The Tree and the Village
written by Rebekah L. Fraser illustrated by Sarah Adam Š 2007 Rebekah L. Fraser 10-B South Main St., New Salem, MA 01355 978-544-3927 • rlf@aya.yale.edu www.madsahara.com
In a clearing in the desert, there lived a tree sapling. No one knew how the tree got there, or why, but people and animals alike loved the tree. They knew that, although it was small, it would surely grow if they cared for it. They knew that once it grew tall, the tree would provide shade from the sun that seemed to burn hotter every year. They thought it might even provide sap, which could be boiled into syrup. They thought it might provide fruit, or nuts, if they were lucky, but they could not be sure, for this young tree was different from other trees.
Truth be told, most of the villagers were too young to ever have seen a live tree. All of the older trees had been cut to make furniture, or bulldozed to make room for houses. The village elders had done this in their youth. They had not understood the consequences. They deeply regretted it now, as they missed the sweet, clean fragrance of the trees that the breeze carried into their homes at night. The old trees, the trees now gone, had been all the same. They bore the same type of leaves and the same type of fruit, and, in the time of the trees, their village was known for that fruit. It was a source of food, and a source of income, as the villagers often picked the fruit and brought it to the market in the neighboring village. There was so much of this fruit that the villagers did not appreciate it. That’s why they didn’t think they would miss the fruit, or the leaves, or the sweet, clean fragrance of the trees, once the trees were gone. They couldn’t have been more wrong.
In the years without trees, the village elders came to realize the mistake they had made when they killed the trees. Their children had no shade, no fresh fruit, and no clean air. Their village became dusty, dirty, smelly and ugly. The people grew ill, from lack of clean air and fresh fruit.
When their children’s children discovered the sapling growing in the middle of the desert, the elders recognized an opportunity to make their village strong again. However, the sapling that the children discovered outside the village was unlike any the village elders had ever seen. Its branches were different. Its buds were different. It glowed in the sunlight, and it glowed in the moonlight. The villagers had never before known of a tree that glowed. So the villagers cared for the tree, taking turns bringing it water and fresh compost to feed the roots. The tree grew, neither knowing nor caring what it was, nor how it got there. For the tree was happy, being so well cared for by the villagers. The one thing the tree lacked, although it did not know it, was conversation. People cared for the tree, but no one spoke to it, until one day, the tree heard a voice say, “I am the tree.� The voice was small, but it filled both the earth and the sky. Still, the tree did not know who was speaking. No one was nearby.
Eventually the village elders passed on, and their children’s children grew to adulthood. One day, a particularly hard working young man visited the tree with a bucket of water from the well. However, when he reached the tree, he realized that he had grown taller than it. He wondered why, after so many years of watering and feeding the tree, it had failed to grow or produce anything of any use to the village. In frustration he cried, “I have watered and fed you all of my life, and here I am tall and strong, while you remain thin and weak. You, Tree, are worthless!” “I am the tree,” the tree heard again out of nowhere. The young man heard the mysterious voice, too. He replied, “Yes, you are the tree, the only tree here, and I see now that all those years we spent caring for you were wasted.” “I am the tree that…” Where was this voice coming from? It was tentative and sweet, and as always, seemed to fill the earth and the air all at once. “You are the tree that what?” cried the young man. “Ha! You are the tree that doesn’t grow!” With that, he spat on the tree’s roots and stomped away.
That night, the tree felt sad for the first time. No one had ever called the tree worthless or spat on its roots. No one had ever hated the tree. That night, the tree did not glow in the moonlight. That night, for the first time in its life, the tree heard a long, low moan on the wind, and the tree understood that the sound was sadness.
The next day, a small child approached the tree, but when she got close, the angry young man pulled her away. “We shall not waste any more time on this stick,” he said. That night, the tree heard the long, low moan of sadness again, and the tree did not glow in the moonlight. In the weeks that followed, anyone who tried to visit the tree was stopped by the young man. Finally, he declared his intention to cut down the tree. “It won’t provide much wood for furniture, or even for a fire, but at least we can build a house on the spot where it stands.”
This infuriated the villagers and a bitter fight ensued. Day and night, the villagers fought. Some agreed with the young man. They resented the tree, because they had spent so much time caring for it, and it seemed to have done them no good. To them, it was clear that this tree was worthless. The young man organized his followers, and soon they became the village’s first soldiers.
Others fought valiantly to save the tree. Yet, every time anyone tried to care for the tree, they were stopped by the young man or one of his soldiers. And so, while the villagers were fighting about the tree, no one cared for the tree. Without food or water, the tree began to wither and die.
Soon the tree began to hear the low moan of sadness even in the daytime. The sound echoed throughout the village, filling the air and seeping into the ground. It drove the villagers nearly crazy to hear it day and night, and so they fought even more bitterly than before. The sound grew louder, and eventually it got so loud that the earth began to shudder. The sun refused to rise, and the moon sought refuge behind a cloud. For the moon, however, there was no escape from the long, low moan. Finally, the moon emerged, shone her light directly on the tree and asked, “Sweet tree, must you wail?” The tree wondered, “Why does the moon accuse me of wailing?” The moon heard the tree’s question and replied, “Do you not hear your own voice?” “My voice? What is my voice?” “That.” “This?” “Yes, that.” “But I am only wondering…” “And when you wonder the world hears and seeks to answer your question. When you wail, the whole universe – moon, stars, sun, air, earth and oceans – we all shudder and shrink in sorrow.” “But why?” “Because we love you…” Love. The tree heard the word and swelled up, realizing how much she had missed the feeling of being loved all these months. The moon continued, “… because you are the tree that--” But a cloud quickly hushed the moon, “Shh,” and hid her face from view. “Why can’t I explain?” The moon whispered to the cloud. The cloud hissed, “The tree must discover for herself.”
Meanwhile, the tree thought about what the moon had said. The moon had said, “You are the tree.” Suddenly, the tree realized the voice she had been hearing lately was her own voice. When she heard those words, “I am the tree,” that must have been her own voice speaking. She yelled to the moon and the cloud that hid the moon’s face, “You mean, I am the tree? And this is my voice?” “Yes!” They laughed. “I am the tree!” She shouted again, hearing it as if for the first time. She shook with joy. Knowing not only who she was but that she also had a voice had an incredible effect on the tree. For the rest of the night she played with her voice, sometimes whispering, sometimes shouting, sometimes giggling and finally singing. She loved her voice. Her voice was beautiful and it was powerful. She could speak gently and sing sweetly, making the oceans rock the earth as a mother rocks a cradle. She could speak loudly, and make everything tremble in fear.
She discovered that she loved singing best. Everyone else loved the tree’s singing, too. When she sang, the clouds swayed in the sky, the ocean rocked the earth, and the moon sang, too. When she sang, the stars danced and the earth swelled with love. The tree’s roots vibrated with each note, and this made the ground underneath her rise, creating a steep hill. The earth, stars, moon and clouds did these things to protect the tree, for they knew how dangerous ungrateful people could be. In gratitude for her song, the clouds showered her with sweet clean rain. The morning after that glorious night, as the sun and the moon exchanged places, a family of birds came to nest in the branches of the tree. They cleaned her, picking away dried bits of bark from her branches and trunk.
In the village, the people woke, and as they spoke to one another, they discovered they had all had the same dream. Their dream told them to go to the tree. The young man who hated the tree had also had the dream, but he thought it was silly. When everyone else said they would go to the tree, he said they were being foolish. He threatened to punish anyone who went to see the tree, but no one heeded his threats. They left without him. Even his soldiers could not resist the call of the dream, and so the young man was left alone. Eventually, the angry young man was overcome with curiosity, so he joined the villagers on the short trek to the tree. Everyone was surprised to discover a hill on the path. The hill was new. No one had ever heard of a hill growing in one night. While they climbed the hill, some sang and laughed at the wonder of the new feature in their landscape. Others complained that the journey to the tree was more difficult. All the villagers wondered how, overnight, there came to be a hill where the land had previously been flat. They did not realize that the same voice that called to them in their dreams also made the earth swell and rise to form this hill. Yet, as the complained, they heard the answer on the wind… “Some of you did not appreciate me. And so what was once an easy journey for you now requires more effort.” Hearing those words, some villagers were tempted to turn back. But curiosity kept them going. They might never make this journey again, they said to each other, but it would be worth it to see the tree just once. They chattered and sang and complained until they arrived at the top. When they saw the tree, all of the villagers and the soldiers fell silent. A beautiful humming filled their ears, and the tree spoke. “I am the tree that bears all fruit. All who love are welcome under my branches.” The young man who hated the tree rushed to the head of the line. He heard the tree speaking, and he could not believe that the scrawny sapling he had seen a few months before would bear any fruit. He was certain that this tree could never bear all fruit. Yet the young man fell prostrate when he saw…
The tree was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Her bark was lustrous. Her leaves reflected light in tiny rainbows. She truly did bear all fruit. From one branch, she dangled pears and grapes and mangoes. Another branch bore apples, figs and pomegranates. Dates and cherries hung from another branch. Even luscious nuts grew from her plentiful branches – pistachios, walnuts and almonds grew next to peaches, tamarinds and bananas.
She shook her branches, so that small children could delight in her sweet fruits. The children eagerly rushed forward to grab what had fallen. When they tasted the fruits, they laughed with delight and shared the treats with each other and with their families. Mouths were soon smeared with nectar. The tree laughed to see the villagers enjoying her gifts. Feeling loved and happy, she sang a sweet song. Some joined in singing, while others lay at the base of her trunk and napped. The villagers and the soldiers enjoyed the tree’s gifts, and they also enjoyed each other’s company, for the first time in months.
The young man who had hated the tree began to cry. He had not yet tasted her fruit. Truly, he was afraid to, because he suddenly knew that he had been wrong to treat her so badly. The tree bent a branch to him, wrapped him in a sweet-scented embrace, and whispered, “Why do you cry, when everyone else is filled with joy?” “I was wrong, and I fear you will never forgive me for hating you.” “Of course I can forgive you. The question is… can you forgive yourself? For although I forgive you, I cannot share my fruit with you until you have shown me that you truly love me.” The young man pulled away from the tree and sprinted down the hill. Such was the joy of the villagers that no one even saw him leave.
Although no one paid attention when the angry young man left, everyone noticed his return. He was breathing heavily as he dragged behind him his prized animal and a cart filled with gold coins. Without a word, he laid them at the base of the tree, spreading the coins over the very spot where he had disrespected her weeks earlier. The tree laughed, “Silly child. I have no need for gold.” Hearing these words, the young man knelt before her and wept for forgiveness. “How else can I show my love for you? I don’t have such sweet gifts as yours.”
“Then I accept it. You have given me what is most precious to you, and though I have no need of it, I appreciate the gesture. I see you have learned an important lesson about love.� With that the tree called to the Mourning Dove, who plucked an olive branch and nestled it in the man’s hands. The young man who had hated the tree looked up at her and smiled for the first time in months. The villagers saw this and cheered.
The tree said again, “I am the tree that bears all fruit. All who love are welcome under my branches.� Hearing these words, the villagers and soldiers joined together and sang a song of love and gratitude. The tree sang with them, also. Everyone marveled at the strength and purity of her voice, and at the way it filled the air and made the ground underneath their feet vibrate with love.
And so it became a custom‌ the villagers, who loved the tree, saw that her gifts were more valuable to them than their prized possessions. From then on, for as long as the tree lived, and as long as the village remained standing, each day, the villagers took turns visiting her, resting under the shade of her branches, telling her stories, tasting the sweet fruit and nuts that she offered, and singing with her.
When the villagers came, they always brought her an offering to demonstrate their love for her‌ fresh spring water, an animal to stay with her on the nights when the moon was on the other side of the earth, or beautiful gold coins. Since the tree had no need of the gold, she invited those villagers who were poor to take what they needed. That is just what they did – they took no more than they needed, and no less.
Over time, as the tree grew larger and more powerful, she taught the villagers many lessons, and those who were inclined, took the seeds of her fruit and planted it in their own yards. The village flourished with lustrous trees, but none were as beautiful as the tree on the hill, and no other tree bore more than one type of fruit. Generations passed, but the tree was not forgotten. Every day, someone from the village would visit the tree, and every day, the tree would sing, “I am the tree that bears all fruit. All who love are welcome under my branches.� The villagers never tired of her song, for it made them feel safe and loved. While it was clear that the tree had many lessons to teach the villagers, perhaps the most valuable lesson was the one that the tree learned. She had a voice, and with her voice, she could change both herself and her world.