That Big Tree

“Son.” – warm like a log fire, wizened like a leather note-book your grandfather gave you.

“What?” – young, bored, like a hose when you put your thumb over the end.

Remember what I told you.

I will.

What did I tell you?

Don’t climb the tree.

Just that big tree...

... the one at the end of the garden that marks the edge of the forest I know.

Okay. – knowing, a look in his eyes almost like pain, almost like fear, almost like a tear gleaming in the light of the fire behind it – Go on then.

And off he goes, and he doesn’t even look back, not once, but his father never takes his eyes off him. Not once.

And he runs and he runs, and he splashes through the creek and he doesn’t even notice the sun glitter on smooth stones beneath his feet; and in time he comes, as he runs and he runs, to that tree. At the end of the garden that marks the edge of the forest I know. And it’s tall, and it’s a climber. Its long, sidewards branches beckon in their woody way and they seem to say, sneering,

Are you man enough?

                Yes I am.

But you’re only a child, I don’t think that you can.

                Oh I think that I can and I think that I will, as long as you’re fair and you keep standing still.

Very well, very well, I give you my word. While you climb, I’ll be still.

                That’s not what I heard.

You can’t trust what you hear - believe what you see! Look, foolish child - I can’t move, I’m a tree.

And he grits his teeth and he catches his bottom lip and he knows it’ll bleed but he doesn’t care because he’s man enough, he knows he is. And there’s dust in his eye he swears as he hauls himself up onto the first branch. And already he feels that he might be a fool - but he’s not a coward. He won’t be a coward. So he clambers on, onwards and upwards, don’t look back, don’t look down, no room for doubt. No room for the fear rising in his chest like a cold, hard stone from the bottom of the stream. But for a moment, an image of his father leaps into his mind. And he swallows the stone down hard because he will not be a child anymore, he will not be the little one, he will not be the one who’s never climbed the tree and doesn’t even know what the forest looks like from up there. He wishes he had a little brother to be bigger than. And he takes hold of the last branch. And pulls. And as he lifts his leg over onto it and starts to look up he feels it shake beneath him. Just a few times; lightly, quickly. Like a chuckle. And then again, bigger this time and growing, until he can hear the roar, the bellow, the mocking howl of ancient laughter too loud in his ear as he clings on with all his might.

                You said you wouldn’t move! – and he can hear that he’s whining like a baby but he can’t help it and -

Now, what did I say?  ‘I’ll be still, while you climb’? You can’t trust what you hear, least of all when it rhymes. But of course, I was faithful - I kept to the deal. But the climb’s over now – so hold on tight. Things might get surreal.

And the smooth stone sank to the pit of his stomach, and waited. 

And then... the world bent. 

And the tree seemed to writhe and squirm and turn itself inside-out like a worm. And he clung on as tight as he could because he couldn’t tell which way was up anymore and he wasn’t sure there even was an up anymore, only down the rabbit hole. Where the dark things wriggle. And he wanted to go home but he knew, oh he knew, that it was already too late. And the tree swallowed him up, like a fly in its soup.

 ***

Hello? – soft, bright, echoey in the darkness.

                Hello! – excitement spilling over into panic, into ecstasy – Who’s there?

Oh it’s just me, don’t worry.

                Who are you?

It’s a long story.

                The darkness rings silent for a moment – How did you get here?

Just the same as you, I climbed the tree.

                Really?! Why?

Ah, well that’s a funny story. I climbed it because my father told me to.

                What?! No! How could he?! Who would ever tell their son to do something like that and end up somewhere like here?

No reply; patient silence.

                Did he tell you why?

Yes. He told me that someday, if I waited long enough, I’d find you.

                Me? Really?

Really really. And sure enough, brother, here you are.

                Brother?

Yes. It’s really good to hear your voice.

                I – I mean – what? – 

I'm your brother! And it's good to hear your voice.

                Um - well - a smile bursts into the voice - you too, I suppose.

A great chuckle illuminates the darkness, like a forest-brook, but warming like hot chocolate – Thanks. Right, we can talk more later, for now, let’s get out of this place.

                You know the way out?

Indeed I do, father told me that as well.

                And he felt a strange sensation in his throat, creeping into his chest, a bit like something melting. Like he was very confused indeed but somehow it wasn’t too much of a problem. So how do we get out?

It’s easy really – we get lost.

And suddenly a firm hand grasped his in the darkness and pulled him fiercely to his feet, but further than that, it whirled him around in the air, around and around, and he almost remembered the feeling from the good old days in a sun-kissed garden, and then they were falling, and laughing, and he could feel the gentle damp of dewy grass beneath his finger tips, and he could hear his brother laughing, and the sun was rising, and he could feel himself rolling down a hill of grass, faster and faster, the laughter undulating in great waves as they rolled, and then all of a sudden they were swimming, startling, delightful water flooding over them as they struck out towards God knows where, and they were lost - thoroughly, gloriously lost. And yet the little boy felt found. And as they scrambled, panting with joy and exhaustion, onto a beach of smooth stones he heard the crunch of running feet, of eager feet, and he felt his own heart thumping, eager in his chest. And he felt big, warm arms wrap round him, and lift him clean off his feet, and whirl him around just like the sun-kissed good-old days. And a voice that sounded like log fires and old leather notebooks spoke softly, and the smile in the voice seemed to bounce back from the mountains -

Welcome home, boys. Welcome home.