The enormous papyrus in the big plastic tub sighed. "This isn't much like Egypt."
"That's right," said the pink-flowered African violet. "How about some cooler humidity? And some real food, maybe a pork chop?"
In the grip of a post-cocaine depression, the witch pretended not to hear. She continued to drip a very dilute solution of plant food onto the violet's roots from a long-spouted watering can.
The smaller African violet was, in every sense, more immature. It had in fact graduated only last week to the dignity of a three-inch pot. From beneath its single stalk of baby-blue flowers it whined, "I want some Haagen-Dazs. I want some lox on a bagel. I want a standing rib roast, medium rare, with lots of pan gravy, and mashed potatoes and butter--"
"Will you shut up!" The witch slammed the watering can down onto the radiator, knocking the humidity tray over. Pebbles and scummy water sprayed over her faded jeans and shabby sandals. When she jumped back she almost lost her footing. The ceiling-high fiddle-leaf fig steadied her with a broad curvy leaf, but she shook it off. "Damn it, I'm as hungry as you!" She bared her teeth in a humorless smile. "I'm the only one who really is hungry, and not for food, either. All the rest of you are just reflecting me. Plants don't eat roast beef!"
"That pebble bruised my trunk," the dieffenbachia mourned. It loved to wallow in self-pity, and now lowered a big spotted leaf to rub the hurt. "We're slaves, that's all."
"Chained by bonds of economic hardship," the big violet said. It was pink in more ways than one. "Exploited by bloodsucking capitalists. Like wetbacks in tomato fields."
"You've never even seen a wetback! You haven't even seen a tomato! You have no independent life! I'm the one who used to be a socialist!" The witch ran dirty fingers through her matted hair. "What have I done to deserve this? Other witches have cats for familiars. Or toads."
"I don't like tomatoes," the little blue violet announced.
"That's me. I don't like tomatoes." The witch took hold of herself with an effort. "Look, we're all in this together. The sooner you perfect the spell, the sooner I do some deals. Okay? And if you come through, I'll even buy some lox for you to taste."
The fiddle-leaf fig twitched its stems doubtfully, and the bad-tempered grapefruit tree dared to scoff, "Huh!" But the enormous spider plant, who due to her many dangling spiderlets had a very motherly nature, said, "Show us the archetype again, honey."
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