PmWiki | LeftBeyond / Spice

Dear diary, today I reached the mission field. It's a little community in Florence, Italy. There was a town called La Destinazione here, but the global earthquake destroyed most of the buildings. People have built their dwellings between the few buildings that are left. The fields around us are smaller than the ones I am used to, and look more like extended veggie gardens.

Dear diary, are not very many people who are undecided here - most everyone are those who lived nearby, come back to tend their farms and orchards. They've shown me some pictures. There's still a hint of hills here, but the old pictures they've shown me are beautiful. The RV I drove here with isn't very practical for the narrow roads. The local tractor-repair guy gave me a moped. He said I'd pay for it when I have the money, which was a little odd.

Dear diary, one of the farms here is run by unbelievers! They are struggling a little to trade with their neighbors, but they seem to be doing fairly well given the circumstances. I think I have found my true mission field. They are mostly growing peppers and garlic, although they are doing it in an odd way - about a third of their land is devoted to intentionally doing it wrong. Goes to show, I suppose! I went there and told them that I'd be working with them. They seemed to welcome it.

Dear diary, these people are strange. Not only they waste much of their produce by crippling it, they also seem to be very interested in discredited evolutionary stories. I offered to share Dr. Hovind's videos with them. They agreed, if I would sit and study their odd ramblings in return, so I did. Didn't get much out of it, but had a pretty interesting argument with Katia. She told me that what they are doing is called mutation breeding and is intended to restore the traditional flavors of this land. I told her that it doesn't work this way, but a quick talk with the local elders let me know that indeed this place was famous for its strong flavors before Jesus regenerated the Earth.

Dear diary, the people I am to minister to asked me to pray over the health of the seeds in terraria whose last digit is even. They didn't seem to be mocking me, and asked me in earnest. Maybe I'm making progress. Just to be on the safe side, I will pray over the health of all the seeds in the greenhouse, every night.

Dear diary, I was almost kicked out of the farm. However, Katia showed up, and I got a long and exhasperated lecture on experimental protocol instead. They don't want to hide their work from me, but it looks like that they've only got some results on the batches that were in the small spare greenhouse. I am told that this is called, not deception, but a double-blind study. Some of them are angry because they felt that I lied to them - I don't see it - and some are very happy because they have isolated another variable.

Dear diary, Grandmother Felicina taught us how to fry garlic in olive oil, and used what little of the new pepper we could spare. We used the result instead of butter for last night's steamed vegetables. It tasted very strange and new. Felicina says that we've almost got a decent peperoncino going, although it's not nearly as strong as what she remembers it like.

Dear dairy, I had to leave. Mr. Williams' team is visiting the territory from Jerusalem next week, so they've decided to do a public demo. I explained how it might be done respectfully, and we argued a little. Katia again came to my defense, but then broke down. It turns out the reason why Katia kept standing up for me, and defended me against some of the others, is that she is in unnatural lust with me. She confessed so herself, although she called it love. I explained her about the kinds of love that are allotted to humans, and she recited the relevant Scripture with me almost in unison, followed by much ancient secular commentary to the contrary. I had to rebuke her, and she curled up in a heap. I think it will be a kindness if I do not torment her with my presence. I would like to stop crying, please.

Cameron points at the two red pepper fruits that the mop-headed kid, maybe in his or her sixties, has on the makeshift table.

"Stop saying 'evolution in action', they're still the same kind, you can see it for yourself - it's a red pepper. Yours look a little smaller, that's all."

"Never mind that they can no longer interbreed, I won't explain that again... Taste them and then tell me that."

Cameron tries the original. "Nice and nourishing, great on a salad. Why mess with what's been declared very good?"

Cameron tries the potentiated, makes a face, and demands water. He's handed white bread instead. He throws it on the floor, and demands water again, finally get it.

"So, are they still the same kind?"

After a good two minutes, a scowl on is face, Cameron stops panting. He leaves without a word.

"QED, ladies and gentlemen!" The kid gets back on the wooden box and resumes his sideshow-barker act. Some of the older people try the pasta samples and nod approvingly. Before long, the little jars of crushed spicy pepper have almost all been sold. I ask to buy one of the leftovers, and am told that since I helped, it's half price.

In the back and on the side, someone makes a note on a portable terminal. "The Glorified can be safely incapacitated by biologically produced capsaicin. We have purchased viable samples. Begin preparations for the recombination program."