Flowers and their meanings

“The language of flowers has been recognized for many centuries in different parts of the world. Even though it varies from country to country, and from century to century,” Hannibal’s voice fills the lazy air of the room like a cloud of perfume. Or smoke. Will squints his eyes, and his vivid imagination comes in handy again. He can almost see Hannibal’s voice floating in the air, winding, twisting, conquering the space and air, owning them. “I recall seeing a vintage Victorian postcard in an antique shop featuring various flowers and their meanings.” “Did you buy it?” “No, but I saved it in memory.” That is supposed to mean the Memory Palace. Will doesn’t shift in his seat. He lets his mind follow the velvet rope of the familiar voice that now sounds from behind. It’s easy to imagine that voice turning into the tentacles of a giant squid. You never think of squid as a whole concept, its tentacles appear in mind first, deft and murderous but strangely elegant, moving in the depths of water, cold and dark, with the same grace an experienced dancer does on stage. Sperm whales’ hides carry the scars from the giant squids’ suckers. When Will was little, he read about giant squids but never truly believed they existed. You are not supposed to believe these things are real when you’re a kid. It’s when you get older that you realize how real the scary things lurking in the dark are. “Which flowers can you remember?” he asks only to hear his own voice which is simply a voice, and nothing more. Nothing menacing. He doesn’t really need an answer, the answer is obvious. “All of them.” Of course. “However, as I mentioned before, it was a Victorian postcard,” there is an amused smile in his voice now. “And the meaning of those flowers was a little bit… oddly phrased.” “Let me guess. Roses are red, violets are blue, something-something and I love you?” “You are not particularly good at guessing today, I’m afraid.” “Are you ever?” Will thinks but never utters a sound. “Wild roses were supposed to stand for pleasure and pain.” “Good old Victorian morals.” “Red carnation said: My heart aches for you. And the meaning of Iris was: I send a message.” “Pretty straightforward.” “I believe iris was meant to be paired with canterbury bells that meant: Your letter received.” Will doesn’t comment anymore because Hannibal doesn’t need a conversational partner now. Hannibal is telling a story. “Your loveliness charms me, hyacinth. Be gentle with me, cornflower. I declare my love, red tulip. Thinking of you, yellow pansy,” Hannibal is not singing but he’s close. It sounds as if he is chanting the wrong lyrics to the silent tune Will knows but is unable to recognise right away. It bothers him, and Will frowns. “I prefer you before all, apple blossom. My love is pure, white lily. I love you truly, daisy.” “I know,” Will interrupts, and it’s suddenly very quiet in the room. “Only one flower with a meaning. My dad told me he had read about it somewhere.” “And that is?” “Orange lily stands for hatred.” Will can hear the clock ticking on the wall, and with each clicking sound the silence becomes more and more complete. As if they are both building one of those Towers of Silence that Zoroastrians used instead of burials. Tall towers with decomposing bodies in them. A nightmarish thing… and oddly comforting. “That does sound a bit ominous,” Hannibal finally breaks the silence, and their Tower, their dakhma crumbles, a pile of stones, and rocks, and bodies contaminating the soil. “It does.” “I remember the line from that postcard that I personally found a bit ominous but very elegant at the same time,” he adds and steps from behind the chair. Will doesn’t move, he is squinting even harder. When Hannibal stands in front of the windows, just a dark silhouette against the dying rays of the setting sun, Will doesn’t have to use his imagination to its fullest. He can clearly see the antlers crowning Doctor Lecter’s head. Those antlers are adorned with flowers. “Tell me.” “Red fuchsia says,” Hannibal turns to him, but Will doesn’t see his face. Only antlers, antlers are everywhere now. “I like your taste.”