Published: 2025-10-25

Miguel always followed his uncle Francisco to the greenhouse; his refusal to stay alone in the house had turned him into an assistant to the botanist. At first, he enjoyed the simple fact of not being alone. Soon, he was asking questions, “What’s the name of this plant?”, “Why do you prune that plant?”, “What is this fertilizer thing?” Little Miguel was growing interested in botany.

Soon, although he could not understand the work his uncle was doing, he was assisting him. “Pliers.” His uncle would say, and Miguel would run to the toolbox and come back with the tool.

Francisco was happy that his nephew had taken an interest in botany. He was a man of few words, and connecting with the kid had proven difficult, but no one else could take care of him.

As Miguel grew older, so did his curiosity. One day, he saw his uncle doing something peculiar. He took a branch from a plant and joined it to another.

“What is it you’re doing, uncle?”
“I’m creating a hybrid by combining the two plants.”
“Whoa, you can do that?”
“I’m more of the research type, but yes, agriculturists do it all the time.”
“Can you create, like, brand new plants?”

Francisco turned to the boy and smiled, “It’s not that easy, but that’s what I hope to do.”

Miguel, mesmerized by this new process, stood next to his uncle, watching him work until sunset.

Francisco took a look at his wristwatch and decided it was time to return to the house. Miguel, as it was usual, was in charge of tidying up the place and locking it down.

“I’ll go ahead and prepare dinner, you go straight to the house after finishing here, OK?”

Miguel nodded, and his uncle left.

As Miguel picked up his uncle’s tools and put them inside the toolbox, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he had learned that day, “Crossing two plants… Unbelievable.” Logic was overcome by the imagination of a child, “What if I could make my own plants? Maybe I discover a new one and become famous!”

Overcome by infantile thoughts, Miguel decided to carry out his plan. But he didn’t dare desecrate his uncle’s altar of science; he would not touch his uncle’s plants or use his equipment, he would have to find his own plants to experiment with in the wild.

Miguel took a small plastic bag and a trowel and ran to the forest behind the greenhouse. Wild plants grew near a river, and the silhouette of the city could be seen from there. The black smoke of the industrial chimneys, still on after darkness, contrasted with the lights of the tall buildings. Miguel could not care less for the view, what he wanted nature offered: soil, water, and plants. He filled the bag with soil and cut two branches from different plants, one bigger than the other. He planted the biggest branch in the soil, and rubbing a sharp stone against the skin of it made an incision to transplant the smaller branch. He watered his creation with water from the river, and looking at it, smiled.

The sun had gone down by then. Miguel knew his uncle didn’t like him getting far from the house; thus, he ran, plant in hand. Miguel knew he had to protect his specimen from the elements; after all, it could be the thing that made him famous. He went into the greenhouse and hid it in a corner, where his uncle wouldn’t look.

As he exited the greenhouse, he heard a familiar voice; it was his uncle calling him. Fearing his creation could be compromised, he ran towards the voice, meeting his uncle several hundred meters from the greenhouse.

“Why hadn’t you returned home?”
“I’m sorry, uncle, I fell asleep reading your journal.”
“Well, you shouldn’t stay here by yourself. Come on, dinner’s ready.”

Miguel nodded, and they left for home. Francisco noted how the kid’s hands and knees were dirty.

“What happened to your hands and knees?” “I ran and fell when I heard you calling.”

Francisco didn’t pay much attention to the kid's reasoning.

Deep into the night, two young men approached the greenhouse.

“Come on, break the lock.” Said one of the men.
“Shh, they’ll hear us. Just let me do it.”

The man grabbed the lock and stopped himself.

“What is it?”
“It’s open.”
“Good job, now come on.”
“No, I mean, it was— forget it. Let’s go.”

The two men sneaked into the greenhouse, holding flashlights to light their way.

“Are you sure, there’s weed in here?”
“Why would someone put a greenhouse in the middle of nowhere if not for growing weed?”
“It makes sense.”

They wandered around the unknown place in search of the precious loot, but they didn’t find any.

“I thought you said there was weed in here.”
“It must be, I’m telling you.”

A clanking noise startled the two men; they pointed their flashlights to a corner, where a metal bucket rocked by itself on the floor.

The two men pointed their flashlights at each other. They felt uneasy.

“There’s no Juana here, we better get moving.”
“Yeah. What a waste.”

A tall shadow formed behind the men. They turned around; there was no time to scream.

The next morning, Francisco got up early as usual. The sun shone high, and the humidity was just right. It was a good day to be a plant, or to take care of them. He woke Miguel up, and after having breakfast, they left for the greenhouse.

At first sight, there was nothing wrong with the greenhouse, but as they got closer, something became evident: the doors were open.

Francisco ran towards it, and what he found made him feel like vomiting. The torn bodies of two men lay on the floor; they apparently had writhed in pain until their last moment.

Miguel ran towards his uncle. Francisco brought him to a halt by raising his open hand in front of him and yelling, “Stop!” But it was too late, the kid got a glimpse of the destroyed greenhouse. All the hard work his uncle has put in for years, now gone.

He fell to his knees and started crying.

“It’s OK, kid. Don’t cry.”
Francisco thought he had seen the bodies, but that was not the case.

“This is my fault. I made my own hybrid from plants near the river and hid it in the greenhouse. I ran and forgot to close the door when I heard you calling me, and someone entered. It’s my fault.”

Francisco’s eyes got as big as plates. He understood now. He ran towards the kid and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Listen well, Miguel. How did you make that hybrid?”
“I took soil from near the river, water, and two plants like you did.”

Francisco stood up. “This is bad.” He said to himself. Miguel kept crying.

Francisco crouched next to him and patted him on the head.

“Listen, it’s OK. I’m happy you want to make your own hybrids.”
“But the greenhouse got destroyed.”
“But you are OK and that’s all that matters. I have my journals. We can make another greenhouse.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now come here.”

Francisco gave his nephew a big hug and a pat on the head.

“Now, come on, we have work to do.”
“What kind of work, uncle? The greenhouse is destroyed.”
“What we need is a flamethrower.”

THE END.