short story

I can still see it: the majestic pine tree of my childhood, standing incredibly tall and impossibly wide, an evergreen sheltering sky above my tiny existence, towering over me like a smiling hairy giant, a creature from my grandmother's fairytales I used to love so much. I can still hear its mystical whisper as the soft breeze rustles through its spiky needles and imbricate pine cones. I can still smell its fresh, intoxicating smell in and around me. I can still see the wooden swing hanging from the tallest branch, my dear grandfather standing next to it, waiting for me to eagerly sit on it so that I can open my wings and fly to the sky... and beyond. I can still remember how frightened I was of the small, hairy green caterpillars that crawled along its branches, one behind the other. I can still feel the resin droplets on the hard, coarse bark like tiny, sticky tears on the withered face of an old man —my grandfather's the day they cut it down. MY tears when I tried to hug the familiar, mighty trunk so tight to say goodbye. l wanted to say to my friend: I am sorry. l wish I were older and could prevent this, I wish l could save you from those who want to open a gaping hole where your deep, thick, centenarian roots are. Please, know...I will never forget you.
     No, I will never forget it.. Since I took my first steps out in the world, the gentle giant was there, right next to my grandparents' house, guardian of their beautiful garden, opening its leafy arms to me, offering its protective shade from all that was strange, unpredictable and ominous in life. It was right there, on the makeshift chair of dirt, grass and overgrown roots at its foot, when I started reading my first books, embarking on my never-ending journey to the realm of creative fantasy. It was my playground and my hiding place, it was my summer nest and my winter haven. Its myriad birds and insects chattered incessantly while perching on its branches, my personal, melodious alarm clock in the mornings, my sweetest lullaby every night How can I forget? How can I stop feeling to this day that, somehow, even the teeny tiny girl I was at the time could have prevented its violent end. How can I recover from the image of my old friend dying under the relentless, vicious attack of the chainsaw, lying mutilated and lifeless on the cold ground, its lively colors turning into a deathly grey, then black. and lifeless on the cold ground, its lively colors turning into a deathly grey, then black. How could I have thwarted the devastation of an enchanting garden by those who wanted to turn it into a cold piece of concrete? How can I stop my soul from bleeding ever since?

     “Here, take this…For good luck.”
     I and my sister Ellie were sitting on the big swing at the shady porch of our parents’ house, enjoying the laziness and tranquility of a balmy spring afternoon. Bees and all sorts of insects were buzzing merrily around us, eager to share the news of the nature’s awakening, carrying pollen here and there, dancing to the tune of the soft breeze as it whispered through the flowers and the bushes and the trees. Ellie was about to write a new chapter in her book of life. One that started with the opening of her very own cat tea shop, a dream she cherished since she was a little girl and organized tea parties for our cats. Four years younger than me, and a head taller, the mischievous, hilarious, honey-blonde fairy of our family with the sunny disposition and the blithe spirit, was about to embark on a new adventure. And I wanted her to have this precious talisman to keep her safe on her journey.
     I held out my hand. She gazed at the small object resting on my palm with a bemused expression on her face.
     “This is…no, it can’t be....How is it possible? And yet, it looks like it came from the old pine tree, doesn’t it? But…it’s gone”, she said.
     “A few days after they cut it down, I went to see it one last time… I sneaked into the garden, which was a mess, rubble everywhere, and noticed the pine cone lying at a distance from the lifeless trunk … I couldn’t leave it there…It was all that remained of my old friend. So I took it. I wanted to show it to grandpa, to make him smile, as he was so sad those days, but as soon as he saw it, he got angry and shouted at me to throw it away. I had never seen him like that before. I run away crying, I put it in a small box at the back of my closet and never told any of you that I had kept it.”
     “Whoa! You certainly are a great one for secrets. I never saw you with it.”
     My sister couldn’t stop staring at the open, woody pine cone. She weighed it in her hands, turned it over gently and fingered it with reverence, as if it were some sacred artefact, an object that carried magical powers. And for me, it did. Imagining that it was my pine tree that I was talking to, I used to have endless conversations with it. I used to tell it stories, to confide in it, to pour my heart out to it. And it listened. Especially when I was sad. Without complaining, without criticizing, without berating, it just listened to the ramblings of a girl, of a teenager, of a woman. And afterwards, strangely enough, I always felt better, calmer, happier.
     “Remember when nana used to take a pine cone, bring it to her ear and say: 'Let’s see what story it has for us today. Be quiet so I can hear it whisper’. ”
     Did I remember? How could I not? Sometimes it was all I could remember. My beloved nana and her stories. Her shiny silver hair in an elegant bun, her cheeks flushed and rosy as a young girl’s, her forest green eyes as kind as her heart, her handwoven shawls elegantly wrapped around her shoulders, her almost translucent long fingers holding a different pine cone every time she was about to begin narrating her fairytales. Oh no, correction: the fairytales the pine cone used to reveal to her.
     “One of the highlights of our childhood”, I nodded with a smile on my face and a voice tinted with nostalgia.
     “Lily, I have an idea. What would you say if I asked you to be nana for a few precious minutes and take this pine cone back, bring it to your ear and hear the story it has for us. I have missed her fairytales so much, and you have a way with words, just like her. Please, please, please!” Ellie joined her hands under her chin while holding the precious pine cone, as if praying that I would say yes, her eyes pleading.
     “I don’t know, sis. I’m not nana…And, to be honest, I don’t believe I have a way with words at all. You’re just trying to cajole me”, I protested, trying to think of an excuse to get away from this awkward moment.
     “Oh give yourself some credit!” she exclaimed. “OK, don’t be nana… Be you… You can do it, and the pine cone will help you”, she winked at me with a mischievous smile. “Plus, you gave me the pine cone as a gift, and a pine cone without a story doesn’t make sense. Come, don’t be such a spoilsport!”
     I grunted. My sister was known to be infuriatingly persistent when she wanted to be. However, she was right… Why not give it a try? I didn't have my grandmother's vivid imagination, to be sure, but maybe my pine cone would help me, a? always. Reluctant and eager at the same time, I took the pine cone in my hand again and brought it slowly to my right ear. It was as if I held a seashell close to my ear and tried to listen to the sound of the sea. Would the pine cone speak to me? It was always I who talked to it so I had no idea if it even had a voice , if it was inclined to share its stories with me like all those other pine cones did with my nana in the past.
     "All right, you win. But, please, be silent for a moment, otherwise I won’t be able to hear anything. IF I hear anything. Don't get your hopes up, Ellie”, I warned her.
     “That’s the spirit!” Ellie clapped her hands with the giddy enthusiasm of a little girl, and made the characteristic gesture that reassured me her mouth was zipped.

Total silence ensued. A deafening, but pregnant with hope and anticipation, silence. l was suddenly transported back to another time, another balmy afternoon and I found myself sitting cross-legged in front of my grandmother, my tabby cat Zoe lounging next to me. I must have been nine years old, my long, straight, chestnut hair plaited in a side braid that fell over my shoulder, my fingers nervously playing with it while I anxiously waited for the fairytale to begin. I was wearing cotton navy blue shorts, a white short-sleeved T-shirt and red espadrilles so it must have been summer. Heavy, scorching puffs of air were coming through the open window on my left, burning my cheek that I tried in vain to cool by fanning it with my left hand. My glasses were constantly sliding on the sweaty bridge of my nose. Somewhere outside, a lazy cicada was singing its little lungs out.
     "Come on, nana, why is it taking you so long? Has the pine cone gone mute? I will fall asleep if you don't start in the next minute or so”, I urged my grandmother who seemed blissfully relaxed while holding the pine cone in her hand. "And aren't you hot with that shawl of yours? If I were you, I would have melted like ice-cream already!"
     "Be patient, my bird. Patience is a virtue, one that will prove a very helpful companion later on in your life. As for the shawl, it’s a very light one, it keeps my old bones from going stiff in this sweltering heat with all those sneaky draughts coming through the windows”.
     I wanted to tell nana that the “draughts” weren’t cold in the slightest, therefore they could not make her stiff, but what did I know? I was a small girl and my nana was, strangely enough, always right. How did she do it? ? thought old people were strange but so fascinating and mysterious.
     “Once upon a time”, she finally spoke lowering the pine cone and moving her fingers around it as if she had started unraveling an invisible yarn, “there was a kingdom far, far away, at the end of the world. Right in the heart of it, there rose a majestic palace, built of golden stone, surrounded by manicured gardens, rippling rivers, silver lakes and sprawling pastures dotted with sheep, cows and horses. There were countless trees and bushes and flowers as far as the eye could see. All sorts of birds perched on branches chirped and sang, filling the air with beautiful melodies.
     The occupant of the magnificent palace was Princess Anthea who reigned with justice and virtue over her beautiful, peaceful kingdom after her dear parents, king John and queen Alitheia, died unexpectedly the previous winter. Anthea, whose name meant “blossom” in Greek, was a kind, fair and benevolent ruler, a sweet but feisty young lady with violet eyes and dark brown hair, who wanted only the best for her subjects and adored nature. She always felt more comfortable in the company of her dogs and her cats and all the animals in the prairies and the forest than in the conference room with her cabinet.
      They said it was time princess Anthea got married and provided the kingdom with an heir but she had refused many a worthy suitor as she hoped to marry for love. But no one took her rejection as bad as evil king Malleville, who swore she would pay for turning down his advances for he was not used to people responding negatively to his wishes.
     Malleville’s remote kingdom was dipped in darkness and cold and his appearance stroke fear into people’s hearts. He hated the sun, the moon, the wind and the rain, he loathed the sea, the rivers and the lakes, he despised the grass, the trees and the flowers, he abhorred the birds and the fish and all the animals. At the same time, he knew how much Anthea loved all that so he decided that his revenge would be the destruction of her florescent and leafy kingdom...And before the next day dawned, he executed his evil plan: the beautiful, luscious land surrounding the castle and the capital of the kingdom was burned to the ground. When people came out of their homes the next day all they saw was a barren, lifeless wasteland".
     "Oh no! I don’t want Mallevalle, Mallevolle, what’s his name, to destroy Anthea’s kingdom! She will be devastated!" I protested, interrupting my grandmother who smiled with empathy.
     “It’s Malleville, and yes, my bird, I know, but there are some things in life we can’t prevent. Although that doesn’t mean that those who perform evil deeds won’t get punished either by man or by divine justice… or by both.”
     "Still, Anthea’s heart will break…”
     “True, however, we must respect the pine cone, this is the story it is telling me today…” she tried to explain. And she took up the thread of the story from where she had left off and, all of a sudden, her words became my words, her voice came out of my mouth, and I was the one holding a pine cone and sitting opposite not me, but my sister. How extraordinary!
     “Hey, why did you stop, it was getting interesting!” My sister protested as I paused for a moment, trying to understand how I slipped out of my reverie and found myself again in the present.
     “I’m sorry, it’s not me…The pine cone must be taking a break, I can’t hear it right now…Be silent, let me try again…”
     For a moment there was absolutely nothing, only whispers that fainted before I could make them out. And then, I heard it loud and clear: it was Anthea’s voice, strong, intense and powerful, addressing her people after the devastating fire that destroyed the nature they loved so much.
     “My fellow countrymen and countrywomen… A vicious man who wallows in darkness and whose heart is so black the sun cannot find a way to enter and bathe it in its light, exacted his revenge on me by killing what I most cherish in this life. He believes that I will be so sorry, afraid and desperate that I will crawl on my hands and knees and beg him to take me as his wife. But he made a mistake: ignorant that he is, he doesn’t know that the forest and the trees and the animals, and even the tiny and meek chamomile have a soul, a soul that he lacks, and those who so hatefully kill it, sooner or later pay a price and can never be redeemed or saved unless they want to. On the other hand, those of us who love and respect it, can help bring it back to life. Thus, I urge you, my good people, to help me revive this which has been so violently taken away from us. Let’s start planting and sowing, let the birds sing again and the deer hop across the meadows, let the rivers run and the trees bear fruit. Let’s bring life back to our kingdom!"
      The crowd cheered and Anthea put her right hand on her heart teary-eyed.
     When evil king Malleville saw Anthea’s people, and even Anthea herself, work the land, smiling and laughing, singing and helping each other, when he saw the blackened ground turning green again, he was furious. He swore that this time he would cause their rivers and lakes to overflow so that water could cover everything. And this is exactly what he did.
     Once more Anthea, who was both sad and angry after the second wave of destruction king Malleville unleashed against her kingdom, encouraged her people to be courageous and strong and help nature be reborn again.
     And when diabolical Malleville send raging winds that uprooted all that the good people of Anthea’s kingdom had planted and sowed, wiping away all life and wreaking havoc everywhere, Anthea, exhausted and heartsick from this senseless destruction and Malleville’s obsession with her, seeing how her people suffered and had started to give up, made an important decision. For so long she felt that she was to blame for this devastation because she couldn’t accept this man as her husband, but now it was time she did something about it. Since there was no other way to stop him, she would announce that she would marry him, but under one condition: Malleville would restore the gardens, the forest, the parks and the pastures. The evil king readily accepted although her people tried to dissuade her from marrying him, telling her that her sacrifice was not worth it if she ruined her life. But Anthea had made up her mind.
     The day of the wedding arrived, the kingdom was once again a green heaven, but the people who had gathered in the main square to cheer the bride on her way to the cathedral, were sad and depressed. Anthea appeared at the gate of the palace, stunning in her simple but elegant lace wedding dress, with a flower wreathe on her shiny hair. And yet, she wasn’t smiling as a happy bride would, and there was a forlorn expression on her face. She looked at her people, the tears in their eyes, their trembling lips, and their silence engulfed her like a dark, heavy cloak. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, she felt light-headed and she would have fainted were it not for a young man who rushed to her side and kept her from falling. When she looked into his eyes, kind and blue as the bluest sea, blood rushed to her head and an uncanny warmth made her heart swell. The young man with the ebony black hair and the sweetest smile, took her hand to steady her and held it tight… as if he would never let go. At that moment, the lad turned to the crowd and then to Malleville who had just appeared on the other side of the road, imposing and ominous. And bravely uttered these words:
     “No, Malleville, we won’t allow princess Anthea to sacrifice herself for us and our kingdom. You may burn and flood and ravage a thousand times, and a thousand times more we will plant and sow and grow. Even if we plant only one tree, we will have won and you will have lost. Because we give life… you give death. Because we have each other, even if we have nothing, and you have nobody, even if you have everything. So do your worst, we can’t stop you, but know that you will never triumph even if you destroy us all and you are left alone on this earth."
     Malleville grinded his ugly, crooked teeth so hard that they broke, his awful face twisted, and he felt such fierce and violent anger that he started burning up from inside. In a matter of seconds, he burst into flames as if he’d been struck my lighting and the air filled with screams of indescribable pain. What was once a ferocious giant now had become a pitiful pile of ash.
     The crowd cheered, clapped, hugged and danced about, and all was right in the world again, the evil monster had disappeared, they were saved! Anthea, joined in the atmosphere of joy and mirth, feeling the love around her and not only there…The tiny god’s arrow had apparently struck her heart and love had started blooming for her and the young man who had turned their fate around, appearing out of nowhere. His name, by the way, was Angel.”
     As a I uttered the last word, wrapping up the pine cone’s – and my grandmother’s – tale, I noticed that my sister had teared up.
     “For a moment I thought I was seeing nana… and listening to her voice… and hearing her stories… Thank you for this gift. Time stopped for me. And this fairytale...it was hers, wasn’t it? It sounded so familiar.”
     I nodded and smiled. Then looked down at the pine cone in my hands. Its magic would never fade. My pine tree would never disappear. My nana would never leave my side.
     My sister leaned forward and took my hands with the pine cone in her own. She caressed them lovingly and said:
     "You should learn from that story, you know, sis. Search your heart and you’ll see that I’m right. It’s time you stopped blaming yourself for something you could have done nothing about. And grandpa was never mad at you. He was mad at himself for the same reason you're still mad at yourself. Only he COULD do something about it. He COULD have said 'no' to those who tore down his house and cut his trees to build that monstrosity in its place. But for some reason we will never know, he didn’t”.
     What was she trying to say? I looked at her bewildered and pondered her words. What was the lesson I should draw from princess Anthea’s story? What did grandpa have to do with this? Was I really mad at myself?
     And then it dawned on me. The pine tree.
     Anthea fought for her trees and her animals and encouraged her people to stand up against Malleville. Nevertheless, hard as she tried, she could not stop him. And yet, as Angel explained, he would never win because evil brings death whereas good brings life. Even if we are unable to prevent evil, it never triumphs. Because we never stop fighting it, one way or another. For every tree that is cut down or burned, dozens are planted. For every four-legged soul that is violently lost, dozens are rescued. For every lake, river or sea that is polluted, dozens are cleaned.
     There was no way I could prevent my pine tree from being cut down because I was too little to do anything about it. But my tears fertilized the ground of my dreams and as a grown up, protecting nature became my purpose in life, my career. So, in a strange way, my pine tree has always been there, standing incredibly tall and impossibly wide, always towering over me and protecting me, guiding my steps, inspiring me, urging me on.
     I looked at my and my sister’s entwined hands and the small magical pine cone that nestled in my palms.
     And suddenly I felt… healed.