In a tiny village near the coast in England, there once lived a little girl called Maria, who lived with her father in a small house. The father did not have very much money, so the two of them lived poor, but happy.
At the bottom of their garden stood an old, old apple tree. It had stood there for as long as they could remember, and when they had moved in the previous owners said that it had been there as long as they could remember too, and that the owners before them had said just the same. It looked like an ordinary apple tree, not very large, just fifteen feet high at the very top.
Yet mystery and darkness surrounded this tree and the village folk believed that it was not ordinary at all. Maria remembered well the first time her father had told her the legend of the apple tree when she was very young.
“Now, dear child, it is important that I tell you something about our garden. You see all of the trees in our garden out there. We can look after them, tend them and pick apples from them, but the tree at the bottom of the garden that stands alone, you must not touch.”
“Why, Daddy?” Maria replied quizzically.
“Because legend has it that anyone who picks an apple from that tree then has to live with a great shame and misfortune. Any more than that, I cannot tell you for I do not know. All I know is that neither you, nor myself, nor anybody else can touch it.”
Maria had often thought of these words spoken to her by her father a long time ago and it had never entered into her head to disobey him.
But one day, all of that would change. It was a beautiful summer's day when she walked out of the house and down to the bottom of the garden. Maria loved to look at the tree, even though she knew she was not to touch it. It looked ordinary, yet rugged and wise. ‘This tree,’ she thought, ‘looks as if it has been here since time began.’
She looked at it and pondered quietly in her heart. ‘Why is such a pretty tree standing there untouched by anybody? It has stood here untouched by anyone for all of these years, still standing there with its rosy red apples.’ The dew on the apples winked at her, glistening in the summer sun.
She looked back at the house and could see that her father was sleeping in his armchair with a newspaper on his lap, for he often liked to take forty winks in the afternoon, while she would tend to the garden and pick fruit from the other trees in the orchard.
‘I wonder’, she thought, ‘I wonder why you have been left alone, old tree, for all of this time. Your apples look so good. Here we are poor and needy. We only sell so many apples from the other trees a year and we are still so poor, yet my father leaves these apples in the tree when they look even nicer than the rest.’
She walked up closer to the mysterious, yet kindly looking tree. She gazed upon it and reached up to the nearest branch. At that moment she did something she thought she would never, ever do. Maria broke one of the apples from the tree and took a big bite of just one, rosy red apple. It was the most delicious apple she had ever tasted.
But very soon after she had eaten the apple, Maria suddenly became very anxious and began to tremble with fear. She sweated and fretted and could not understand a feeling that she had never experienced before. Maria had never experienced such a terrible feeling of loss and pain, heartbreak and shame.
She looked up at the tree and thought, ‘My father was right about you!’ She ran back to the house, slamming the door behind her, waking up her father whose newspaper leapt into the air with a jolt of his legs. She ran quickly up to her room, shutting the door behind her and lay face down on her bed. She began to cry, though she knew not why. ‘I don’t ever want to feel this way again!’ she thought, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘I have picked the apple from that tree and it has brought with me the shame and misfortune of the legend! It is a weight too heavy to bear and I cannot tell my father for he warned me not to touch it!’ With a sigh and a wimper she fell asleep on the bed and slept through the rest of the afternoon, the evening, and the night, until morning finally arrived.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Part 2
When she woke, she awoke to the sound of a dove who coo-ed at her on the window-sill outside. She sat up with a start and looked up to the window. There stood the dove she heard, looking at her, gazing at her intently, before Maria blinked and it had gone.
‘That’s odd,’ she mused, for she had never seen a dove sitting on her window-sill before. But she thought no more of it and tried to go back to sleep. At that moment her father knocked on the door. “Maria,” he said, “I’m just going to the store to pick up some bread. Get up soon, dear, as I need you in the orchard for me this afternoon.
‘The orchard!’ she thought, and suddenly she remembered yesterday’s events.
“Um…okay father….um…will be up soon.”
Maria nervously got dressed and walked downstairs. She looked out of the window and saw her father walk down the passage-way by the side of the house onto the street. She waited for him to go before going out into the garden and deciding to sit on the grass. She looked up from the ground, still puzzled and anxious. ‘What on earth happened yesterday? Why did I feel so awful?’ She felt a sickness in her tummy. ‘That apple tasted so good, yet now I feel so bad.’
Suddenly she saw once more the dove, just out of the corner of her eye, perched on the fence, gazing at her intently once more and coo-ing at her. She got up and walked on a little into the garden and heard a whooshing sound as the dove flew over her head and disappeared.
Now standing in the middle of the garden, Maria felt a drop of rain splash onto her forehead. Then another fell as she looked up, onto her chin, and then another fell on her left cheek, and another onto her right cheek, before the next thing she knew, she was soaking wet. It had been such a beautiful sunny day, with not a cloud in sight and yet suddenly the Heavens had opened. She ran back to the house and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t open. It had closed behind her and she was left in the garden all alone in the rain. She ran over to a nearby tree but it was no shelter at all, even though it had many leaves. She ran to another but that was no better. Then, just then, she saw once more the dove, and heard it’s gentle sound, coo-ing at her, louder even than the pitter-patter of the rain. It was hovering above the apple tree that had frightened her so much yesterday and appeared to beckon her towards the tree. She nervously approached the tree and the closer she got, the more afraid she became, but she felt drawn and compelled to move nearer and nearer, until, finally, she crept under the furthest branch. She edged closer until she was fully covered by the branches of the tree.
‘This is the only tree that gives me shelter!’ she thought, astounded. She sat beneath the tree, in the centre where the ground was dry and leant up against the trunk. Within minutes, though the rainstorm continued, she was dry again.
It was just then that she heard a voice say, “Do not be afraid. This storm will certainly pass.” Bewildered, she looked around her in search of someone, a man, who could have spoken those words, for it was a strange voice, kind and gentle, yet knowing. At that moment, the rain stopped, and the sun crept out from the dark clouds and shone all around her, shedding light onto the rain-soaked plants, trees, flowers and grass,
“Hello!?” she shouted. But nobody was answered. “Who is that?!” But still there was no sound. ‘How very strange,’ she thought.
Dry and restored, she began to walk back to the house and just at that moment her father returned with a loaf of bread.
“Thank God! You are up at last!’ exclaimed her father.
“Yes, I thought you were gone an awful long time to get the bread, father. What a terrible rainstorm we just had!”
“Rainstorm?” her father replied, “What rainstorm? I’ll admit it’s a bit cloudy but there’s been no rain, child.”
“Really?” said Maria.
“Are you okay, Maria? You’ve been acting very strange since yesterday. You didn’t even come down for supper last night. What’s gotten into you? Silly girl, you’ve got your mother’s head! They always said she was one apple short of a tree!”
‘That’s odd,’ she mused, for she had never seen a dove sitting on her window-sill before. But she thought no more of it and tried to go back to sleep. At that moment her father knocked on the door. “Maria,” he said, “I’m just going to the store to pick up some bread. Get up soon, dear, as I need you in the orchard for me this afternoon.
‘The orchard!’ she thought, and suddenly she remembered yesterday’s events.
“Um…okay father….um…will be up soon.”
Maria nervously got dressed and walked downstairs. She looked out of the window and saw her father walk down the passage-way by the side of the house onto the street. She waited for him to go before going out into the garden and deciding to sit on the grass. She looked up from the ground, still puzzled and anxious. ‘What on earth happened yesterday? Why did I feel so awful?’ She felt a sickness in her tummy. ‘That apple tasted so good, yet now I feel so bad.’
Suddenly she saw once more the dove, just out of the corner of her eye, perched on the fence, gazing at her intently once more and coo-ing at her. She got up and walked on a little into the garden and heard a whooshing sound as the dove flew over her head and disappeared.
Now standing in the middle of the garden, Maria felt a drop of rain splash onto her forehead. Then another fell as she looked up, onto her chin, and then another fell on her left cheek, and another onto her right cheek, before the next thing she knew, she was soaking wet. It had been such a beautiful sunny day, with not a cloud in sight and yet suddenly the Heavens had opened. She ran back to the house and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t open. It had closed behind her and she was left in the garden all alone in the rain. She ran over to a nearby tree but it was no shelter at all, even though it had many leaves. She ran to another but that was no better. Then, just then, she saw once more the dove, and heard it’s gentle sound, coo-ing at her, louder even than the pitter-patter of the rain. It was hovering above the apple tree that had frightened her so much yesterday and appeared to beckon her towards the tree. She nervously approached the tree and the closer she got, the more afraid she became, but she felt drawn and compelled to move nearer and nearer, until, finally, she crept under the furthest branch. She edged closer until she was fully covered by the branches of the tree.
‘This is the only tree that gives me shelter!’ she thought, astounded. She sat beneath the tree, in the centre where the ground was dry and leant up against the trunk. Within minutes, though the rainstorm continued, she was dry again.
It was just then that she heard a voice say, “Do not be afraid. This storm will certainly pass.” Bewildered, she looked around her in search of someone, a man, who could have spoken those words, for it was a strange voice, kind and gentle, yet knowing. At that moment, the rain stopped, and the sun crept out from the dark clouds and shone all around her, shedding light onto the rain-soaked plants, trees, flowers and grass,
“Hello!?” she shouted. But nobody was answered. “Who is that?!” But still there was no sound. ‘How very strange,’ she thought.
Dry and restored, she began to walk back to the house and just at that moment her father returned with a loaf of bread.
“Thank God! You are up at last!’ exclaimed her father.
“Yes, I thought you were gone an awful long time to get the bread, father. What a terrible rainstorm we just had!”
“Rainstorm?” her father replied, “What rainstorm? I’ll admit it’s a bit cloudy but there’s been no rain, child.”
“Really?” said Maria.
“Are you okay, Maria? You’ve been acting very strange since yesterday. You didn’t even come down for supper last night. What’s gotten into you? Silly girl, you’ve got your mother’s head! They always said she was one apple short of a tree!”
Part 3
In the afternoon she returned to the orchard to work just as her father had asked. It was still a sunny day when she went out and began picking apples, apples from the other trees in the orchard, all but the one that had filled her heart with dread yesterday, but had seemed to protect her today. While she worked she sang to herself a song, one of her favourites, “The birds of the air don’t have any cares, but they love the tree, Who is gentle with me.”
“Maria.”
“Yes Father” she replied, but when she looked up at the house nobody was there.
“Father!” she yelled at the top of her voice. She saw the door unlock and her father came running out.
“Yes, child!”
“What do you want?” enquired Maria.
“A bit of peace and quiet would be nice!” her father replied shortly. “Why have you called me out here? I was dozing child, you know how I like forty winks in the afternoon!”
“But I thought you called me!” Maria replied insistently.
Her father sighed a big sigh before saying, “Dear God!” and walked away.
‘How very odd,’ Maria thought, ‘I must be hearing voices!’
“Maria.”
‘Oh my God, not again!’ she thought, but this time she could hear the origin of the voice. It was coming from around the tree that sheltered her earlier that day. ‘Someone must be hiding around there,’ she thought.
She walked over towards the tree, not timidly as she had done earlier, but boldly and with conviction. “Hello!? Who is there?”
A voice began to sing;
“The birds of the air,
Don’t have any cares,
But I’m the tree it is true,
Who is gentle with you.”
“Hello?! Where are you?!” Maria raised her voice.
“Little child of the apple,
That brought you those tears,
I have watched you my dear,
And felt all your fears.”
“What the…?” She stood looking around the tree for signs of life.
“Now my Maria has come,
And her joy will be mine,
Little child of the apple,
Apple of my eye.”
Maria stood stunned, enchanted and enrapt by the gentle music she heard around her and locked her eyes onto the tree, for she knew now that there was nowhere else to go, no human life in sight, no other place from which this beautiful voice could emanate.
“You…you…you can talk?” she said to the tree hesitantly.
“At last! Yes, yes I can.”
“What do you mean ‘at last’?”
“I mean, dear Maria, that you have released me from my silence.”
“When did I do that?” Maria retorted.
“Why of course you did that yesterday, or have you forgotten? You took an apple from my branch.”
“Oh! Um…yes I did…” she became agitated.
“They are my apples, Maria, of course I would recognise if one of them was missing.”
“I’m really very sorry, Mr, um…Tree.”
“I know.”
“Did it hurt my taking the apple from you?” she enquired.
“No, it did not hurt.”
“Good,” she said firmly.
“But afterwards my heart was full of the deepest sorrow you could know.”
“Oh?” Maria looked upwards.
“For I knew the pain and anguish you felt after you had eaten it. To see you in pain and distress brought me great pain and so that is why I had to break the silence bestowed upon me since the time I was planted many, many, many years ago.”
Maria gazed at the tree. “So now you can speak…”
“To bring you comfort and peace,” the tree answered.
Maria stood awestruck. “But, Mr…um…Tree, legend has it that to take an apple from you brought that person great shame and misfortune.”
“And?” enquired the tree.
“Well I suppose it did.”
“It did indeed, but people who spread such rumours about me have not accounted for one thing.”
“Oh,” said Maria, “and what is that?”
The tree paused for seconds, and in those seconds it was as if time stood still, as if the wind stopped blowing, the bees went back to their nests and the birds bade a salutary silence.
“I LOVE YOU.”
“Maria.”
“Yes Father” she replied, but when she looked up at the house nobody was there.
“Father!” she yelled at the top of her voice. She saw the door unlock and her father came running out.
“Yes, child!”
“What do you want?” enquired Maria.
“A bit of peace and quiet would be nice!” her father replied shortly. “Why have you called me out here? I was dozing child, you know how I like forty winks in the afternoon!”
“But I thought you called me!” Maria replied insistently.
Her father sighed a big sigh before saying, “Dear God!” and walked away.
‘How very odd,’ Maria thought, ‘I must be hearing voices!’
“Maria.”
‘Oh my God, not again!’ she thought, but this time she could hear the origin of the voice. It was coming from around the tree that sheltered her earlier that day. ‘Someone must be hiding around there,’ she thought.
She walked over towards the tree, not timidly as she had done earlier, but boldly and with conviction. “Hello!? Who is there?”
A voice began to sing;
“The birds of the air,
Don’t have any cares,
But I’m the tree it is true,
Who is gentle with you.”
“Hello?! Where are you?!” Maria raised her voice.
“Little child of the apple,
That brought you those tears,
I have watched you my dear,
And felt all your fears.”
“What the…?” She stood looking around the tree for signs of life.
“Now my Maria has come,
And her joy will be mine,
Little child of the apple,
Apple of my eye.”
Maria stood stunned, enchanted and enrapt by the gentle music she heard around her and locked her eyes onto the tree, for she knew now that there was nowhere else to go, no human life in sight, no other place from which this beautiful voice could emanate.
“You…you…you can talk?” she said to the tree hesitantly.
“At last! Yes, yes I can.”
“What do you mean ‘at last’?”
“I mean, dear Maria, that you have released me from my silence.”
“When did I do that?” Maria retorted.
“Why of course you did that yesterday, or have you forgotten? You took an apple from my branch.”
“Oh! Um…yes I did…” she became agitated.
“They are my apples, Maria, of course I would recognise if one of them was missing.”
“I’m really very sorry, Mr, um…Tree.”
“I know.”
“Did it hurt my taking the apple from you?” she enquired.
“No, it did not hurt.”
“Good,” she said firmly.
“But afterwards my heart was full of the deepest sorrow you could know.”
“Oh?” Maria looked upwards.
“For I knew the pain and anguish you felt after you had eaten it. To see you in pain and distress brought me great pain and so that is why I had to break the silence bestowed upon me since the time I was planted many, many, many years ago.”
Maria gazed at the tree. “So now you can speak…”
“To bring you comfort and peace,” the tree answered.
Maria stood awestruck. “But, Mr…um…Tree, legend has it that to take an apple from you brought that person great shame and misfortune.”
“And?” enquired the tree.
“Well I suppose it did.”
“It did indeed, but people who spread such rumours about me have not accounted for one thing.”
“Oh,” said Maria, “and what is that?”
The tree paused for seconds, and in those seconds it was as if time stood still, as if the wind stopped blowing, the bees went back to their nests and the birds bade a salutary silence.
“I LOVE YOU.”
Part 4
Maria began to cry tears of joy.
“You love me, even though I took the apple from you which I was not meant to do. So I am not cursed, and for my fault I will not bear great misfortune?”
The tree answered, “Do you not feel fortunate that we talk now as we do? Maria, you could take five apples from my branches and my love for you would remain the same. If you took ten apples from my branches I would love you just the same. If you cut off my branches and leave me naked as a trunk with my beauty and dignity stripped away, my love for you will remain the same. If you uprooted me and threw me into the sea and left me to float across oceans for all eternity, child, I will always love you.”
Maria, mesmerised by the great love and tenderness of the apple tree replied in a soft and reassuring voice, “Dear tree, I had none of these things in mind.”
“I know,” answered the tree.
“You are happier today for having met me.”
“Yes,” said Maria, “much happier.”
She knelt down upon the ground before the tree.
“Now, Maria,” the tree said kindly, “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, dear tree…What should I call you?”
“Dear Tree….I like it…you can call me that,” the tree answered knowingly.
“Okay!” Maria replied gleefully.
“Now dear child,” opened the Tree, “It is true, is it not, that you took the apple from my branch. What would the village people say if they knew you had done that?”
Maria paused for a moment before answering the Tree, “Dear Tree, the people of the village would think very badly of me indeed! For legend says that whoever eats the apples of your tree will have great shame and misfortune and…”
The Tree interrupted. “That is what they say. You are correct. Now child, it is very important that I tell you these words and that you remember them.”
“Okay,” Maria answered attentively…
From that day forward, Maria would often go and see the Tree, though she would never tell her father, and never take any more of the delicious apples from the tree. For the friendship and love that blossomed between the two of them grew to such an extent, that she no longer looked at the rosy red apples that hung on the Tree, but just listened attentively to the sound of his voice, which filled her heart with happiness and peace. When Maria was happy, she would go to the Tree and tell him all about it and he would rejoice with her. If she felt sad about something she would go to the tree and tell him all about that too, and he would draw one of his branches down upon her head, and wipe away her tears with his soft leaves.
One day in early September, the Tree spoke once more to Maria.
“Maria,” he said. “My heart is deeply troubled.”
“My dear Tree, what is wrong?” Maria replied, concerned and taken aback.
“I know that you love me, and you know that I love you with an endless love. I want you to know that I will not always be here and soon I shall have to go away. But whatever happens to me, I will always love you, and I will always be here for you, no matter what. And I want you to know that when I am gone, though you shall not see me as you do now, you can still speak to me just as you and I are speaking now.”
Maria started to cry and said in a sobbing voice, “My dear Tree, what are you talking about, there is no way that you will ever go! I will see no harm comes to you!”
The Tree felt her pain and sorrow and at that moment and he brought forth one of his branches down to her head and gathered her towards his rugged trunk. She wept against the trunk and each tear that she cried for the love of her tree dribbled down the bark until they finally reached the earth. But the roots of the Great Tree soaked up her tears from the earth until they were no more, for the Tree knew all things that were to pass.
The months passed through to winter, and even then she would leave the house when her father went out and go and see the Tree. Until one day, something terrible happened.
One evening in December her father went to the local club to meet some friends to play chess as he did every Thursday. But this time he returned earlier than Maria had expected and when he arrived back home he called for her in the house. “Maria! I’m home! Maria!” But Maria was outside with the Tree and when her father got to the kitchen window he looked out and could see Maria hugging the Tree.
He ran out into the garden, screaming and shouting, “Maria! What are you doing?! Get away from there! I told you a million times not to go near that tree! Get away! It’s cursed!”
“No, Daddy! No! It isn’t, you’re wrong about the Tree! You were all wrong about it! The Tree is gentle and kind to me, he loves me and takes care of me!” Maria started to sob.
“Oh no! Maria did you take an apple from the tree!? Did you disobey me and do the one thing I always warned you not to do?! Did you?! Answer me!” her father shouted at her.
“Yes, father I did…but it’s okay, honestly, the Tree is my friend, and he could be your friend too if you wanted, if you could see it as it is! He loves you too! He told me so! It’s just that he knew you would not believe in him.”
At that moment her father struck her across the face. “Mad child!”
She turned away for a moment and then stared back at him and saw that he was angry, angrier than she had ever seen him before. She was full of dread and feared for the safety of the tree.
Her father looked back at her with malice and shouted, with a shriek, “Now go to your room!” She did as she was told and ran upstairs and cried in her bed, all alone, and with nobody to turn to for help.
Her father was left in the kitchen on his own. But he was not concerned for his daughter’s feelings and muttered under his breath, “That accursed tree! Never mind about the curse! What will the townsfolk say of me now, if they should find out she touched it?!”
“You love me, even though I took the apple from you which I was not meant to do. So I am not cursed, and for my fault I will not bear great misfortune?”
The tree answered, “Do you not feel fortunate that we talk now as we do? Maria, you could take five apples from my branches and my love for you would remain the same. If you took ten apples from my branches I would love you just the same. If you cut off my branches and leave me naked as a trunk with my beauty and dignity stripped away, my love for you will remain the same. If you uprooted me and threw me into the sea and left me to float across oceans for all eternity, child, I will always love you.”
Maria, mesmerised by the great love and tenderness of the apple tree replied in a soft and reassuring voice, “Dear tree, I had none of these things in mind.”
“I know,” answered the tree.
“You are happier today for having met me.”
“Yes,” said Maria, “much happier.”
She knelt down upon the ground before the tree.
“Now, Maria,” the tree said kindly, “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, dear tree…What should I call you?”
“Dear Tree….I like it…you can call me that,” the tree answered knowingly.
“Okay!” Maria replied gleefully.
“Now dear child,” opened the Tree, “It is true, is it not, that you took the apple from my branch. What would the village people say if they knew you had done that?”
Maria paused for a moment before answering the Tree, “Dear Tree, the people of the village would think very badly of me indeed! For legend says that whoever eats the apples of your tree will have great shame and misfortune and…”
The Tree interrupted. “That is what they say. You are correct. Now child, it is very important that I tell you these words and that you remember them.”
“Okay,” Maria answered attentively…
From that day forward, Maria would often go and see the Tree, though she would never tell her father, and never take any more of the delicious apples from the tree. For the friendship and love that blossomed between the two of them grew to such an extent, that she no longer looked at the rosy red apples that hung on the Tree, but just listened attentively to the sound of his voice, which filled her heart with happiness and peace. When Maria was happy, she would go to the Tree and tell him all about it and he would rejoice with her. If she felt sad about something she would go to the tree and tell him all about that too, and he would draw one of his branches down upon her head, and wipe away her tears with his soft leaves.
One day in early September, the Tree spoke once more to Maria.
“Maria,” he said. “My heart is deeply troubled.”
“My dear Tree, what is wrong?” Maria replied, concerned and taken aback.
“I know that you love me, and you know that I love you with an endless love. I want you to know that I will not always be here and soon I shall have to go away. But whatever happens to me, I will always love you, and I will always be here for you, no matter what. And I want you to know that when I am gone, though you shall not see me as you do now, you can still speak to me just as you and I are speaking now.”
Maria started to cry and said in a sobbing voice, “My dear Tree, what are you talking about, there is no way that you will ever go! I will see no harm comes to you!”
The Tree felt her pain and sorrow and at that moment and he brought forth one of his branches down to her head and gathered her towards his rugged trunk. She wept against the trunk and each tear that she cried for the love of her tree dribbled down the bark until they finally reached the earth. But the roots of the Great Tree soaked up her tears from the earth until they were no more, for the Tree knew all things that were to pass.
The months passed through to winter, and even then she would leave the house when her father went out and go and see the Tree. Until one day, something terrible happened.
One evening in December her father went to the local club to meet some friends to play chess as he did every Thursday. But this time he returned earlier than Maria had expected and when he arrived back home he called for her in the house. “Maria! I’m home! Maria!” But Maria was outside with the Tree and when her father got to the kitchen window he looked out and could see Maria hugging the Tree.
He ran out into the garden, screaming and shouting, “Maria! What are you doing?! Get away from there! I told you a million times not to go near that tree! Get away! It’s cursed!”
“No, Daddy! No! It isn’t, you’re wrong about the Tree! You were all wrong about it! The Tree is gentle and kind to me, he loves me and takes care of me!” Maria started to sob.
“Oh no! Maria did you take an apple from the tree!? Did you disobey me and do the one thing I always warned you not to do?! Did you?! Answer me!” her father shouted at her.
“Yes, father I did…but it’s okay, honestly, the Tree is my friend, and he could be your friend too if you wanted, if you could see it as it is! He loves you too! He told me so! It’s just that he knew you would not believe in him.”
At that moment her father struck her across the face. “Mad child!”
She turned away for a moment and then stared back at him and saw that he was angry, angrier than she had ever seen him before. She was full of dread and feared for the safety of the tree.
Her father looked back at her with malice and shouted, with a shriek, “Now go to your room!” She did as she was told and ran upstairs and cried in her bed, all alone, and with nobody to turn to for help.
Her father was left in the kitchen on his own. But he was not concerned for his daughter’s feelings and muttered under his breath, “That accursed tree! Never mind about the curse! What will the townsfolk say of me now, if they should find out she touched it?!”
Part 5
In the morning Maria awoke to a crunching sound from outside in the garden. She woke with a start and raced to the window to see what was happening. She heard voices talking, men’s voices, harsh and unfamiliar. She peered out of the window and saw in the distance several men, with her father digging around the tree. With horror she looked upon a man with a big scythe chopping swathes of the tree, whole branches off in one stroke. She called out, but the noise that they were making in destroying the Tree meant that they could not hear her cries. She banged her fists on the window in agony. The men had no pity, and she could not understand their brutality. “O my Tree! My Tree! They do not know what they are doing! If only they knew!” she cried out, hoping that the Tree or the men could hear her, praying and hoping that someone could do something.
Lash upon lash struck down upon the branches of the Tree, causing sap to drip from its wounds down upon the ground and into the earth. Maria could not bear to see it. The men dug their spades into the Tree and dug deep into the ground slicing through its roots with their sharp edges. She saw two men begin to bow down before the Tree and pretend to worship it and hug it with a false embrace. “Look at me, one of them said, I’m a tree-hugger!” They jeered at it and cursed it and finally the last crunch came from the earth and Maria heard the men cry out in a loud voice, “Tiiiimmmmber!” Maria saw and heard an almighty crash and a terrifying thump as the Tree fell down and was laid low upon the ground. It rested on the earth, lifeless. At that moment the sky became very dark and the men grew fearful of what they had done. For they knew that this was no ordinary tree. Even though the branches had been severed and lay scattered on the floor, no apples had fallen loose to the ground. One of the men went to take one of them, but another stopped him, saying, “Do not break any of the apples from the branches.” So he did not.
She watched in terror as the men picked the Tree up together and, with a heave, marched it down the garden, passed Maria’s window into the passage-way and out of sight. One man gathered the branches and scattered roots into a wheelbarrow and followed them down the pathway. Maria looked and saw that there was nothing left of her beloved Tree.
The men took the tree just a mile down the road and onto a boat. They loosed the boat from its moorings and sailed out to sea. When they thought they had got far enough into the sea, they threw the tree, with its roots and its branches into the murky waters, and when they had done this they washed their hands in the salty sea.
Maria cried and cried so much that she thought she could no longer breathe with the sorrow and heartache and pain she felt because she knew that no more would she and her beloved Tree see each other as they did.
From that day onwards her father changed towards her and told her that they were never to mention that tree again, and that she must never mention it to anybody else. She was full of sadness but could not bring herself to hate or despise her father for what he and those men had done, and tried her best to understand their actions.
After three days of being kept in her room her father sent her back out into the orchard to continue her work, tending to the orchard and picking apples for them to sell at the market. She began to sing herself a different song while she worked,
“My tree has died, my tree has died
Was I really the apple, the apple of his eye!”
Suddenly, she heard a tiny thud and a small rolling sound and looked down upon the ground. There stood an apple. ‘That’s odd,’ she thought, ‘I didn’t see any apples fall from this tree.’ She carried on working and continued to sing,
“My tree has died, my tree has died
Was I really the apple, the apple of his eye!”
“What on earth?” she cried out loud. “Where are these apples coming from?” She looked around her and there was no wind, no breeze to blow apples along the ground towards her. She looked at the empty space where the Tree once stood, though there was no trace of it now, just a mound of mud was all that remained of the glorious Tree. So she went back to work, but suddenly, another tiny thud hit the ground and she saw out of the corner of her eye another rosy red apple rolling towards her quickly until it struck her lightly on the foot. And then out of nowhere it seemed Maria was inundated with delicious, rosy red apples just like the ones the glorious Tree had produced. “These apples are coming from the Tree, but the Tree isn’t there!” she shouted. She laughed and cried out for joy, “Father, father, come and see what is happening! The Tree! The Tree is alive!”
“What girl, can’t you see I am trying to get forty winks!” her father replied shortly.
“No, father, I mean it! Come and see! The Tree is alive and he is giving us apples! Apples from the sky!” Maria shouted deliriously.
“Oh Good God!” shouted her father, “You’re right! You were always right!” At once he fell to his knees in awe of the majesty and goodness of the Tree, and wept tears of repentance forming a well-spring of joy in his heart.
They both stood bewildered, staggered by the kindness and love of the Tree. They gathered up all of the apples and put them in a big basket until they stopped falling from the sky. “With these delicious, rosy red apples, Maria we will no longer be as poor as we are! And what is more, if the Good Tree sends us more we can help all of the other families in our village who also are poor as us!”
Maria embraced her father and kissed him on the neck, for the kindness of the Tree, her beloved Tree, had changed his heart and given them new life. From that day onwards Maria and her father were happy and lived peacefully together and often talked about the kindness and compassion of the Tree and from that henceforth they no longer called it the Tree, but called it The Tree of Life.
© Laurence England, May 26th 2006
Lash upon lash struck down upon the branches of the Tree, causing sap to drip from its wounds down upon the ground and into the earth. Maria could not bear to see it. The men dug their spades into the Tree and dug deep into the ground slicing through its roots with their sharp edges. She saw two men begin to bow down before the Tree and pretend to worship it and hug it with a false embrace. “Look at me, one of them said, I’m a tree-hugger!” They jeered at it and cursed it and finally the last crunch came from the earth and Maria heard the men cry out in a loud voice, “Tiiiimmmmber!” Maria saw and heard an almighty crash and a terrifying thump as the Tree fell down and was laid low upon the ground. It rested on the earth, lifeless. At that moment the sky became very dark and the men grew fearful of what they had done. For they knew that this was no ordinary tree. Even though the branches had been severed and lay scattered on the floor, no apples had fallen loose to the ground. One of the men went to take one of them, but another stopped him, saying, “Do not break any of the apples from the branches.” So he did not.
She watched in terror as the men picked the Tree up together and, with a heave, marched it down the garden, passed Maria’s window into the passage-way and out of sight. One man gathered the branches and scattered roots into a wheelbarrow and followed them down the pathway. Maria looked and saw that there was nothing left of her beloved Tree.
The men took the tree just a mile down the road and onto a boat. They loosed the boat from its moorings and sailed out to sea. When they thought they had got far enough into the sea, they threw the tree, with its roots and its branches into the murky waters, and when they had done this they washed their hands in the salty sea.
Maria cried and cried so much that she thought she could no longer breathe with the sorrow and heartache and pain she felt because she knew that no more would she and her beloved Tree see each other as they did.
From that day onwards her father changed towards her and told her that they were never to mention that tree again, and that she must never mention it to anybody else. She was full of sadness but could not bring herself to hate or despise her father for what he and those men had done, and tried her best to understand their actions.
After three days of being kept in her room her father sent her back out into the orchard to continue her work, tending to the orchard and picking apples for them to sell at the market. She began to sing herself a different song while she worked,
“My tree has died, my tree has died
Was I really the apple, the apple of his eye!”
Suddenly, she heard a tiny thud and a small rolling sound and looked down upon the ground. There stood an apple. ‘That’s odd,’ she thought, ‘I didn’t see any apples fall from this tree.’ She carried on working and continued to sing,
“My tree has died, my tree has died
Was I really the apple, the apple of his eye!”
“What on earth?” she cried out loud. “Where are these apples coming from?” She looked around her and there was no wind, no breeze to blow apples along the ground towards her. She looked at the empty space where the Tree once stood, though there was no trace of it now, just a mound of mud was all that remained of the glorious Tree. So she went back to work, but suddenly, another tiny thud hit the ground and she saw out of the corner of her eye another rosy red apple rolling towards her quickly until it struck her lightly on the foot. And then out of nowhere it seemed Maria was inundated with delicious, rosy red apples just like the ones the glorious Tree had produced. “These apples are coming from the Tree, but the Tree isn’t there!” she shouted. She laughed and cried out for joy, “Father, father, come and see what is happening! The Tree! The Tree is alive!”
“What girl, can’t you see I am trying to get forty winks!” her father replied shortly.
“No, father, I mean it! Come and see! The Tree is alive and he is giving us apples! Apples from the sky!” Maria shouted deliriously.
“Oh Good God!” shouted her father, “You’re right! You were always right!” At once he fell to his knees in awe of the majesty and goodness of the Tree, and wept tears of repentance forming a well-spring of joy in his heart.
They both stood bewildered, staggered by the kindness and love of the Tree. They gathered up all of the apples and put them in a big basket until they stopped falling from the sky. “With these delicious, rosy red apples, Maria we will no longer be as poor as we are! And what is more, if the Good Tree sends us more we can help all of the other families in our village who also are poor as us!”
Maria embraced her father and kissed him on the neck, for the kindness of the Tree, her beloved Tree, had changed his heart and given them new life. From that day onwards Maria and her father were happy and lived peacefully together and often talked about the kindness and compassion of the Tree and from that henceforth they no longer called it the Tree, but called it The Tree of Life.
© Laurence England, May 26th 2006
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