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The Scent Keeper

Book by Erica Bauermeister · 9 quotes · Scents, Notes, Perfume

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The Scent Keeper Quotes

“The fragrance started off bright and happy, fresh-cut grass and sunshine, iced hibiscus tea, the best of a Sunday afternoon. Lavender and rose released their sweetness into the air so serenely you knew there was not a weed within ten yards of them. The scents filtered out through the store, and as Victoria and I watched, the customers began putting down their phones, looking about with greater interest, smiling at one another. "Well, you certainly made them friendly," Victoria said. I just smiled. The fragrance began to deepen. Vanilla, the clarion call of mothers in aprons and after-school cookies warm from the oven. The women's expressions softened. Your life can be like this, the fragrance said. Your children will love you. Then, slowly, lazily, in came the scent of jasmine. Victoria tilted her head. "Hello, troublemaker," she said. It floated out across the room, heavy and sensual, the essence of beautiful, younger women. Women who birthed children and wore bikinis within a month, or worse yet, never had children at all, their stomachs taut, their breasts ripe. Women who drew the wandering eyes of husbands. Then, even as the customers began shifting away from each other with polite, nervous smiles, there came another scent, lurking inside the jasmine, where it always waited- a touch of indole. A trail that led you downward, into the dirt. But not enough- the fragrance was still too sweet. It hovered in the store, off-kilter. "Hmm," Victoria said, her eyebrows pulling together. "Wait," I said. The want of balance was like an ache in the air. The fragrance reached out, searching, begging for completion. It didn't want sweet. It didn't want nice. And then, out of the skin, the sweat, the very heat of the women's thoughts, came the missing base note. Keen edged as a knife, it rose to meet the sweetness. Jealousy. As we watched, one of the women picked up a cashmere throw and clutched it to her chest. Another sat down on a leather couch, her arms spread out like a claim jumper. Mine. "Brilliant," Victoria said, stifling a laugh. "Absolutely brilliant.”

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“As I took off the rumpled sheets, the smell of the people who had slept in them would lift up into the air. There was the round, almost sweet sweat smell of a child who had spent a day happily exploring, or the sharper-edged odor of one who'd gone to bed unhappy. With the bigger beds, I came to understand the way the scents of two people could mingle as effortlessly as rainwater, and to recognize the times they stayed apart, the smells resolutely separate. Sometimes there were those unreal perfumes, jumbling and talking too loudly- but underneath them I could always find the person. Sadness, like the dark purple juice of a blackberry. Fear, like the metallic taste of an oncoming storm. Love, which smelled like nothing so much as fresh bread. In an odd way, the game wasn't that different from reading the smells of our island. Scents were always about what was growing and what was dying. What would last through the next season. This was just with people instead of trees or flowers or dirt.”

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“Nutmeg." Claudia grabbed the bottle and screwed the cap back on. The story was still filtering through me when a new scent exploded forth. "Orris root," Claudia said, tapping the new bottle on the table. "Am I going too fast for you?" "No," I lied. "Good." Linden blossom. Tonka bean. Benzoin. The smells came at me, little glass missiles fired across the table in rapid succession. "The point is speed and precision," Claudia said. She pushed a stack of papers toward me, the pages divided into rows and columns. "Put each scent in a category. Fresh, floral, woody, spicy, animal, marine, fruity. You need to recognize them instantly, without thinking." The bottles started again, and the world turned into charts and rows, filled with an onslaught of strange names. Litsea cubeba. Frangipani. Neroli. Tagette. Orange broke into pieces, became pettigrain, bergamot, tangerine, mandarin, bitter, sweet, and blood. Pepper was black, green, or pink. Mint was winter, spear, or pepper.”

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“By the end of the day, I'd reached the point where I could sense the category of a scent almost before the bottle was open. Fresh was quick and cool, never warm. Floral was soft and seductive, the kind that kept its clothes on, showing only an ankle or a shoulder. Spicy bit your nose, woke you up. Woody sent me to the island so fast I couldn't stop the tears from filling my eyes. I couldn't wait to start combining them, creating something new. Victoria was right- this was a language, my language, and I wanted to write.”

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“It was filled with a dark paste, rather than liquid. I unscrewed the cap. The smell rolled toward me, and I reared back. I could almost hear growling, the pop of a bone socket. "Civet," Claudia said, unfazed. "It takes a strong stomach to smell an animalic base note straight, don't you think? But a drop or two, down there in the bottom of a perfume? It sends that other message. Death and sex- that's what perfume's all about. You'll understand when you're older." I stared back at her. I knew about death. I knew about sex. I didn't need her to tell me. She held out another bottle, her expression bland. "Jasmine." I was cautious this time, barely sniffing the contents, but the smell was a relief- sweet, white, and creamy, almost euphoric. I felt as if I were floating in it. Just as I was about to put the bottle down, though, I caught a whiff of something else in the background, something narcotic and sticky. I inhaled more deeply, trying to pin it down. "You like it," Claudia said. For the first time, she seemed pleased with me. "Do you know what that is, that note you're searching for?" I shook my head. It was right there, but in that cool, blank room, I couldn't quite name it. "It's shit," Claudia said. She smiled, slow and lazy. "Technically, the molecule's called indole, but a rose by any other name...”

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“Where did he take you?" "An island." I thought of the archipelago, those dots and dashes of land, a code you could never unlock. "What did it smell like?" she asked. I'd expected a lot of questions, but not this one. As soon as she said it, though, I knew it was the only one that mattered. The only one that would tell you what a place, or your past, was actually like. "Cedar and spruce and fir," I said. "Applewood smoke. Salt water. That metallic smell right before a storm." I was picking up speed. "Salmonberries, huckleberries, spruce on your fingertips. Wet dirt- oh, and morels." I stopped, embarrassed by my volubility. "You did get my genes," she murmured.”

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