The Fruit of the Tree

[ The conversation between the pear and the nutmeg tree. ]

“They had it all wrong. Someone told the story wrong. It should have been pear tree, not nut tree!”

“Oh no, not that again. I thought you’d forgotten about the whole thing by now. Anyway, why does it matter whether we’re called a pear tree or a nut tree?”

“Because … well, because those hu-mans have, what do they call it? Oh yes … they’ve immortalised us with their words – only they got the story wrong! And I want to put it right.”

“Well how would you tell the story then?”

“Do you remember their story?”

“Yes. <sigh> Only too well from the number of times you’ve told it.”

“I had a little NUT tree

Nothing would it bear

But a silver nutmeg

And a golden pear.

The King of Spain's daughter

Came to visit me,

And all for the sake

Of my little NUT tree.”

“I do love how you call us a nut tree. It seems so fitting somehow.”

“But I have a better version.”

“Do tell.”

“The pear tree stood

So big and strong.

When the wind blew through its branches

All the birds burst into song.

It’s noble fruit

Came forth every year;

Golden pears a plenty ...

But not a single nutmeg!”

“Hmm. I think we need to talk about this one. Look, clearly the humans made a mistake. It’s true that your branches bear lots of pears, whilst my single branch has only one nutmeg – and not even a silver nutmeg at that! Alas, the humans stopped coming here to admire us a long time ago. They called us a miracle at that time, but … I’ve just remembered … someone back then called us a hybrid.”

“A hybrid! I don’t remember that. What does that mean?”

“It means that someone could have taken a pear tree and a nut tree … and then created us. It means we are part pear and part nut.”

“Unthinkable! I’m a pear tree and proud of it. I’m not one of a pair. That’s outrageous!”

“Well … it is different, I admit. And it’s only a suggestion. But just think … we could be a pearnut tree or a nutpear tree, or a….”

“STOP! I don’t want to hear any more. I’m going to teach the wind and the birds to sing my song, and then they will travel to distant lands and the hu-mans will realise their mistake and set the story right. There; that should do it.”

“I can see a problem or two with your idea.”

“Really! Such as…?”

“I think that the humans who made that story are long dead and that nobody now knows who or where we are - and that nobody cares anyway. Also, I don’t believe that humans understand birdsong or bother to listen to the noises that the wind makes. They don’t know what we know; they only understand other humans.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Oh … I listen to the birds and the wind.”

<An hour later>

“You know, I’ve been thinking … about what I said of us being a hybrid.”

“And?”

“Well, there is an alternative. I mean, we could be a magic tree!”

“You have weird ideas and this could be the weirdest yet.”

“But think about it. I’m a nutmeg tree … in some part of me … and you are a pear tree … in some part of you. We shouldn’t exist, really, but we do. It’s just that there are more pear branches than nutmeg branches.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. So, you admit that there is more pear here and that I should be called a pear tree.”

“No, not really. It’s not about what we call ourselves – either nut or pear – but that we recognise that we are unique; that we are miraculous and magical. Listen! I’ve thought of a twist to our story, and I think it contains a kernel of truth.

The tree was born from a special seed

And over time it grew

Into something wondrous and unique

And out of the one

Came two – beings,

Magical indeed,

Who loved each other

Through and through.”

“Aw, that's so nice! You are right – I admit it – we are a special pair. It doesn’t matter what we call ourselves then. But if we do want a name … maybe later… then perhaps we should be called The Fruit of the Tree.”