Lydia, Frank and Joseph
“But he, too, is old and needs comfort,” said Lydia. She dipped a rag into a bucket of water with her small hands, wrung it out and wiped her father’s head. The droplets left on his skin sparkled in the sun that came in through the window. He lay in bed on his back under a thin white cotton blanket, mouth slightly open, dressed in pale blue pajamas that had wooden buttons barely hanging by the threads. His name was Frank.
“Well, he’s not making it any better for me,” said an old man in red pajamas from the other side. His name was Joseph. He was in bed too but had propped himself up with pillows to talk. His glasses sat on a small wooden table to his right. “It’s early, I haven’t even gotten dressed, yet he’s talking.”
Lydia carefully wiped Frank’s head one more time and stood up. She hung the rag over the side of the bucket and it sat there limply, imprinting a shadow in the water’s light on the ceiling. Frank stared at this spectacle with wonder.
“Behave, Joseph,” said Lydia, “And consider who you’re living with. Also remember that I can send you away.” She ignored his look and left.
The three were in a little white one-story house on top of a gently sloping hill. It wasn’t alone, but the surrounding woods ensured that no one disturbed them. When the sun was out, and when Frank and Joseph were feeling well, the three dressed up and took a stroll to the tree next to their house. It was a tall oak with strong branches, and at the end of them were rich green leaves. The three often took a picnic under them and enjoyed the weather, talking about the past while enjoying sandwiches prepared by Lydia.
Frank’s fascination with this tree, which he could see almost fully from his window, annoyed Joseph. To show this, he would put on his glasses, squint and shake his head, sighing. He once tried to talk to Frank about it.
“Frank, it’s only a tree,” he said.
“It’s more than that, just look,” said Frank, pointing.
“I’ve seen enough trees in my lifetime, thank you.”
“This one is different.”
“How?”
“Have you seen a sunrise over an ocean?”
“Plenty of times.”
“Then you understand. It’s like a sunrise over an ocean, except it’s there in the leaves all day. Just look.”
Joseph shook his head. Although he’d been living with Frank for several years now, he could not understand him. He had no desire to. Having lost his friends, his wife and eventually the companionship of his daughter (who still talked to him, yes, but from a distance), his outlook had soured, and his temper suffered because of it. He recoiled, like a snail encountering salt, from pleasant memories and the chances to make new ones. Life was bleak, and he wanted people to know.
One morning, the sun began its ascent in the east. It arched slowly, melting the delicate frost on the grass and reversing the darkness night had put on the sky. Its orange light hit the tree outside. It played lightly on the leaves, and the curious visual play that resulted travelled like a stream to Frank’s window, awakening him.
“It’s absolutely beautiful this morning,” said Frank. He sat up a little. “It’s wonderful.”
Joseph, who heard this sequence nearly every morning, opened his reddish eyes and pulled his blankets aside. He swung his legs off the bed, and, as quickly as his body allowed him to, started towards Frank. He was too loud, however, and only made it two steps before Lydia swung the door open. Her fury jolted Joseph out of his bloodlust.
“Get back to bed now!” said Lydia. She pointed to his side of the room until he did. “You should be ashamed of yourself. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” said Joseph.
“You were,” said Lydia. “Touch my father once, yell at my father once, and you’re out. I’ll have you somewhere else.”
She stopped.
“I apologize to both of you,” she said, “Especially you, father.”
“What happened?” said the old man.
“I just got off the phone with Joseph’s daughter,” said Lydia.
“What did she call for?” said Joseph.
“The tree,” said Lydia, “she’s cutting it down.”
This was possible because Joseph’s daughter owned the land — Lydia used the house for free in exchange for taking care of Joseph. The daughter had no serious problem with the tree; in fact, she liked it. But Joseph’s complaints had worn her down.
Frank, despite himself, burst into tears.
In the following days Frank rose earlier to watch the tree longer. Joseph could not help but feel sympathy when he saw this, though it failed to occupy his heart completely. He felt a slight glee, which mingled with the sadness felt by Lydia and Frank. They shared a silent agreement to stay in their respective arenas.
The men came shortly. There was a murmur at the door, then the sound of it shutting. There were two of them: one was forty, the other, eighteen, his son. The father was teaching his boy to cut his first tree. After pointing to where it should fall and the path to escape in case it went wrong, they began. There was a terrible sound — the tree was hard, and the boy was pushing too lightly. The father took over and gave him a head start. The boy tried again. It went much easier. A massive, silent falling sound was followed by a dull thud. They cut the branches off and moved them to the woods, then cut the trunk into short logs and offered them to Lydia. She declined, offering them to the father and son in turn. They accepted and carried the logs to their truck, the boy with a large grin on his sweat-covered face. Then they left.
Frank sat for several minutes. “He was my friend,” he said.
He turned his face away from the window and looked at his lap.
“It was a tree. They grow, then they fall. We’ll find a new place to have a picnic,” said Joseph.
Frank said nothing. Then, quietly, he said, “It’s not that.”
Frank stopped talking to Joseph. Then after a few days he stopped talking to anyone. Lydia’s distress was clear. She scolded Joseph when he spoke. When he stayed silent, she snapped at him for his seeming indifference.
“You don’t care at all. My father and I care for you, yet you give nothing back. Does it hurt?” she said.
To this, he shrugged. The action, though genuine in Lydia’s eyes, falsely represented what he felt. He was in turmoil. His heart, unable to feel for Frank before, now felt wrenched at the mere sight of the man. The apparent nonchalance was simply the only action he knew how to take. He was searching for another way.
After many hours of thought, he struck upon an idea. This occurred at night, long after the sun had left the sky open for dark.
“Yes, that might cheer him up,” he said to himself. “He’d like to talk about the tree.”
He thought it over, then slept.
The sun rose. Its light slowly crept across the lawn. It crossed the tree stump, then shone fully into the room. Joseph woke to this light; he saw Frank lying in his bed with a bright, orange glow striking his face.
“Frank, wake up,” Joseph said.
Frank said nothing.
“Frank, look at the sky. It’s beautiful. And the room, I’ve never seen it like this.”
He thought he saw him move, but it was the light.
“Hey, wake up.”
He got up to look at Frank. He strained to look at his eyes, lips and hands. He put his hand on Frank’s face.
As he did so, Lydia entered the room. He turned his head. They looked at each other. Lydia came to his side and looked at her father and touched her father’s face lightly. Neither spoke a word. Neither could.
“How are you feeling?” said Joseph.
“I don’t know. Give me some time,” said Lydia.
The two sat opposite each other in the room. Lydia was on Frank’s bed. The window was open, and birds flew by, chirping in flight. Clouds sat in the distance.
“I’m sorry, Lydia. I didn’t treat him right,” said Joseph.
“No, you didn’t,” said Lydia.
“I understand if you want me to go.”
“You going was never the point.”
“It might be easier for you if I left. I don’t want to make it hard for you.”
She stared at him.
“I’m sorry. I tried to be nice towards the end.”
She shook her head.
“I wish I could see that,” said Lydia. Joseph looked down at his hands. They wouldn’t stop moving.
Lydia got up. She fixed the bedding and left. The clouds were rolling in. Joseph began thinking about the funeral. He didn’t see Frank’s body before they closed the casket. He stayed in a chair outside the sweet-smelling, rotting room of his friend.
“Could I call Frank a friend?” he asked himself. He realized he couldn’t.
He felt ashamed. It was his own fault. He pictured Lydia. She had on a black dress and was crying. He’d never seen her cry. She seemed small.
A gray light struck Frank’s bed. Joseph got up, walked to the side facing the window and sat down.
“All this for what?” he said. He was looking at the tree stump.
He moved closer to the window. He saw a bird hunting. It quickly pecked at the ground, but missed a worm. It tried and missed again. It flew back to its home. Joseph followed it to its tree and thought about Frank again. His hands shook. He tried to find the sun but couldn’t. It was raining.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but it was gone.
