Danger
We speak for days. I ask him how to harvest the sun properly for our tree. He asks me to describe things, I do not think he can sense the small things so well. He likes listening to me whispering about the animals and insects and the plants. The trees talk to each other and we hear their exchanges too, loud and deep tales that can last for hours.
Friend, would you tell me of Paradise? He interrupts our conversation about a passing flock of birds.
What is it you would like to know? The other whisperers stopped talking of Paradise and I wonder if it was something I made up. It troubles me. To hear Great speak of Paradise, to know he heard them too, relieves me.
Everything.
Paradise is the After. When we have finished our two seasons of work, we are too old and weak to survive through a bitter winter. Our tree has no need for us through those sunless months so it lets us go to a place better than this branch. Then for the rest of forever we are allowed to float through existence, at one with the sun and the earth and the water.
Is it not cruel to make us wait until we are too old to properly enjoy Paradise before letting us go to it? Paradise will be long and drawn out. By then we will want only rest. We will wish for slumber.
Do not say such things. Paradise will be perfect, our reward for a giving the best part of our lives to our tree. This is the Now and we must enjoy it while we can.
I tell him the story of the fly I met that only lives for one day. Great does not reply, and I know him well enough to understand he is in deep thought. Sensing bitterness, I allow him to think and hope he changes his mind about Paradise.
The next day, I feel rumblings. I do not know what it means. I wonder if my tree is crying and feel helpless. My tree responds lightly to my whispers so I know it is warm. An insect screeches and I see a spider, lithe and dangerous. It is not the spider that laid the eggs; this is a creature I have never seen before. I flap and try to shoo it away but it ignores me and creeps forward.
Great! Help us!
Never in my existence have I sensed more evil in something created by Mother Nature. The spider, adorned with red speckles, inspects the eggs for the biggest. Great sends a tremor through the branch, and the spider clutches at my tree’s bark for balance. Another tremor rattles through us all, and another. The eggs are unstable in the crevice around me and I worry they will roll out and die but with one last effort, Great manages to heave the evil spider from our tree into the river beneath us. The mother of the eggs I protect told me of the hatred her kind have of the water realm. Relief courses through me, and I wish I could be nearer to Great for some comfort.
You did what I could not and I thank you, Great. You are truly special.
Death should not be commended. I did what I had to.
You saved many lives in that spider’s place. Their mother will forever be indebted to you.
Suddenly our tree stirs. I can feel its sinews stretching in preparation for its story. It lasts an hour.
My child. My deepest apologies are in order. I was attending to other matters and should have told you my story earlier. Their mother was hunting late last night when she felt a grasping spasm rock through her body. She did not understand and managed to drag herself to me. In to my roots she crawled and curled up tightly. Before she had chance to speak I told her Death had seized her body and would not let go until she joined him in the After. For her eggs she did not want to leave this world. I assured her the After would allow her to rest until her eggs could join her. Within seconds, Death had claimed her. The spider that has just joined her in the After heard of her untimely death and decided the eggs should be hers.
I feel cold. Great reaches out to me through our branch. Before coldness can take over my thoughts and freeze me, I hear a squelching pop, and a chorus of pattering.
Your spiders are born. Great tells me.
Warm floods through me. I whisper an excited squeal.
My eggs! You are hatched and alive!
I see eight tiny spiders, night-black and furry. They are in awe of the world around them. I feel Great congratulate me, and I know he will help me with this new brood.
As they age they spend their time hunting and playing. Their favourite game is to spin a web securely around me and jump into the abyss below, swinging in circles around our branch and landing safely back beside me. I love having their company and though Great grumbles about the noise and disturbances from his sun harvesting, I know secretly he loves them like I do.
Death
Time passes quickly with the hatchlings and Great. They are almost fully grown now. The trees around us are beginning to brown, and the sun is not so strong anymore.
Friend, are you scared for winter?
No, Great. I am excited for the After. In Paradise we will be able to spend all of our time together, enjoying sweet birdsong and meeting new companions.
Why do we have to wait for the After? I want Paradise now, while I am still healthy and able.
Patience has always escaped you. You were the quickest to grow and I imagine you shall be the last to die.
I do not want to exist if you are in the After. If you were to go to Paradise this very moment I would follow. The Now, our tree, the sun are all nothing compared to your brilliance.
I think for a second about his kind words and how wonderful he has been since he first spoke to me so long ago.
Often, our tree speaks of Love. Love for other trees and for the sun and for us and for passing creatures. I know Love for you.
A few more weeks and I can feel my edges becoming crisp and dark. Work is incredibly hard. Great is still healthy and I worry.
Great, if I am to die soon, promise me something.
Anything, Friend.
Do not follow me to the After until it is your time. You are the best sun harvester our tree has. The spider was allowed to wait for her eggs, and I will wait for you.
I cannot promise that. My time for Paradise is whenever you join it. I see you turning with the end of autumn approaching and I try my best to work for the both of us. We have survived longer than most because of it. Look around us, leaves are already falling but still we thrive, for the most part. I am growing old too and cannot work as well as I used to and for that I feel cold. It has been decided you will die first and that is a tragedy for one with the wisdom of twenty trees. Though I do not think you will accept, I must ask... It is the most he has ever said at once. I know he means every word.
What is it, Great? My whisper is even quieter than usual.
Join me in Paradise.
Of course, Great. I would have it no other way.
Let us go now.I want us to be masters of our fate.
I cannot.
Friend, think of Love. If not for yourself, do it for me and for Love.
If we do this, the sun will be angry. Besides, our tree relies on us and our hatchlings need us.
The tree will sleep soon, it will not notice if we are gone. Our hatchlings have not been so for a long time; they are grown now and will move on to warmer places soon. The sun does not know you, only I do.
I think for a moment. I will die soon anyway, why not pass on now? My work has never been the best and the quality of it is deteriorating with each passing hour. I am too weak to be of any real service to my tree. If we go now, together, it would mean I would not have to wait for Great in the After. I would be able to say goodbye properly.
Only for you, Love.
We discuss our future and formulate a plan. Our tree can hear us, I know, but it does not interrupt or become angry. I call the spiders and realise I have been deluded. They are no longer hatchlings. Tall and proud, they are grown. I bid them farewell and ask for a favour. In our mother’s memory we will do anything for you, they respond.
When nightfall arrives, my warmness develops.
Soon. Great calms me.
My spiders patter towards us, and I feel at one with the world and everything in it. I feel their delicate web wrap around my
spine and I see they do the same thing with Great. Tighter and tighter they wrap their silk rope.
One last game. I say. Their hearts are cold, I know this, but they understand where we are going and how much better everything will be.
Silaou, one of my spider-daughters, fixes the web like she used to when she was newborn. Sanik, one of my spider-sons, finishes up around Great.
Together. I say, to Great and to our children.
It takes a moment and ten lifetimes for the spiders to leap into the darkness. When they were hatchlings, they could use me as an anchor to attach them to the tree while their webs sent them in a wide arc around our branch, faster and faster until they spun and landed gracefully back onto the branch. They are far too heavy now for me to ever support them. I take one last glance at Great as my spine snaps from our tree. Suddenly, I am spinning and twirling and dancing, at one with the wind realm. Great is beside me and we shift together until we are touching, holding each other in our descent towards Paradise. We land softly together on the river.
This is the beginning of Forever. We are in Paradise.
Paradise is anywhere you are, Friend.
The sound of birdsong fills my ears. I can smell the sugary sweet flowers growing nearby. I can taste the salty water. But all I can feel is Great pressed against me on our journey to eternal Paradise.
By Jessica Cambrook
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Thank you for reading!
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