The Island of Missing Trees(13)

‘So what do I need to do?’ asked Ada when she realized he wasn’t issuing instructions.

‘Right. We need to cover the trench with soil and leaves – and some straw I’ve got here.’

‘I can do that,’ she said.

Side by side, they began to work: he, focused and conscientious; she, distracted and slow.

Somewhere in the distance an ambulance siren ripped through the stillness of the night. Down the road, a dog barked. Then silence returned, save for the loose gate in front of the house, banging on its hinges every now and then.

‘Does it hurt?’ Ada said, so quietly it was almost a murmur.

‘What?’

‘When you bury a tree, does it feel pain?’

Kostas lifted his chin, the line of his jaw tightening. ‘There are two ways of answering that. The scientific consensus is that trees are not sentient in the way most people use the word …’

‘But you don’t seem to agree?’

‘Well, I think there’s still so much we don’t know, we’re only just beginning to discover the language of trees. But we can tell with certainty that they can hear, smell, communicate – and they can definitely remember. They can sense water, light, danger. They can send signals to other plants and help each other. They’re much more alive than most people realize.’

Especially our Ficus carica. If you only knew how special she is, Kostas wanted to add, but stopped himself.

Under the faint glitter of the garden lanterns, Ada studied her father’s face. He had aged visibly these past months. Half-circles had formed under his eyes, pale crescents. Pain had resculpted his countenance, adding new planes and angles. She looked away, and asked, ‘But why do you always talk to the fig?’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, you do, all the time. I’ve heard you before. Why do you do that?’

‘Well, she’s a good listener.’

‘Come on, Dad! I’m serious. Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? What if someone hears you? They’re going to think you’re off your head.’

Kostas smiled. It crossed his mind that maybe one of the most telling differences between the young and the old lay in this detail. As you aged you cared less and less about what others thought of you, and only then could you be more free.

‘Don’t worry, Ada mou, I don’t talk to trees with other people around.’

‘Yeah, but still … one of these days you’re going to get caught,’ she said as she scattered a handful of dry leaves over the trench. ‘And I’m sorry but what are we doing here anyway? If a neighbour sees us, they’re going to think we’re burying a body. They might call the police!’

Kostas lowered his eyes, his smile replaced by something uncertain.

‘Honestly, Dad, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but your fig gives me the creeps. There’s something strange about it, I can tell. Sometimes I feel like it – she – is listening to us. Spying on us. Crazy, I know, but that’s how I feel. I mean, is that even possible? Can trees listen to what we are saying?’

A momentary look of unease flickered across Kostas’s face before he said, ‘No, love. You mustn’t worry about such things. Trees may be remarkable creatures, but I wouldn’t take it that far.’

‘Okay, good.’ She stepped aside and silently watched him work for a while. ‘So how long are you planning to keep her buried?’

‘A few months. I’ll dig her up as soon as the weather is warm enough.’

Ada whistled. ‘A few months is so long. You sure she can survive?’

‘She’ll be all right,’ said Kostas. ‘She’s been through a lot, our Ficus carica – your mum always called her a warrior.’

He paused, as if worried he might have said too much. Quickly, he spread a tarpaulin over the trench and placed stones on the four corners to make sure it didn’t shift in the wind.

‘I think we’re done here.’ He dusted off his hands. ‘Thanks for helping, love. I appreciate it.’

They walked back into the house together; the wind had tangled their hair. And even though Ada knew there was no way the fig tree, latched on to earth with its remaining roots, could get out of that hole and follow them, just before she closed the door she could not help stealing a glance over her shoulder towards the dark, cold ground, and when she did, she felt a chill crawl up her spine.





Fig Tree





‘Your fig gives me the creeps,’ she says. And why does she say that? Because she suspects there might be more to me than meets the eye. Well, there is indeed, but that doesn’t mean I am creepy.

Humans! After observing them for so long, I have arrived at a bleak conclusion: they do not really want to know more about plants. They do not want to ascertain whether we may be capable of volition, altruism and kinship. Interesting as they consider these questions at some abstract level, they’d rather leave them unexplored, unanswered. They find it easier, I guess, to assume that trees, having no brain in the conventional sense, can only experience the most rudimentary existence.

Well … no species is obliged to like another species, that’s for sure. But if you are going to claim, as humans do, to be superior to all life forms, past and present, then you must gain an understanding of the oldest living organisms on earth who were here long before you arrived and will still be here after you have gone.