The Poisoned Tree (Lindsay Ratcliffe)

So Shall Ye Reap

by Lindsay Ratcliffe

Nothing is ever really perfect. Most people grasp this concept at a fairly early stage in their lives and learn to accept it. John, my husband, on the other hand, will never accept that perfect is not achievable. He strives for it in everything he does and expects it of everyone and everything else. I don’t really believe he has ever experienced contentment or true happiness, which, speaking as his wife of eleven years, is a pretty difficult statement to make.

How can I live with his malcontent you might want to know? Well in the same way that anyone can learn to live with an affliction. You can either seek out a cure or you can try to understand it and gradually learn to live with it. I believe his condition is caused by the fact that he is an identical twin. This is not a generalisation about all pairs of identical twins, but rather a specific conclusion based on my detailed observations about my husband John and his relationship with his brother Adam.

Adam was born first, and it seems that John has never forgiven Adam, or himself, for that fact. Instead, he has spent his whole life trying to beat Adam at everything else. Knowing that this is his psychosis makes it somewhat easier to deal with because when he’s acting up I have a good reason to ignore his behaviour and focus on something more meaningful, instead of stressing about it. Oh and I should point out that this diagnosis is not one that have shared or will share with John. He believes he simply wants the best for himself and his family and that Adam has no bearing on anything he does.

In late winter we moved into a new home in the south end of Coogee and even though it’s in the South of Coogee, as John liked to emphasise, it’s not in South Coogee. Apparently an important distinction. It’s a free-standing, three-storey house with four bedrooms and only one other house between us and the ocean. Most important, due to our elevated angle on the cliff side we have uninterrupted sea views from most of the easterly facing facets of the house. We can’t quite afford it of course, but at least in John’s opinion we have a better home, with better views and in a better location than Adam does. Don’t get me wrong, it is pretty spectacular, but it feels tainted. Not pure somehow.

After settling in and doing a couple of minor modifications to personalise the house, we invited a few friends, including Adam and his wife Anna, over for a small house warming. We were lucky as it was during one of the shoulder weather weeks, where officially it’s still winter, yet the temperatures and humidity tantalise with the first taste of summer. We polished the Riedel glasses, uncorked a couple of bottles of good wine from the cellar and took delight as our guests made the appropriate ‘ooo’s and ‘ah’s as the evening light fade on the uninterrupted view of the sea from the balcony.

Everyone was suitably impressed with the house: the interior, the exterior and the view. I topped up Adam’s glass with a rather nice 2005 Shiraz Viogner. He swilled the dark viscous liquid around the crystal glass and then sipped. He nodded at me. At first I thought it was a nod of approval at the wine but moments later I realised it was a kind of warning for the goading that he was about to administer to my husband.

“Well my brother, you have come a long way! This has been a truly magnificent evening. Wonderful company, wonderful wine in a beautiful house in a fantastic location! Here’s to you, Mica and the kids!”

Everyone raised their glasses. John smiled triumphantly, yet before he had chance to seal the victory with a swig from his glass Adam added,

“Shame about that damn tree though!”

“What?”

All of a sudden, as if Mother Nature herself had just dropped by and made a surprise delivery, we all turned and glared at the naked skeleton of the tree that clung to the hillside somewhere between our house and the ocean.

“Well, when spring hits properly and that tree is in all its glory, you can say goodbye to your ocean views!”

Adam somehow managed to find the one flaw in John’s dream. John choked as if the wine had coagulated in his throat; neither of us had ever noticed the tree before. He dabbed at his nostrils with a napkin trying to hide any evidence of wine stained mucus that might betray his dismay. He cleared his throat,

“Oh that thing. I have plans for. It’s half dead anyway.”

“Plans hey? I’m sure the local council would have something to say about you hacking up the environment considering the bazillions they just forked on coastal facelift!”

I watched the candlelight play in Adam’s eyes. Finding John’s button was like hitting the Jackpot at a Vegas casino and he wasn’t about to walk away. And John, without fail, rose to the bait.

“Yeah, exactly! Why spend all that money and leave a mangy tree to spoil it? I’d be doing them a favour and saving them money!”

Sarah, a good friend of mine and the wife of John’s offsider at work chipped in,

“You can’t just go around getting rid of trees! There are laws against that.”

Closely followed by Anna, Adam’s wife,

“Not just laws, but what about ethics. The rest of the world is campaigning to save trees and you’re talking about running around cutting them down!”

John was on the back foot now, trying his best to save face as well as his views.

“Hey hey, let’s not blow this out of proportion. I’m not talking about felling an entire South American rain forest! The damn thing’s probably not even native and not even meant to be here in the first place!”

Anna pushed back her chair, stood and with both hands planted firmly on the table leant in towards John.

“You’re right. It’s not native. It’s European. It’s an Oak tree and an old one at that!”

“It can’t be that old if it’s not native?” Adam tried to deter his wife from getting too inflamed but she continued regardless:

“Oak is regarded as the King of the Forest in England! It’s even said to be the wood of Merlin’s wand. It’s sacred. All trees are sacred as they connect the earth with the sky…”

“Oh enough of your hippie bullshit! You’ll be asking us to dance naked around it next!” John tried to make light humour.

“Hmmm seeing your milky flesh ripple in abject rhythm, didn’t factor into my plan to save the tree, but whatever it takes!”

John instantly pulled back his shoulders and pulled in his fine-dined stomach. We all laughed, hoping Anna’s dry humour hadn’t soaked up what was left of the atmosphere of a good evening.

She turned her back and headed towards the house, then turned but continued to walk backwards.

“Do you believe in karma John?”

“Oh here we go!”

“In every culture John, there’s a similar philosophy: that you get back what you give out. Some even believe that you reap up to three times what you sow. For good and bad. Just keep that in mind before you decide to kill that tree John.”

She smiled, but she meant every word of what she said.

“I was joking about the fucking tree Anna! Jeeze!”

“Do what you will Adam, I’m just saying, that actions have consequences.”

“OK, OK! I get it! The tree lives!”

The evening didn’t last much longer. I tried in vain to reignite conversation about a random topic in Anna’s brief absence. When Anna returned, she just stared tranced-like past the tree, out to the milky reflection of the moon on the sea. Adam revelled in goading John, who sulked into the rest of his wine before accidently dropping one of the Reidels on the tiled floor. Needless to say, it didn’t survive intact. I was less than impressed and Anna and Adam left shortly afterwards, probably to avoid the uncomfortable domestic that was brewing.

******

Almost twelve months to the day, John and I were laying the table on the patio for lunch. I’d made quite an effort and even baked a quiche, with home-made pastry. Something I hadn’t done for years. It had cracked a little when I rolled it but seemed to have held together pretty well in the baking. I saw Anna walking up the path from the sea, closely followed by Adam. Anna waved, but I noticed a tight-lipped smile. The kind that you see before the wearer delivers uncomfortable news.

John walked out polishing a Reidel glass. I glared at him. He returned the Reidel to its rightful place indoors and returned with the cheap glasses. Adam and Anna appeared on the patio. We kissed and hugged and exchanged the perfunctory greetings. John didn’t bother asking, he just handed Anna a glass of wine. She took it from him, raised her eyebrow to acknowledge the use of the cheap glass, swilled the wine around the bowl and then sipped. She seemed pleasantly placated that the wine was of much better quality than the glass led her to believe.

“Have you seen the sign?”

Both John and I quizzed each other’s faces. Neither of us knew what Anna was referring to.

“The yellow public notice board on next door’s fence?”

John walked to the limit of the patio to eye the article in question.

“What is it?”

“Looks like they’ve got permission to extend.”

My automatic reaction was to hold my breath and clench my jaw. Anna took a larger mouthful of wine than one would normally do, probably to brace herself for what she knew would follow. For a second I thought John was going to leap over the balcony. He gripped the handrail tight with both hands leaning as far over as he could, then turned on his heels and fled across the patio and down the stairs to the path. Adam, Anna and I, walked blindly to the place John had just occupied, compelled like onlookers to a car crash.

John stood by the temporary fencing, in the shadow of the north side of our neighbour’s house. It had been wrecked, beyond simple repair, when the electrical storms of late spring had felled the dying oak tree and flattened the front porch, living room and second story balcony. Since then they had done no more than make the house safe.

The muscles in John’s cheeks were clenched so tightly that we could see them from our position on the balcony. His hands were balled into fists even tighter. He stormed back towards our house.

“I guess a relaxing lunch will be out of the question now?” I murmured under my breath to Anna, who offered an apologetic smile, even though she had nothing to apologise for.

“What’s wrong darling?” I offered in the lightest tone I could muster.

“Fucking three storeys!! Three fucking storeys!! They can’t do it! It will wipe tens of thousands off our house! We’ll dwarf in comparison, we’ll be in their shade and they’ll rob us completely of our sea view! We’ll see nothing of it from here if these plans go ahead! There’s no fucking way!! Over my dead fucking body! Over my fucking DEAD body!”

Inconsolable was an understatement. Adam tried,

“Hey mate, they haven’t got full permission yet, it’s only in the planning stages. It might not be allowed to go ahead!”

This riled him further,

“He’s on the fucking council! Of course he’s gonna get permission!”

“Gosh, I guess this is after the insurance claim for the damage done by the tree? You can’t blame them in some respects, no point in just making good, you might as well make it better.”

Anna had a great habit of saying what everyone else was thinking but no-one else would dare say out loud. John was pacing. With each turn of direction his mood grew meaner. The throbbing veins on his forehead showed the strain, as he considered all his various options. I knew I needed to rescue the quiche from the oven before it burnt, not that it would probably get eaten now, but I felt rooted to the spot. I was worried that if I wasn’t there that John would do something that we would both end up regretting.

He picked up the large paperweight that had been used to stop the napkins blowing away. In my calmest but firmest voice I said,

“John, just what ever you’re thinking of doing, don’t! Just put down the paper weight John.”

He brought the paperweight up into both his hands and squeezed as hard as he could, channelling all his anger. His shoulders slumped forward and he put the paperweight back on the table.

“What the fuck anyway!”

He was defeated. Broken. He picked up his wine and drank the whole glass down without taking a breath. I gingerly placed my hand on his shoulder to comfort him and show my solidarity in his grief for what was our short-lived dream home.

“It is pretty unfair on you guys.”

Anna offered. I raised my eyebrows, John was too broken to react.

“Pretty unfair? You think?”

“Well most things happen for a reason. Actions have consequences and all that…”

“Anna come on…” Adam tried to dissuade Anna from saying too esoteric.

“Well it was an accident, a freak of nature, that the tree damaged their house. You’ve gotta ask why bad things happen to good people?”

John poured himself another glass of wine.

“Not everything has rhyme and reason, shit can just happen!”

This was exactly how I would have expected John retort, however something odd struck me about his tone. When he’s passionate, his voice is strong and he is animated. However his tone was passive, as if defeated or that he didn’t believe what he just said. It seemed that only I noticed this lack of conviction as Anna continued to try to console us with her brand of reason.

“Who could have warranted that the storm would have uprooted that Oak tree? It’s a tree known for its strength and endurance. They usually don’t just fall down. Then for their bad luck to result in a massive win for them. It’s almost like they planned it! I wonder if it’s an insurance scam?”

“Maybe it is just Karma after all.”

John finished his second glass of wine in much the same way as the first.

“John, what do you mean?”

He still spoke in the same defeated tone. I didn’t quite get where he was coming from. It seemed Anna did though. Her expression flashed from one of sympathy to one of disbelief. She rose up.

“You did something didn’t you John? That oak tree didn’t just fall because of the storm?”

John hung his head and emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass.

“John what did you do?”

I hoped he was about to deny whatever it was that Anna was intimating.

“The tree wasn’t native. It shouldn’t have been here anyway!” he said in some pathetic attempt to excuse his actions.

“John what did you do?” I repeated.

“It was in our way, blocking our view.”

“John what did you do?”

“I poisoned the tree. I poisoned the fucking tree! I was going to get on to the council to dig it up when it died! I didn’t know a freaking storm would rip it up and dump it on next doors house. I certainly didn’t know it would mean they got an insurance pay out that would mean they could replace the fucking tree with a three fucking storey extension!”

Somewhere inside the house I could hear the mechanical scream of the smoke alarm. My quiche was burning.