The Order of The Queen of the Night

Last week I participated in a secret ritual under cover of darkness.  The participants of this ritual tend to be well-established members of society, and the tradition is to invite others of the upper crust to participate.  The subject has been featured in witches’ spells, on album covers of heavy metal bands, and in numerous classic works of literature dating back centuries, but most people will live their entire lives and never witness the events of last Thursday night.

No, I haven’t joined the Templars, but I am now the newest member of the Queen of the Night club.  Before I give my friends more fodder for stifled laughter, I will halt the suspense.

The Queen of the Night, or Night blooming Cereus, is a plant from the cactus family which blooms for a single night.  The thing looks just plain creepy, like some kind of man-eating plant straight out of Little Shop of Horrors – I subconsciously stepped around it to stay out of its reach.  The buds begin to open about an hour after sunset, and are in full blossom between ten and eleven p.m.  By four or five in the morning, they are wilted and gone.  A friend of mine had two huge specimens, with a total of fifteen buds.  Two of the blooms had gone early the previous night, and one more was set for the next, but the bulk of them were opening on this night, so we had been extended an invitation for a quiet little flower party.

By 8:30 that night, I sat in a half circle of chairs on my friend’s patio, with pale light coming only from the windows of the house.  We sipped red wine and ate little chunks of cheese and olives from fancy toothpicks.  It wasn’t a place that I would have seen myself a few years ago.  I am more of a beer and barbecue kind of guy. 

We all waited patiently as the blooms opened, and then I understood why people think these blossoms are magic.  In fact, it was believed that if a woman drank from the blooming flower, that her youth of the past year would be restored.  The most powerful witches were said to achieve immortality in this way, as long as they drank once each year.

I didn’t drink from the flower, and I thought it would be rude to suggest it to the others, but I did leave that night feeling a little bit in awe.  We had witnessed something in nature that few get to see, something truly beautiful.  Next year, though, when the Night blooming Cereus appears again, I’m going to try to talk the host into a festivity of cold beer, popcorn, and a little music.