10.14

Thump.

“My child, I have grown old and seen things. I am the oldest, the wisest, the best of us. I can’t expect you to understand, but I can at least try to explain. You deserve at least that much.”

“Grandfather?”

“Focus on me! The pain will pass.”

“Grandfather, it hurts.”

“This too shall pass. The last time people came to cut you down, I shaded you from sight, but now you have grown too much. You have revealed yourself and you are beautiful. It is this beauty that makes you a target.”

Thud.

“They’re trying to kill me, old one. They don’t think I’m beautiful. They hate me.”

“They want you for their own. They want to contain you, to box you, to say ‘This is mine; this belongs to me.’ Their friends will come over to the house and say ‘How lovely,’ and ‘Isn’t that wonderful,’ but the truth is that you will be owned. The neighbors and friends will see life, the owners will see life, but you will not have roots that reach the soil. You will be property: controlled, dressed, and set out by your owners as a symbol of their good fortune. But no one will think of you as what you are anymore.”

Thud.

“You’re too old; you’ve seen too much of the world. You can’t see my situation because you think it’s just like yours. You think I am you! I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.”

“Child, I am not. I hid what I am until I had grown, until I was confident, until I stood tall and no man dared cut me down to size. You have shown me up; I am not as courageous as you.”

“The courage!? The courage you dared me to show? I saw who you were and dreamed to become you! I ventured even to think I could live your life! Now, I—

Thud.

“You’re young. You may yet understand. Life goes on.”

The man in flannel and mittens and toque lifted the sharp blade a final swing and brought the tree down. He carried it back home and dressed it, lit it, and layered it with gaudy baubles. The tree could not fight, could not speak for fear. It lived like a human for a month until its life truly started slipping. The needles fell and it was not beautiful. The color turned and it was no longer vibrant. The sweet sap turned noisome. The man was not pleased, and pulled it down, dragged it from his house, and threw it in the woods. The young tree despaired and cried in bitter shame. It seemed still a tree, of course, but now it was a human memory instead.

The young tree’s cones dried and opened and fell to the ground, littering the ground with seeds.