Ah right, you’re from Bob, aren’t ya?’
Caruso nodded.
‘What do your folks do then?’ Webber asked.
My parents own a brothel. ‘They are, uh…candle-makers. They own a candle shop.’
‘Oh nice. So why’d you leave Bob then?’
Because my parents own a brothel. ‘I guess I wanted to live closer to the forest.’
‘But isn’t there forestlands near Bob?’
‘There is. But I’ve always been drawn the mushroom forest.’
‘Makes sense, nice out here ain’t it?’
Caruso breathed in the smell of dropped pine needles and the citrusy scent of trampled orangegills. It was a smell that simply made sense.
‘So,’ Webber continued. ‘You didn’t want to work in your parents shop?’
‘I did for a bit,’ Caruso said truthfully. ‘They had me on as their accountant.’
‘Accountant? That’s pretty fancy!’
‘I wouldn’t say fancy.’
‘But dealing with all those numbers and shit must be tough, right?’
‘It can be...But there are clear and simple rules which make it easy. No difficult decisions to make. I never had to deal with any of the customers or think about what they were doing in the other rooms.’
‘Huh?’
Caruso tensed. Hopefully Webber hadn’t been listening too intently. ‘I mean, yeah. It wasn’t too bad.’
‘Right…So why not become an accountant in Jamala then?’
‘Like I said, I was always drawn to the forest.’
‘What do you mean exactly? Drawn to the forest?’
‘I don’t know,’ Caruso had never really questioned it much himself. ‘I guess I’ve always felt this urge to come here to spend my time with the trees and the mushrooms. I can’t really explain it.’
Webber nodded at a group of passing gatherers returning down the well-trodden path. Does he know them? Or does he just nod at everyone? Birds flitted through the canopy above, pecking at the pinkcaps studding the branches. The gentle calls of nesting thrushes and goldfinches filled the gap in conversation before Webber continued his onslaught.
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‘So how’d you get to know so much about mushrooms and that? Bozi tells me you really know your shit.’
‘I just studied a lot. Being a gatherer was the only viable job in the forest. I knew I had to be one. So I read every book and scroll about the shroom circles in the library. That way, I knew someone like Bozi would have no choice but to hire me.’
Webber laughed. Panic flashed through Caruso. But it was clear Webber wasn’t laughing at his expense.
‘You’ve an interesting way of doing things,’ Webber said. ‘Never heard of anyone so determined to pick shrooms before. Normally folk just do it for a bit of spare cash.’
‘Is that why you’re doing it?’
Webber shrugged. ‘Why else?’
‘You mean, you don’t find them fascinating?’ Caruso asked.
‘What? The shrooms? They’re just shrooms.’
‘That’s like saying trees are just trees.’
‘Well…Aren’t they?’
Caruso knew others didn’t share his enthusiasm for the mushroom forest. But he never fully understood it. It was like someone claiming they didn’t enjoy poppyshrooms, or a hot bath. ‘So when you’re out here, surrounded by mushrooms and the trees…you don’t feel any different? You don’t feel anything, I dunno, special?’
Webber squinted his eyes, as if trying to feel something. A soft breeze soughed through the trees. An overhead branch creaked and one of the mare’s whinnied. Webber shrugged. ‘Feels pretty normal to me. What’s so special ‘bout it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I don’t know how to put it into the right words.’
‘Try. Give it a go.’
Caruso knew there was no way he could capture it in words. Any attempt would just sound stupid. But it felt like Webber was actually interested in hearing what Caruso had to say. That, or he was good at pretending. Either way, Caruso had always wanted to share this part of him with someone else. He took a pause to figure out how best to convey the feeling.
‘Have you ever been to the Jamalan zoo?’ Caruso asked.
‘Couple of times.’
‘I like to go and feed the animals, especially the elephants. When I’m around them, I feel like there’s more to them compared with the other animals. There’s intelligence behind their eyes. A presence. Something that recognises me. Something that is communicating with me. I get a similar feeling in the mushroom forest.’
‘Sounds creepy.’
‘It’s not creepy. If anything it’s welcoming, like it wants me there.’
Their mares were forced into single file as they crossed a little wooden bridge over a stream. Webber crossed first and waited for Caruso on the other side. During the brief silence, Caruso realised with horror that he’d been talking far too much about himself and his feelings. Even if Webber seemed interested, that certainly wouldn’t last much longer. As soon as his mare crossed the bridge Caruso quickly shoved the conversation back onto Webber.
‘So why are you learning about shrooms now? Normally gatherers start a lot younger.’
‘Running out of options,’ Webber said as their mares set off down the path together. ‘Got fired from the tannery. Apparently I don’t get on well with customers.’
‘You weren't good with customers?’ Maybe he’s like me?
‘Some old geezer accused my boss of selling him crumbly shroom leather. I knew he was full of shit, and I don’t like people disrespecting me and mine. So I socked him one,’ Webber dropped his reins and punched a quick one-two in the air.
Definitely not like me.
Webber's mare stopped and snuffled at a spiceshroom growing on the path’s edge before he picked up the reins again. ‘Anyway,’ Webber continued. ‘After a…similar incident in a shroomery last week, word got ‘round, making it a lot harder to find work.’
‘So you decided to be a gatherer?’
‘Not my first choice. I wanted to be a Forester. Figured they wouldn’t mind my reputation, and besides, it sounded fun, ya know? Fighting off urchins and shroombeasts in the forest, fighting unruly citizens in Jamala. Any job that pays you to fight is right by me.’
‘They wouldn’t hire you either?’
‘Here’s the thing. I don’t think they hire anyone.’
‘What do you mean?’
A lone gatherer on horseback clopped past in the opposite direction. Webber gave her a ‘G’day’, before turning back to Caruso. ‘You ever heard of anyone joining the Foresters?’
Caruso thought about it. ‘Well no. But there are plenty of Foresters around, obviously they’ve been hired. Maybe they just haven’t hired anyone recently.’
‘Yeah…I ‘spose you’re right. You don’t see any Foresters our age, do you? Then again, it ain’t like they’re a bunch of old geezers neither… Whatever.’ Webber waved it away. ‘I thought I’d make a half decent Forester. But If they don’t want me, then fuck ‘em.’
‘I could see you being a good Forester,’ Caruso agreed. ‘I’d love to become one myself.’
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’
‘Because they’re the Foresters…They’re strong. Everyone respects them. They’re well paid. Besides, they’re the only ones who can enter Zone 3.’ Caruso twisted the reins in his hands. ‘I’m not exactly Forester material tho.’
‘That’s a good thing I reckon. Why would you want to be one of those cunts when you can be my shroom teacher instead?’ Webber gave a wide grin. ‘Speaking of, you want to teach me something?’
‘Sure,’ Caruso said with far more confidence than he felt. He had no clue how to teach. He studied the back of his mare’s neck as if instructions would appear there. How do I even start? Explain what a mushroom is? Panic thickened in his chest. And once more, Caruso wondered how he might get out of this. But then he imagined returning back, having failed at yet another job. Like Webber, he was running out of options. He knew he had to give this his best shot if he wanted to stay living in Jamala, close to the shroom circles .
Caruso steeled himself with a couple of large breaths. ‘Well…how much do you know?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ Webber smiled.
Caruso thought about how to start but the words didn’t come. He had read Duskydale’s Compendium on mushrooms, front to back, several times, but his knowledge did little to prepare him for this moment. Not knowing any better strategy, he began reciting sections about the growth stages of the different mushrooms common in Zone 1 and 2. Webber nodded along but Caruso could tell he wasn’t taking much of it in. He’s bored, there’s no way he will put up with this for much longer. But Caruso didn’t know what to do other than continue his verbal essay. With every sentence he spoke he felt Webber become more restless. He half expected him to turn around and head back for Jamala. At least that would put us both out of our misery.
Not far from the path a couple of gatherers climbing a nearby elm tree caught Caruso’s attention. Not the tree I would choose—Caruso was struck with an idea.
‘You see those gatherers up ahead climbing that elm?’
‘Which one’s an elm?’ Webber asked.
Caruso pointed, ‘The one next to that termite mound. The tall straight ones are pine.’
‘Gotcha.’
‘It’s likely those gatherers climbing it have no idea what they’re doing.’
‘Oh?’ Webber suddenly looked a lot more interested.
‘See all the bird nests in its branches?’
‘Yeah…What’s that have to do with shrooms?’
‘To find the best shrooms you have to take everything into account. The trees, the birds, the surrounding forest. It’s all connected, it all matters. Everything has a role to play.’
‘How exactly are bird nests connected with shrooms?’ Webber asked.
‘Elm trees are known for their sweet shrooms: berryshrooms, honeyfungus, pinkcaps. And if they are sweet enough, they will attract shroomstoats—who also love to eat bird’s eggs. Therefore, to avoid the egg-eating stoats, birds know to avoid nesting in trees with the sweetest shrooms.’
Webber thought about this. ‘So just by looking at bird nests you can tell those gatherers are picking rubbish shrooms?’
‘Exactly.’
Webber furrowed his brow. Caruso worried he had said something stupid, or overly confusing, but Webber shocked him by cracking a grin and chuckling. ‘That’s genius! Bozi was right about you. You really do know your shit, eh?’
As they passed the gatherers climbing the elm Webber called out to them. ‘Happy gathering lads! Looks like some good shrooms in that tree!’ The gatherers returned a quizzical look, one of them waved awkwardly. Caruso glanced away, hunching down on his mare.
‘This is like a super power,’ Webber said. ‘Making other gatherers look like twats based on what tree they climb. Teach me more!’
Webber’s enthusiasm was encouraging. Caruso talked on, making sure to only discuss the things relevant to their immediate surroundings. And whenever he could, he framed his lessons by pointing out the failures of other gatherers—Webber seemed to enjoy that the most.