The villagers only ever called him the Apothecary. (“The what?” Conor asked.)
(“The Apothecary,” said the monster.) (“The what?”) Apothecary was an old-fashioned name, even then, for a chemist.
(“Oh,” Conor said. “Why didn’t you just say?”)
But the name was well-earned, because apothecaries were ancient, dealing in the old ways of medicine, too.
Of herbs and barks, of concoctions brewed from berries and leaves.
(“Dad’s new wife does that,” Conor said as they watched the man dig up a root. “She owns a shop that sells crystals.”)
(The monster frowned. “It is not remotely the same.”)
Many a day the Apothecary went walking to collect the herbs and leaves of the surrounding green.
But as the years passed, his walks became longer and longer
as the factories and roads sprawled out of town like one of the rashes he was so effective in treating.
Where he used to be able to collect paxsfoil and bella rosa before morning tea, it began to take him the entire day.
The world was changing, and the Apothecary grew bitter. Or rather, more bitter, for he had always been an unpleasant man.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색