Of Every Tree Thou Mayest Eat Freely

“I’m going outside!” Rahab called behind her, already pushing at the screen door. Caine looked up from changing the infant on the floor, its little legs kicking in the air and the rest of it just out of sight behind the end-table.

“Can’t you wait for your Grandma to get here?” he said.

“But Daaad,” she slumped against the door. “She’s, like, a billion.”

“She’s four-thousand, sweetie, give or take a bit. And what does that have to do with anything?”

“It takes her all day to run over here.”

Caine sighed. “Alright, Ray, just, be smart and remember — ”

The click of the door cut him off.

The green hill behind the house shone like a polished emerald in the sunlight. She knew what emeralds were, because Grandpa had brought one back with him one time. He and Uncle Abel had swam across the ocean, somewhere else. They said that there were people over there, too — people with skin like milk and apricots. There, water fell from the sky instead of bubbling up from the ground. Sometimes it would get very cold and fall down like the fuzz that brushes off a leopard. She wanted to see that. Too much sun could get boring.

But leopards, on the other hand —

“Hello, Bast,” Rahab laughed as the big cat strode up beside her, silent. “You were gonna pounce, weren’t you?” The creature yawned, stretching and flexing its claws in the grass. “That’s what I thought. You want something from the Grove?”

At this, the beast perked up and coiled its haunches. Ray slid onto its back — something she made sure to enjoy, as she wouldn’t be able to do it for much longer , not at the rate she was growing. Bast sprung up the hill to the line of trees ahead of them.

The Grove was a strange place. It was “Kavod,” her Grandmother said. She didn’t know what the word meant, really, but she knew it meant something very important, very weighty. She knew that they both did and did not belong there — or at least, that it did not belong to them.

Most of the time they would harvest along the sun-kissed edges of the forest — mangoes and cherries and grapefruits and apples, all sorts of things. But every seventh day, Grandpa would take them into the heart of the Grove, where it was dark. He’d take them to the Tree. They’d sit around it, telling stories of the past hundreds and thousands of years. They wouldn’t eat anything on those days — nobody was allowed to take from the Tree. Those days were for remembering that they didn’t need to.

But that never quite sat with Rahab. The branches were so overburdened with big, pink fruit, the softest-looking she’d ever seen. Her mouth watered to look at it, unable to concentrate on Grandpa’s stories. Dad had told her never to go to the Tree alone, that it was only a place to go together.

“… But I have you, don’t I?” She said to Bast. The big cat shook her head. They’d reached the line of trees, and the rays of the sun still followed them in. She looked down at her house from the top of the hill. Then, with a little more urging, she led Bast into the dark of the wood.

She likely would have second-guessed herself, if she’d had time. But the walk to the Tree was short, and what she saw there blew away every other thought in her mind:

A man she’d never seen before was sitting under the shade of the Tree, a wide hat in his lap. He had a pink fruit in his hand, a big bite missing from its perfect flesh. Red juice dribbled down his beard. He looked happier than anyone she’d ever seen — and, growing up with her Grandma, that was saying something.

Without warning, Bast sprang forward, leaving Ray behind in a heap. She tried to call out for her, but the stranger’s voice filled the air first in a peal of laughter:

“Look at you, old girl! How the hell are you?”

The stranger was on his feet and Bast was in his arms, standing a full head taller than him and licking the juice and pulp from his face. He scratched her roughly behind the ears, and Ray tried to take in what she was seeing.

“You too,” the stranger said, snapping her attention back. “Leopard hugs aren’t anything special for you, but I know you love them, and this one is usually pretty ornery. Come on, take a load off.”

“Um,” Rahab ventured. “You — You’re not supposed to — “

The man looked at the fruit pit in his hand. “Well now,” he said. “You’ve been raised right, I see.” He plucked another fruit from the tree, polishing it against his shirt. “I’m guessing you don’t want to try one, then?”

Ray shook her head fiercely.

“Point taken,” he said. “Would you at least come for a sit?”

Rahab sensed she’d hurt his feelings, somehow. If this would make up for it, she could do that much. She carefully crept up next to the stranger and sat down. He followed suit, and Bast curled up between them.

“Where are you from, sir?”

“Oh, I’m from here,” the stranger said. “And from a little bit of everywhere else. I take a walk with your Grandpa every few days, when I take a break.”

“Oh!” She perked up. “He talks about you! But I’ve never met you?”

“We like to keep a little something of ourselves for ourselves. You might say I was the first friend he ever had.” The man tossed the fruit in his hand. “So what did your folks teach you about this Tree?”

“They said not to eat from it. They said, one time, that a snake said they’d be like God if they did. I don’t know why he would do that.”

“Neither do I,” the man shook his head, sadly.

“Grandma almost believed him, too.”

“Almost,” he chuckled.

“Isn’t that dumb of her?”

“Dumb? I think she was brave.”

Ray thought about it, and smiled. “I guess so.”

They sat silent together for a while.

“You know, I met that snake again later. He’d had a mind to make a bet with me that he could get your Grandma and Grandpa to do something like that. But boy, after it happened he looked all out of joint for sure. Said he’d do whatever I said from then on.”

“What’d you make him do?”

“Oh, whatever he wanted — just told him not to make a nuisance of himself. He helps me plant new seeds now, sometimes. Asks about you lot every so often. Acts like he’s still put out, but I know he cares.”

“Would it have really been so bad?”

“If they’d eaten it, you mean?” The man looked at her. He placed a firm, heavy hand on top of her head. “Yes, it would have been pretty bad.” Rahab took a good look at him. His face was creased and dark like Grandpa’s and somehow his eyes were even kinder. “Back then, anyway,” he said.

“Back then?”

“Yep. Now, though — ” The man stood up, and seemed to grow taller as he did so. He was in the branches of the Tree now, shaking fruit down into his hat. He knelt back to Rahab, handing her the hat and its contents. “How about you take these home with you?” He said. “And this — “ he produced the most perfect pink fruit she’d ever seen “ — is for you.”

Her lip quivered. “I can’t,” she said. “I — “

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re not breaking a rule; not anymore. I need you to tell that to your family, too.”

She blinked at him. “What was the rule? Was the Tree, like — a test?”

“Well,” he said, scratching his head. “You’ll come up with a gentler word for it before long, I’m sure. Think if it this way: virtue doesn’t come natural; not for you, anyway. Virtue needs a history. You and your family — you have history, now. And you have virtue. Without either, this fruit is poison to you. Not because it’s bad, but because — well, there were only so many ways of telling you. Now, though — see for yourself.”

Rahab felt something in her leap as she took the pink bauble from his hand. She turned it over and over, wondering if she was dreaming. Bast watched her warily, sat up on her haunches. Without thinking, Rahab bit into the fruit.

The flesh gave way like a mango’s does, but the skin snapped like a grape. It was tart, and sweet — peach, strawberry, liche — a dozen flavors at once. Juice poured from the bite and down her shirt.

She swallowed the morsel, her face glowing. “It’s very special,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s my very favorite, but I like it very much.”

The man smiled. “Well then,” he said, as she took his overflowing hat. “Now you know.”