“Joseph, why do you just sit there under that tree, staring all day?”
Joseph stirred from his reverie. His eyelashes fluttered a little as his eyes slowly refocused and his pupils became returned to the sun’s warming gaze once more.
He smiled, and chewed at the bottom of his lip thoughtfully.
“Guess!”
It was Rebecca’s turn to chew at her lip this time. She was quick with her newly learned powers of reason, though.
“You’re lonely.”
He grinned this time. Rebecca grinned back. She loved it when Joseph smiled. The event was such a rarity, it was a treasure. And she just liked him. He made her feel happy, but she didn’t know why. Not really.
With no warning, Joseph uncoiled his long spindly legs with helical grace and was soon staring into Rebecca’s adoring eyes. Such a shame really, you might think.
Joseph didn’t really understand what Rebecca though of him. He was blissfully innocent to the meaning of her lingering stares, and to the bashful tone she used when they talked. He just liked her because she was a good friend. Like a sister, but better, because she wasn’t.
Joseph was blessed with the same quality as that which was fast slipping through Rebecca’s fingers. He had youth; he had his innocence.
“Do you really want to know?”
“‘‘Course I do!” she laughed, and promptly sat down on her legs, eyes never leaving his face. He recoiled his own legs to a cross-legged position, and sat facing her, his back to the tree’s shadow.
“It’s peaceful. I think of all silly things; of how things could be, and of… of…” He blushed, and hung his head a little. “… You’ll think it’s silly.”
Rebecca’s face became a picture of concern. “Oh no, no. I won’t laugh. Honest.”
He looked to her again, and she suddenly realized the meaning of his gaze; he was searching for a truth.
He seemed satisfied. “Okay, " He laughed. “Don’t laugh.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
He bit at his lip again. “Well, I think of what the tree thinks of me and the world.”
She smiled.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“I’m not!” she insisted. “It’s just… just that as soon as you say, ‘don’t laugh’, I’m bound to, aren’t I?”
His face looked sullen. That hurt her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure the tree thinks the world of you!”
He looked up at her. He seemed disquieted – not confused, just – well, worried.
“That’s just it, it doesn’t. It’s old. It know what I’m like. It’s had lots of boys like me sit under it before. It told me about them.”
She believed him. There was something about what he said that pulled her gently back a year or so to her innocent faith. The very faith that disbelieving parents lacked, he found in Rebecca’s transfixed gaze.
“D’you know what it thinks of me?”
Rebecca shook her head and pouted, before realizing a spoken confirmation was in order, and managed, “No; What?”
Joseph crossed his arms, and lounged forwards, resting them on his knees. He stared at the grass, and watched a black ant scurry down some unseen hole, obscured by one of the innumerable blades if grass; a scene available for any willing audience.
He sighed heavily, relaxing more into his flattened posture. With his chin rested upon his arms, he looked up at Rebecca, and continued.
“It thinks I’m stupid.”
Rebecca looked truly shocked. “Why?”
“Because it knows what all the other little boys have turned out like. And they were all stupid, so why shouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re special,” said Rebecca, firmly. She stared defiantly at the tree. It’s not that she hated it. How can you hate a tree that’s stood for two-hundred years and dwarfs you in every way imaginable. She couldn’t hate it for her awe.
“No I’m not. It told me about the others. And how they grow up; how they stop talking to the tree because the find other things more important…”
“That’s just selfish.”
“No it’s not. Because it’s not just the tree. It’s everything else around me. It’s the sun shining, all blurry ‘round the edges. It’s the cobwebs in the bushes, all wet and shiny in the morning. You can watch a cobweb grow. Takes hours, but if you just watch, you can see just how much work that little spider puts into it. Then some lousy old bird comes and does a poo on it!”
Rebecca giggled. “Don’t be silly!”
Joseph smiled a little. But only a little. His mind was wandering back to the tree… Of all the confusion that it said laid in wait for him.
“It says rude things as well.” He blushed again. “But I’m not gonna talk about ’em.”
Rebecca’s face broke into a broad grin. “Go on, I won’t tell.”
“No. I shan’t. It’s too horrible. It told me about when people get married. It told me all about how people fall in love, get married, and then fall apart again. Some leave each other, some stay together ‘cos they don’t know what else to do. It sounds awful.”
“Sounds like my Mum & Dad.”
“Mine too.”
“Silence prevailed. Both had plucked buttercups from the ground during the exchange. Joseph pulled the petals off one-by-one, being careful not to tear them, but to remove them whole. Rebecca just twirled the stalk of hers between two fingers, watching the golden yellow reflection play on her hand.
“Hey!” she suddenly burst out. Joseph discarded the skeleton of his flower, and awaited further comment.
“Do you like butter?”
“Tell me, then.”
He stuck his chin out for her, and she watched the golden glow dance around his chin as she twirled the flower.
“You like it.”
“I know.”
She let the buttercup drop, and watched its rapid descent to Joseph’s lap. He let it rest there.
“What else does the tree say?”
“Lots. It says this’ll be the last year that we speak to each other…”
“You talk to it?”
“Yeah. Talk. And it says that next year, I’ll look at the tree, and the talking will just be memories, just my imagination.”
“But it’s not!”
“I know. I think the tree’s wrong. I know it’s seen so many other people doing the same thing, but I just know it’s wrong. I l…”
She knew what he was going to say. The thought was complete, even if the sentence wasn’t.
“It understands. Better than Mum or Dad. They understand about money and presents and food. But the tree understands about me. I like it.”
Rebecca had only been half-listening. She was thinking things over to herself.
“Do you think I could talk to the tree?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask it.”
She waited. She strained to hear some kind of voice. But all she heard was the rustling of leaves, and the wind blowing in her ears.
He looked at her sadly. “It says you could if you really wanted to, but you’re too interested in adults to really want to.”
“But I do!”
“It says you don’t. Did you hear the tree before?”
“Well, no!”
He hoisted himself slowly back up, and drew his knees close to his body, arms wrapped around his legs. He watched the light dapple the ground to-and-fro as it tried to push its way through the branches of the old tree. It could never really win.
“You’ve had your ears pierced, " he mumbled.
“Mmmmm?”
“You’ve had you ears pierced, " he repeated, louder this time. He put his arm out to the side, uncoiling his legs.
“Yes. Do you like them?”
Joseph looked at them carefully. He’d never really thought about it before.
“Yeah, " he decided finally. “Yeah, they’re nice.”
Rebecca blushes a little, but is pleased.
… And Joseph hears the leaves of the tree, rustling in the wind.
- Simon Huggins, Aprox 1989/90