The Tree

“See that tree there,” said the old man.

“Which tree,” I asked.

“The one with the lopsided broken branch resting on the ground. In the clearing,” he replied.

                I looked across the road in the direction the old man was pointing with his shaking finger. I saw a large, lush tree, green with Spring leaves and a full canopy. There was a large broken branch leaning to the tree’s right side, but it too seemed to be alive with growth.

                “I do see it,” I said, “looks like a nice tree.”

                “No. That tree… that tree is evil,” said the old man.

                I looked at the old man’s wrinkled and worn face. His expression was wistfully distant. He seemed to be lost in a memory and was wearing it across his weathered brow.

                “How can a tree be evil,” I asked. “It’s just a tree. Trees in my experience are rather morally neutral.”

                “No sir. That tree wants nothing but misery, terror and general unhappiness for all who gaze upon it,” said the old man.

                The old man pressed his lips tightly as he stared at the tree across the road. The tree was surrounded by large yellow dandelions mixed with a creeping violet colored flower. The leaves stirred gently in the Spring breeze.

                “It mocks me,” said the old man.

                “How in the world can a tree mock you,” I asked.

                The old man turned to me. He looked me directly in the eyes.  I could see his impatience and anger churning behind his aging eyes.

                “I’m telling you young man. That tree, that tree is a trickster. A lying, two-faced, tree of misery and falsehoods,” said the old man.

                “Why do you say all this about this tree,” I asked.

                The old man straightened his back and looked across the road. The tree was bristling in a sharp Spring breeze.

                “I used to see that tree every day on my way to work. It always seemed to stand out to me as I drove by. It was set away and apart from the other trees. Almost like it had crawled away from the forest to make it on its own in the clearing. I felt a kinship with that idea since I too had struck out on my own and was trying to make it. Every day I saw that tree, I felt like it was there for me to see; to remind me that I could grow and become something bigger and better than I was. That tree made me feel like my goals were achievable.  I felt something like love for that tree and wished it nothing but the best but all I got in return was bad luck, disappointment and a feeling of betrayal,” said the old man.

“Wow,” I said, “That’s a lot of feeling for a tree.”

The old man ignored me and kept on with the telling of his tale.

 “One day, after a particularly violent Summer storm the tree seemed to be in trouble. The tree trimming crews for the State seemed set on cutting it down. That large branch you see, still sitting on the ground. It was knocked onto the ground, perhaps by wind, perhaps hit by lightning, I don’t know which. But I didn’t want to see the tree get cut down just because of that one branch loss. It looked like such a healthy and full tree. It has always been surrounded by those lush flowers and thick, full grass. It seemed somehow wrong to cut it down, just because one large branch had fallen during some big weather event,” said the old man.

I nodded along with the old man’s story as I looked out over the tree. The branch was still leaning on the ground, slightly overgrown with flowers and tall grass. The rough edge of where it broke away from the trunk still visible, poking up in defiance of it’s condition.

“So I prayed on it. I prayed so hard that the State would leave my tree alone. I prayed to God to protect that tree. I prayed it wouldn’t be cut down and continue its growth unimpeded,” said the old man.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” I said.

The old man gave me an askance glare.

“Don’t change the subject,” said the old man.

“Sorry,” I said, “Please continue.”

“So it seemed that my prayers were answered. The next day as I drove by. The tree trimming crews were gone and my tree, that tree, seemed to be saved. The tree trimmers hadn’t even removed the broken branch. I was so happy about it. I said so, out loud as I drove past. ‘Well done,’ I said and cheered in my heart at our mutual good fortune. You see, I felt that tree was now safe because of my prayers and in some way the tree knew it and would somehow be grateful to me,” said the old man.

I tried not to snicker.

“Go ahead and laugh if you must. I know it sounds silly. It sounds mad actually,” said the old man.

“I mean, it’s a tree. It can’t have any sense of gratitude or any possible understanding of our human concept for prayer. It’s just pretty…crazy, if you ask me,” I said.

The old man licked his lips and smiled a little.

“I agree. How in this universe could a tree have any soul, or concept of a soul? How could these naturally occurring, organic clumps of wood fiber feel anything? I know it’s a crazy idea. But, what if, on the same crazy spectrum, they know more than we arrogant humans give them credit for,” said the old man.

                I stopped my judgmental snickering and did ponder the essence of a tree’s soul. Could a tree have a soul?

                “Well, I believed this tree had a soul. I believed this tree had a heart. What I didn’t know was that soul was black and its heart was filled with malevolence,” said the old man.

                I looked at the old man. He was leaning back now in his chair. His head held up slightly. He started to speak as if he was giving a eulogy for some long-departed friend.

                “Every morning after that night of prayer, and the apparent saving of the tree, I started greeting it aloud as I drove past. I’d say, ‘Good morning tree, I hope you have a great day!’ and things like, ‘Morning my friend, let’s hope for a good day…,’ and so on and so forth, every single morning. In fact, on the weekends, when I didn’t drive those roads, I felt bad for not saying hello to my tree friend. It became a ritual for me. Something I felt like I had to do, not only for the sake of the tree, but for me as well. Something that re-affirmed our connection to each other,” said the old man.

                The old man’s face shifted. He seemed to be uncomfortable in his chair.

                “Soon after I began this morning ritual of wishing good morning to the tree; things started to go terrible for me.  My job, which I loved, started to become an unbearable burden. My co-workers started second guessing me. My bosses stopped trusting me with important work. I felt marginalized and unimportant.  Then my personal life started to go amok. The woman I was dating started cheating on me with a friend of mine. I got into fights with my family, with whom I had never fought. I lost money on normally sure things. I had car problems that cost a fortune, rent issues, leaks in my apartment ceiling, my friends stopped calling me or hanging out with me and I was heading for some odd forced isolation,” continued the old man.

                I leaned in further toward the old man as he recounted his sudden misfortunes.

                “I couldn’t figure out why things had suddenly started to go so wrong for me, yet every morning I still drove past that tree and wished it a good day and tried to send some positive vibes towards it. Every morning I thought, ‘Well, today is a new day for things to go right and get back on track,’ and yet, they wouldn’t. Things seemed to continue to go badly for me. Yet every morning, I still had to say good morning to my tree,” said the old man.

                He cleared his throat but kept a close eye on the tree across the road. The tree’s leaves continued to flutter in the breeze.

                “Then one day, I had to start taking a new route to work. The normal road was under construction and I couldn’t drive past the tree and say good morning. And that’s when things started to turn around for me. My job suddenly returned to normal, I even got a promotion. I found a new girlfriend who would never cheat on me. My money troubles stopped and I even was able to start saving again. It was as if a magician had waved a wand and all my troubles just stopped. It was just too odd not to notice it. I was feeling quite good about myself again. But then, the construction on the roads stopped and my old route was re-opened. So I thought, I should certainly say hello to my tree friend. I’ve missed him. That very morning, after driving past my tree and saying, ‘Hey tree, I missed you my friend. I hope you’re well and we have a great day.’ The moment after I said it I got in to a terrible car accident,” said the old man.

                I sat back in my chair. I’d heard of this terrible accident before. The old man was nearly killed. He was broken in so many places that it didn’t seem likely he would live. I shook my head in awe.

                “That’s right. The accident that nearly ended my life. All because I decided to say hello to that damn tree. That tree, that tree tried to kill me. It was then that I realized that it wasn’t a tree with a good soul, but one of evil. An evil tree bent on hurting those around it. That’s why it was separate from the other trees in the forest. He was excommunicated. He was banished to be in the clearing on his own. The other trees in the forest knew that tree was bad. A bad seed as it were. He wasn’t cut down by the tree trimmers because they were afraid of it, not because of my prayers. The tree was just evil,” said the old man.

                I stopped myself from saying anything. It was indeed too crazy to comment on. I started to worry about the old man’s mind.

                “I assure you I am not senile,” said the old man, “I can prove the tree is evil.”

                “I believe you,” I said.

                “Sure, sure you do,” said the old man.

                “Well, I mean, it’s just a tree after all,” I said.

                The old man pointed at the tree again but then lowered his arm. He relaxed and took a deep breath.

                “After the accident, I never said hello to that tree again. I never once gave it another kind look or hoped the best for it. Once I recovered fully and stopped being nice to that tree, my life got better again. I met the woman who became my wife, became president of the company I worked for, bought my lovely home, had a family, raised them up to be successful and found a happiness I never knew. All because I turned my back on that tree. That tree across the road,” said the old man.

                He looked across the road at the tree. It’s leaves, still teasing the air. I looked across with him and we were silent.

                “Why tell me this story,” I asked.

                “To warn you. To warn you that there are evil things in this world and to be vigilant against their seemingly innocent influence,” said the old man.

                “Well, I... I appreciate that I guess,” I said.

                “Plus, I wanted you here for this,” said the old man.

                “Here for what,” I asked.

                “To witness that tree’s power,” said the old man.

                I looked out toward the tree. The old man next to me. He whispered softly into the air, toward the tree.

                “Good morning my friend,” said the old man, “I’ve never forgotten you.”

                The leaves on the tree picked up the intensity of their rustling, even though the wind seemed light and calm. I looked around at the graying sky as if a storm was soon rolling in.  I felt a chill and goose bumps on the back of my neck.

                “That was indeed odd, I’ll grant you that,” I said as I rubbed my arms.

                I turned toward the old man next to me. He was slumped forward in his chair, chin resting on his chest. He wasn’t breathing.  I jumped up and grabbed him by the arms and gave him a slight shake. I checked his pulse but it was gone. I listened to his chest but heard nothing.  I looked down at his old face, seemingly serene.  At peace.  I turned and looked toward the tree across the road. It was still.