Cut That Out / Okan Üstünkök

 

 

 

 

CUT THAT OUT !

 

15 09 12 Datca / 1 8 21 Bristol RI

 

The man and his wife have both retired after decades of busy, difficult work and moved to a small town in the hope of a more tranquil, trouble-free  lifestyle in their remaining years.  

Their apartment was in a newly developing area but there were already adequate health facilities, shops, a weekly vegetable market, and other necessary amenities, all within walking distance.

At the back of the building, across the street,  there was a sizeable vacant  lot, somewhat unkempt and overgrown. The wire fence around it was damaged here and there, allowing  astray cats and dogs free access. In the far  corner two rusty trucks were parked,  both apparently abandoned, derelict, broken and useless, needing to be towed away to the junkyard.

Along the kerb and forming the boundary of the lot were six very large fig trees surviving from a time when the area is said to have been sprinkled with lush gardens, orchards and vineyards.  Judging by their size the trees were at least fifty, sixty years old. With their  intertwining branches,  they turned into a work of intricate sculpture when the  leaves were shed  in the fall. Throughout the summer, on the other hand, they would cast a pleasant shadow for long hours, cooling a good stretch of the street. They were generous with their fruits as well.  It was easy to  pick the ripe ones from the lower branches. What was higher up required a bit of climbing. The rest  fell and dried on the pavement by the  summer’s end, ready to be collected by  practically anyone.  In short, the group was like an admirable  monument  to  bountiful charity remaining  from an earlier time,  created by who knows  what benevolent patron or patrons now long dead.

 

Chainsaws came on a Saturday morning.

The retiree was reading the papers in his kitchen after breakfast. The weekends had somehow lost their meaning since the two of them  quit working  the previous year. They were still taking it rather leisurely this morning,  a lingering legacy of their long years of active work.

When the man heard the buzzing of the chainsaw he was about to take a sip from his third cup of tea.

Could it be the fig trees? He hoped not, wished not, wanted not. Neither the figs nor any other tree, plant, or flower... Yet, something was happening.  Agitated, alarmed, he dropped the cup, sprang  to his feet, and rushed out of the door, still in his pajamas.

Yes! They had indeed started felling the first of the six majestic trees. How could they do this? He ran down the steps at the back of the building, two at a time,  to cross the street as quickly as he could. When he reached the other side he stopped for a few seconds  to catch his breath.  Then he walked to the back of the cherry picker truck and grabbed one of the spare chainsaws in the tool chest. Without the slightest hesitation, he pushed the starter button. As the thing came alive with a gurgling sound  it spewed a thin cloud of  bluish smoke from the side. Controlling  the noisy saw ably with both hands, the retiree turned around to face the sawyer and suddenly swung the cutting edge  at the man who had already brought down a low branch. With a swift twirl, he  severed the man’s right arm clear off the shoulder  almost like in a silly action movie. He then switched off  the machine, put it aside, bent down to  remove the  other saw that was still in the hand of the man’s severed arm. When that was done, he lifted the arm and stuck it  in the void of the fig tree branch that had just been sawn off. Without losing his calm, he picked up the fallen tree branch lying on the ground  and leaned it against the trunk of the tree. He pondered for a split second, then tore  off  both sleeves of his pajama top, shredded them and grafted the branch  onto the sawyer’s wounded shoulder in the place of the missing limb, using the cloth as bandage. The sawyer himself, obviously not in pain shock as yet, was watching all of this with widened, unbelieving  eyes, absolutely motionless like paralyzed. All of this had happened so quickly that there was nothing he could do anyway. Oddly enough, his severed arm stopped bleeding  as soon as it was placed on the tree. The slim branch, too, looked surprisingly  like a natural extension of the sawyer’s shoulder as if it had always been there. Then the two men, arm in arm, sat down on the sidewalk in the  shade of the trees. One would have thought that nothing out of the ordinary had happened a few minutes ago and that the two men were old friends who had not seen each other for ages.

The sawyer took a good, almost approving  look at his newly attached fig-tree-branch-arm which he did not yet know how to use. With his other, remaining   hand  he fumbled for  a cigarette  in  his shirt pocket, took it out, put it between his lips but, because he was  right-handed,  failed to manage the lighter with the clumsy left. The fig tree was  quick to reach down with its new, human-arm-branch, took the lighter from him, flicked it expertly and lit the sawyer’s cigarette for him. The man inhaled a lungful of smoke before he turned to the fig tree and said  “thanks,  pal.”  He paused for a moment to let the smoke go out through his nostrils before he went on.  “Sorry to have hurt you earlier but what could I do ?  I was given orders, you know..”     The fig tree nodded forgivingly and spoke back:  

“Nah, don’t worry about me.. I have gone through such a lot of pruning  in my life that nothing  hurts me anymore. ”

“No, no, this ain’t no simple pruning,” interrupted the sawyer.

”This time we are going to go the whole nine yards. You know, the full monty, as the saying goes. You’ll be done for, eradicated. Like, killed, in human terms. No sir, it ain’t no pruning this time. You’ll be cut all the way down. Roots and all.  Everything will go. There won’t even be the stumps left. All six of you guys. Sad, but that is what awaits you.”

“Well.. We  kind of knew it would happen someday”,  philosophized the tree. “It must be for  road widening or a park or something. There  is always a reason for getting rid of the trees, for sure.  I often wonder,  is any of this really justifiable or even necessary?”

“How should I know?” said the sawyer. “I ain’t got  no education. Maybe this old friend can tell you.”

The fig tree would not stop chattering.  “They must have made a plan. They usually come up with a plan that scrapes the trees but they never consult the trees, do they?”

The old man broke in and spoke for the first time. “As if they consult anyone at all“, he bickered. “They would not reveal their plans to  anybody before they are already drawn up, finished, endorsed, ratified, approved..  All that crap. I should know. I am an architect. Or used to be. I don’t work anymore.  Don’t want to.  The authorities will have you believe that the plan is a holy order. A decree.  An edict. A freaking firman or fatwa... A commandement... You know, like, something divine, delivered  from the high heavens to the rest of us, the insignificant mortals. You say they should consult the trees? Don’t make me laugh !.. They’d do nothing of the sort. However, I am sure they would dispatch the securities immediately to start questioning me now for interfering  with their confounded  plan for this place, whatever that plan is....”

The sawyer seemed to understand the man. He said  “don’t get upset now, man. You did what you could. You should be proud of yourself. Somebody has to stand up for the underdog, the victim, the fallen, right?  Like you did. Yes sir, you did just that. I acknowledge that, honest I do.  All these other people living around here didn’t even do nothing for the trees, did they? No! They are silent like tombstones, really.  What’s the word I’m looking for ? Oblivious. That’s it.. That’s what they are. They are oblivious,  wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.  You are the only one showed any concern. ‘What about you’, you might ask me and you’d be justified. Well, I am doing this not because I like it, no sir, but only  as a job,  just to eke out a living.  I don’t enjoy it one bit,  I want you to understand.   I know these trees are alive. I do. They are  beings, organisms  just like you and me and I would just as soon do something else instead, I swear. Cross my heart. But what can I do?  These are hard times and, with my lack of schooling,  what other job is there for me?  Nothing, zilch, zero. I have  to bring home  the daily bread, no?  What’s  a man to do?”

Then his eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey !” he shouted in genuine excitement..  “I know what I can do!  I’ll take this tree away from here, as large as it is, and bring it home with me. I have a  big enough empty patch in the corner of my backyard behind the cabbages. I can put it there and let it stay with us  forever, if it wants. After all, we are like limb-brothers now, thanks to you. At times it might even give me a hand with the garden work, now that I am missing one of my own, if you don’t mind my saying so.... It won’t be  no burden for us, none  at all. The fig trees  don’t even need water.”

The tree was touched. “Thanks brother”, it  said.  “But, just for the record,  I would need some water before my fruits pop up. Just before though,  not during, and certainly not after. Late watering would crack the fruits  open and flies would get inside the figs. Then they are no good. Not edible. You know, larvae, maggots... All that.”

“I know, I know, ” said the sawyer. “The spring rains should take care of your water needs plenty. What’s important is that you’ll be saved..”

“Yeah, that’s right. Thanks”,  the tree agreed. “ How about these others here  though?”

The sawyer frowned. “Now, now,’’ he said.  ‘’ Forget the others, would you? This is no time or place for such socialistic ideas. I can’t take all of them even if I wanted to, anyhow. There just ain’t room in the backyard.  I ain’t no rich guy with a palace, you know. Mine is a humble shack, that’s all. Now let’s go home, you and I, so that I can plant you before your roots begin to dry out . Besides, the  wife would sulk if I am late for lunch. Not that there is much to eat, mind you... Good thing you won’t  need to share any of that. I would have been embarressed.”

The giant tree then pulled its roots out, rolled them into a bundle and, with the sawyer maneuvering the cherry picker, got loaded onto the back of the  truck.  The old man watched the tree being driven away down the road.   Then he turned to the other trees and said  “sorry fellows.. This is all for now, I guess. At least your friend is saved. I’ll be here again when the chainsaws come for you but I am not sure if that would do any good...” 

“We know it won’t”,  said the remaining fig trees, in unison. “But please don’t worry. We really don’t mind. Besides, when they widen the road or make a park here they will certainly  plant other trees in our place. Young trees, you know, and plenty of them. “

The retiree was apprehensive, even gruntled.  “That won’t be the same”,  he mumbled tersely.  “There are new babies born everyday but what good is it to me after  I myself  am dead and gone ? ”

He then got up and, with a long face,  shuffled his feet slowly back to his apartment. For the first time all morning  he looked not only old, but also dismayed, disappointed, and defeated.  

 

“Some humans are good”, said one of the remaining fig trees after he left.  The others nodded.

They would have had tears if they had eyes.

 

***