Wishes Like Apples

[Michael Young]

Wishes Like Apples
By
Michael Young



The young man stumbled through the trees, hunched over as if under an unwanted load. He barely noticed the terrain and nearly tripped time after time. He muttered as he ran, the words incoherent to anyone but angels. For angels love to hover around wooded places, perhaps longing for the time when man lived in Eden. Two of them in particular floated between these trees, and considered the stricken soul rambling beneath them.
“He wouldn’t notice if he was heading straight for a cliff,” said one in a concerned tone.
“You are right, Empethel. Nor would he care. If he doesn’t stop, there’ll surely be rainstorm. The very heavens would weep for him.”
“What can we do, Practicel? It’s people like that who want help least of all, and we cannot risk an impressive display. In his condition, it would send him to his grave.”
“We are not angels of death,” agreed Empethel, “but I think there is a way.” Practicel followed Empethel towards an ancient gnarled tree near the center of the forest, directly in the man’s path. Its trunk twisted and gnarled with age, and its branches grasped into the distance like gnarled hands. Wisps of leaves hung from the branches like an elderly man losing his full head of hair. The two angels lighted on the branches and suddenly, the sun burst in through the clearing, bathing it in buttery light.
“He will surely pass this way,” said Practicel, “Just what is it you have planned?”
“I will speak through the tree and grant him his desires. Is that not what men need to be happy? I can only imagine this unfortunate man has lost something he desired greatly.”
Practicel narrowed his eyes, “Perhaps you have not been as observant of them as I have. But it has been my experience that they’re never satisfied, no matter what.”
“I would still like to attempt this. I wager that I can make him happy. If I can, I will take your new harp as payment. If I cannot, you may take my halo as recompense.”
Practicel reached up and touched his own halo. It was still a beautiful thing, but ancient, and far past it’s height of glory. “Agreed.”
The man crashed into the clearing and finally tripped, and fell hard at base of the ancient tree. He remained on the ground for several minutes, sobbing and muttering pitifully. He rolled over onto the crackling leaves, and reached slowly into his pocket. Sunlight glinted off the blade of the slender knife as he raised it directly above his chest.
“Stop.”
The knife hung in mid-air. “What? Who’s there?”
“Look to the tree.”
The man gradually lowered his knife and stuck it upright in the dirt. As he stood, he wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “I’m going mad.”
The bark on the center of the tree rippled and reformed itself into the crude representation of a woman’s face. She smiled at the bewildered man and spoke before the man could get in another word. “You are not mad. But I can see that you are in great pain. What has happened to bring you such despair?”
The man sighed so long; it seemed it might never stop. “I’ve lost her,” he sobbed, “She was mine, and I lost her. My own brother took her from me…the only woman I’ve ever loved. He…”
The man tried to continue, but crumpled again in to sobs. The face in the tree adopted a sad, sympathetic expression. “What would make you happy again? How might I fix your broken life?”
The man took a moment to pull himself together, “Well, I’d be happy if, she’d just love me again. That’s all I need.” His face brightened for a moment, but then fell further than before. “But what can you do? You’re a tree…a talking tree! Oh, I am going mad.”
A single branch bent down and hovered in front of the man’s face. For an instant, a brilliant flash of light glowed from the end of the branch, and a beautifully formed golden apple hung from the branch. Confused, the man reached up and plucked the apple from the branch and held it before his eyes.
“Partake of this fruit, and you will have your desire.”
The man cocked his head to one side, and then looked around. The unblemished apple glinted invitingly in the sunlight, and his stomach rumbled in response. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and took a hefty bite of the rosy flesh. He nodded, raised the apple towards and the tree, and turned to go, “Thanks,” he said, “It probably won’t work, but at least I won’t go home hungry.”
He turned and sauntered off.
Empethel turned to Practicel with a smug grin. Practicel crossed his arms, “You haven’t won. He’ll surely be back.”
“We shall give him a year. If he has not returned in that time, we must assume he is satisfied.”
The angels tended their forest, and carefully watched the tree. Months passed, and the angels thought the matter settled. However, in the eleventh month, the man came wandering back into the woods, his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets, and his face a brooding, melancholy mask. He knelt in front of the tree, and gazed at it silently.
Once again, the face appeared in the bark of the tree, and smiled, “I thought you might be back. How is your love?”
The man averted his gaze, “She, is my wife now. We shall have a child in a few months.”
“That is wonderful news,” said the tree, “Why, then, are you so downtrodden?”
The man risked a quick glanced up, “I have lost my employment, and do not know how I shall support our child, much less my wife’s lavish tastes. We shall be thrown into the streets, and surely I will lose them.”
A tear trickled silently down the man’s cheek and landed among the tree’s roots. His hands adopted a pleading expression, “I was wondering if you could spare another fruit from your tree. It worked so wonderfully last time.”
Silently, another branch lowered in front of the man’s face, and the brilliant apple appeared. With reverent, wide-eyed wonder, the man plucked the apple from the tree and ate, until nothing but the thin core remained. He bowed deeply in thanks and walked briskly out of sight.
Again, the angels decided to wait a year for the man’s return. In the 10th month, the man returned, his expensive clothes and finely done hair slipping out, and his face strung as taut as newly installed violin strings. He came and stood straight-backed before the tree, his gaze tilted upward. He cleared his throat, “Tree,” he said in a cultivated tone, “You have performed admirably. The very day I saw you last, my fortunes turned, and I have become wealthy beyond anyone’s expectation. My son is provided for, and my wife’s wardrobe is the envy of all who know her.”
The angelic face appeared in the bark, “But yet, I can see that you are unhappy. What is it that I can do for you?”
The man sighed, “I am now terribly busy with the incessant demands from my business, my family, and others making social calls. I wish to remain wealthy, but to have a reduction on the demands on my time.”
As before, the tree proffered an exquisite apple. The man grabbed the apple and took a dainty bite from the surface. He then tossed the apple aside, turned, and left silently.
The angels waited, but did not have to wait long. The man returned barely a month later, his gaze set straight forward, his hands clutching an ax. He stormed directly to the tree and held the ax menacingly by the trunk, “I’m only going to say this once, tree,” he spat, “I want just one more apple from you, right now, and I don’t like your answer, I’ll hack you into firewood!”
The face in the bark wrinkled in alarm, “There is no need for that! What is it you require?”
The man snarled like a rabid wolf, “After I ate that last apple, my wife and son died in a plague. I want them back! I want to be with them again!”
The tree’s branch with the apple hovered over the man’s head. However, before it could reach his grasp, the apple fell and smacked the man between the eyes. The man stumbled and fell, and the blade of his ax landed directly in his chest. The apple fell, landing directly in the man’s gaping mouth like a boar prepared for a feast.
The man stared listlessly in the distance, and life seeped from his eyes. Wordlessly, Practicel plucked the halo from over Empethel’s head and fastened it on. Her eyes flowing with sorrow; Empethel descended and guided the man’s soul into the heavens, towards a reunion with his family.