Rating: FR7
Genre: Character Study
Characters: Ducky and Mrs. Mallard, with a bit of Jimmy
Summary: A special keepsake helps Ducky to remember what is important.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters.
"I have highlighters… pencils… scalpels… Katy-Lynn's crayons…" Jimmy was talking to himself as he emptied the pockets and pouches of his pack.
"Here's one." He looked at it closely, "Do you think Human Resources would mind if my form is filled out in purple? Why do I even have a pen with purple ink?"
"I don't have time for this; the office closes in half an hour." He looked first at the clock and then at his supervisor's desk. "I'll just borrow one from Dr. Mallard."
Jimmy looked around the room and then tentatively began to pick through the items in the desk. His actions became frantic as the item he was searching for did not appear.
"No, he can't be out, too! What am I going to… hey, what's this?" A key chain with an unusual fob came to light as Jimmy pulled items forward from the back of the drawer. "A corncob? This must be some victim's personal effect. Why would he have it in his desk, though?"
"Why would what be in my desk?" Dr. Mallard had entered the room while Jimmy was preoccupied by his search.
"Dr. Mallard!" Jimmy gaped like a fish. "I, ah, nothing. It was nothing. Nothing to see I mean. I mean your privacy is of the utmost importance to me and I wouldn't…"
Ducky interrupted Jimmy's explanation. "It's all right, Mr. Palmer. My desk would be locked if there were any real secrets hidden there." He noticed Jimmy clutching something in his hand. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No, I was…" He saw Dr. Mallard motion toward his hand. "Oh, the key chain? I found it when I was looking for something that wasn't purple."
"Indeed." Ducky looked at Jimmy with amusement. "It is most certainly not purple."
"Oh, no, of course. I need a pen to fill out my employee information update and the only one I had was purple."
"Ah, the mystery is explained."
"Yes, doctor." Curiosity got the better of Jimmy. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you have this in your desk?"
"That's quite a story, my boy." He took the key chain Jimmy offered and stared at it as he remembered.
It had been during a National Association of Medical Examiners conference in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He'd recently become the medical examiner at NIS. The conference was important professionally, but of even more importance personally as he made the mental shift from saving the living to finding justice for the dead. He'd been looking forward to this convention for months.
His mother had insisted upon joining him; it had been some time since she'd been to the American Midwest. Mrs. Mallard had said she wished to experience the endless prairies and the amber waves of grain again. It was years before she succumbed to the disease that would take her from him well before she actually died. He'd been glad to accommodate her.
During the first few days of the convention, Mrs. Mallard had walked around the city, charming museum docents and restaurateurs with her old world ways and stories. However, she rapidly became bored with the city, claiming Sioux Falls was not really all that different than Washington, DC. On the next to last day of the conference, he found her hunched over brochures when he returned to the hotel. She announced that he was going to play hooky with her on the final day of the conference. The convention had not lived up to his expectations and feeling dull, he decided to give into his mother's whim. The next morning he discovered to his dismay that her choice was not a museum, historical landmark, or national park; their destination was hour and a half drive away in Mitchell, South Dakota; the 'famous' Corn Palace. He began to protest, but seeing her delight, he quashed his objections and prepared to be her escort for the day.
Victoria Mallard oohed and ahhed over the murals decorating the building. They walked around the neighboring streets to find the best vantage points. Her actions on the inside were just as enthusiastic. She bought tickets for a rodeo that afternoon and talked with the men displaying farm equipment. She peppered the employees with questions and insisted on taking multiple pictures of him in front of each display.
Ducky's patience finally snapped as she took a picture of him with a giant jackalope. "Mother, is this really necessary? We've seen all there is to see here, I could return to the convention in time to hear the histology presentation by Dr. Flynn."
"Necessary? Vacations aren't necessary in the sense that food and drink or air and water are necessary, but they are essential for restoring the soul. Mine was well nigh desiccated in Washington, so yes, it is. If you ask me, your soul could use some refreshment as well."
"But here? At this…" He searched for the proper words to describe their location as well as his feelings but fell short of polite ones. "this place?"
"Yes, at this place. This enduring temple to Ceres; this monument to the queen of grains. Let us make the most of our experience."
"But mother, it's corn." In his frustration, he spoke loudly enough to catch the attention of several passing tourists and employees. He looked around apologetically, and drew her off to the side. "Mother, it's just corn. I could be back at the conference speaking with Dr. Goldberg about contaminated deceased body management or talking with one of the exhibitors about a resin for the gas chromatograph that separates fatty acids with a greater degree of resolution."
"I wouldn't worry missing out on the exhibitor, I'm sure he'd say just about anything to you to sell you his product."
"But Mother, these are…"
"And does Dr. Goldberg really know more than you do about handling victims of a potential biological attack? I saw him swilling down martinis at the hotel bar yesterday; he did not look in the least bit professional."
"That is not a fair judgment. I'm sure…"
"Would missing any part of the convention cause NIS to terminate your employment because you were unable to perform your duties adequately?"
"Well, no but…"
"Or is all of this complaining because you don't want to spend time with me?" Mrs. Mallard's eyes were accusing.
"Now, Mother, that is not fair; I delight in my time spent with you. But why did you choose this place? You've dined with royalty; you're a patron of the arts. You've been to exciting and exotic places all around the world. What could possibly hold your interest here?"
"Did you know that the plans for the first Corn Palace were drawn up in 1892? Its purpose was to draw settlers to the new state by demonstrating the agricultural potential of South Dakota."
"That is an interesting bit of history for South Dakotan school children to learn."
"And did you know the murals outside are meticulously assembled? Corncobs are sliced in half and nailed in place over 'corn-by-number' drawings, as they call them."
"Fascinating, Mother." Ducky was growing impatient.
"They find it difficult to keep the birds away from all of that corn. The building is called the 'World's Largest Bird Feeder.' Isn't that amusing?"
"Hilarious, but at the risk of sounding repetitive, it's corn."
His mother stopped walking, faced him, and her light-hearted manner faded. "Oh, Donald. You've become so cynical and hard. I hope never to learn what changed you, for it must have been a most heinous thing indeed."
Ducky stared in surprise and recovered enough to speak. "I completely miss the connection between my worldview and my lack of appreciation for the wonders of farm equipment."
"Do you remember the visit we made to Edinburgh when you were five years old?"
"We went there many times, Mother."
"When you were five, though. It was just before the war." She smiled at his blank look. "No, maybe you wouldn't remember. We arrived in Edinburgh mid afternoon and planned to see the castle the next day. You were restless and the inn where we stayed was not far from Holyrood Park. You and I spent several hours at Dunsapie Loch watching the ducks. You were fascinated; I was only able to pull you away because night had fallen. Even then, I had to make up some story about how the ducks were waiting for everyone to leave so they could transform into little children and go home to their mommies."
Mrs. Mallard smiled as she continued. "The next day during our visit to the castle all you could do was talk about those ducks. You even asked the guide if there were any at the castle and might we go see them next, please. The man was not pleased with your question; your father was mortified by your behavior. But you, you didn't care. You were completely absorbed by those ducks. You watched the mothers with their ducklings, the drakes battling for preeminence, the enterprising ones that waddled up to you and demanded food. You drew pictures of the ducklings over and over again until they were perfect. The wonder of those ducks kept you from seeing or hearing anything else. Watching you reminded me of a quote of William Blake's, 'to see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.'"
"Donald, where did you lose that capacity? Yes, we are looking at corn. And while I would never decorate my home in the way they have the exterior of this building, I can appreciate what I see. Did you know there are well over three thousand uses for corn products, beyond the obvious ones of feeding people and fattening animals for slaughter? For example, the syntheses of at least fifty types of antibiotics rely upon unknown biological components in corn."
"And the tractors we were admiring. Did you know in the thirty years between 1945 and 1975 the amount of time required to produce 100 bushels of corn was decreased by around 70 percent and the amount of land required was halved? This is in great part due to the development of these machines."
"Further, as a patron of the arts I see nothing unseemly in the sport of rodeo. It has roots in classical times. Bull wrestling and riding are sports in which the Minoans of Crete competed. The Greeks may have been incorporated them in the early Olympic games. And did you yourself not participate in the running of the bulls in Pamplona?"
"As I walk around here I am admiring in the form of corn the providence of God and ingeniousness of man. I imagine a day when the technology of agriculture will make famine and malnutrition a thing of the past. I revel in the history and grace of the interaction of man and animal." His mother's eyes shone with sadness. "And all you see is corn. I am so sorry, Donald."
Ducky was struck silent by her insight and her passion. He'd indeed seen much. Scenes from Vietnam, Bosnia, and Afghanistan swam through his mind. Pictures of brutally murdered and obscenely desecrated corpses surfaced as he tried to ignore the others. The suffering he'd witnessed and the sorrows he'd been unable to prevent had taken their toll. How large, he hadn't realized. He'd spent more and more hours at work focused on death leaving him with little time to savor life.
He looked down at his mother and the explanations he thought to offer died on his lips as he saw the sorrow and tenderness in her eyes. "You are right, Mother. Shall we continue on?"
"Yes, indeed." Her smile beamed out again and she took his arm to resume their tour.
"Do you really see an end to world hunger as you look at those tractors?"
"Yes. But I also see James Galt, an old flame of mine. I used to watch him plowing his father's field on an ancient Ferguson-Brown." They'd laughed as she reminisced and resumed taking pictures.
At the end of day, they'd stopped in the souvenir shop where she bought him that key chain. He'd kept it in his desk as a reminder. In the midst of everything, he would not allow anything to extinguish his curiosity and sense of wonder again.
"Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy's voice brought him back to the present.
"Yes, the key chain. There is quite a story associated with it, but perhaps it is better suited to another time." He began to rummage through his briefcase. "Did you know the world record for the largest collection of key chains is held by a Mr. Brent Dixon of Valdosta, Georgia and comprised of 41,418 unique pieces?
"Really?"
"Yes, it is. Mr. Dixon was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy as an infant. During his teens, his mother suggested he collect key chains as a hobby. He started in 2001 and within six years had amassed almost 20,000 more than the previous record owner possessed. Ah, here is a black pen. Now if you will excuse me, I'll be heading home. Until tomorrow, Mr. Palmer."
"Good night, Dr. Mallard."
"Yes, it certainly is."
Note: I have never been to Edinburgh, so my description relies on travel guides and the Internet. It has also been many years since I've visited Corn Palace. I hope the descriptions I've made in the story are realistic.