the plum

The Plum

    A small village is located on top of a small mountain that overlooks an ocean.  A large plum tree - whose ancestors date back to prehistoric times - grows over one of the cliffs.  Its large trunk stands higher than any other tree on the mountain, and its tallest branch nearly scrapes the sky.  The villagers believe the tree has magical abilities, as it is never without plums.  If one plum should fall or be picked, a new one will grow back in its place overnight. 
   
Once a month a family is selected by rotation to harvest the tree's fruit; however, there is one plum, called the godfather plum, whose picking is forbidden; it is larger and far lovelier than all the others, and it is rightly believed to be the source of the tree's magic.  Even the crows worship the trees abilities and eat only the plums that have fallen.  Every morning they gather in the tree's tangled branches and perform their ritual song and dance.  Black feathers shine in the light of the sun and gruff chirps are heard throughout the village.  Everything on the peaceful mountain adores the magical tree and would never so much as think of harming it.
         
But there is one among the villagers that loves the tree more than the rest.  Young Euclinton has always had a special bond with the tree and is the only villager who refuses to eat its plums.  One day one of elder villagers asked the young man, "Euclinton, why do you deny the tree's offerings?  You offend its very nature."
         
"I dare not to offend the tree," Euclinton explained, "but to show it my devotion; it is enough that I sit under its shade and marvel at its beauty; it is enough that it has chosen our humble village for its home."
         
The elder villager, perplexed by the youth's strange philosophy, rolled his eyes and bit greedily into the flesh of a plum.  He laughed merrily whilst juice spilled out of his mouth and onto his bearded chin: "Well that's fine!" the old man roared.  "That's more for me!"
         
The other villagers witnessing the conversation all began to laugh.  "What a fool Euclinton is!" one of them shouted.  But Euclinton did not mind.  He knew they meant no harm, that they were but incapable of understanding something so beautiful, so complex.  Their ignorance only reminded him of his love for the plum tree and affirmed his unique connection with it. 
         
For a long while Euclinton lived quite peacefully in the village, and only rarely was he teased for his plum-denial.  Once a month, when his turn came to harvest the plum tree, he only sat beneath its shade and dreamed of its mysteries.  He spoke with it, he confided in it, he loved it more than anything else in his life; so on the morning the tree was found without plums, he was sad and worried most of all the other villagers.
   
No one understood why the tree had suddenly gone barren - not even Euclinton.  The panic stricken village held a meeting that day in the church to discuss potential causes and remedies for the tree's fruitlessness.  Everyone had his or her own false theory: 
   
"Perhaps the wind has bothered the tree." one woman suggested.
   
"No, no, no.  It's been this windy before." argued a farmer.  "But I have seen more crows around than usual.  Perhaps they have somehow offended the-"
   
"It's the sun! The sun has been too bright!"
   
"You fool!  It's not the-"
   
"It's the rain!  I know it!"
   
The meeting carried on in this frantic manor for some time until one villager made a vicious accusation: "You're all wrong!" he shouted.  "There is only one who has upset the tree and made it too depressed to make fruit: Euclinton!"
   
All at once the villagers turned on poor Euclinton, who was instantly taken aback.  "It's not true!  The tree adores me!  It tells me so!" the young man pleaded.
"Not so!" cried the elder villager.  "The tree is sick of your mockery.  It detests your plum-denial.  In the history of our village, not one person has ever refused the sweetness of the plums.  Only you!  You have single-handedly ruined our most prized possession and we must right this horrible wrong."
   
"But how might we hope to do that?" asked a little girl.

    "Oh dear child," the old man continued, "we are but peaceful folk, but this is truly an evil crisis; so it is only with the hand of evil that we can hope to appease it."
   
The villagers hollered in agreement, and Euclinton shook in his skin for he feared what the elder man suggested.  "No!" he cried, "You're being absurd!" but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
   
Euclinton was dragged out of the church and tied to a boulder that rested in front of the plum tree.
   
"Here you shall stay, neglected and despised, until our precious tree has forgiven you and makes plums once more." said the villagers.

Euclinton was horrified, but he felt no hate or anger toward his fellows; just pity for their ignorance.  Only the tree's strange illness broke his heart.
   
"Oh my dear plum tree!" he exclaimed.  "I shall do whatever you wish.  I can only wait here, tied to this boulder, for your command.

    But the tree did not respond.  The night had come and all was silent.  Stars sparkled and the moon hung proudly in the dark sky.  Euclinton was lulled to sleep by sympathetic crickets that watched over him throughout the night. 

    He had been dreaming of swimming through the ocean when a faint and lovely voice tickled his ear: "Sweet Euclinton, my crows are your saviors.  While you sleep they chew you from your restraints.  You have been freed so rise and come hither!"
   
The young man woke groggily and realized the tree was communicating with him.  He came slowly to his feet and said, "Is this but a dream?"

"This is all quite real." replied the tree.  "Now come hither.  We have no time to waste.  As we speak, the farmer is waking in want to come and check on us.  He wishes you harm Euclinton, so please be sharp."

    "What do you wish of me dear tree?"

    On the deepest branch, shielded by leaves, was the godfather plum.  It was the only plum left on the tree and it looked just as magnificent as ever.  The dew on its skin glittered in the moonlight, and the leaves drew back to reveal the entirety of its mass.
   
"You must trust me Euclinton; I have never betrayed you.  You must take but one bite from my last plum, and in doing so, you will save us both."
   
"I cannot!"

    "Do what I say.  You must be brave."

    "But you will perish."

    "No, Euclinton.  I am infinite, and you must do as I say."

    Euclinton climbed his way up the tree to the godfather plum.  Its beauty had never been seen so candidly before; it was stunning, and the idea of biting into its fragile skin troubled him very much.  But he would not disobey the tree; he cradled the large fruit softly in his hands and took one bite.
   
"Well done." sighed the tree.

    Euclinton's spirit erupted with sensations.  Strange memories that were not his own flashed through his mind: creatures he did not know existed were born and then died; plants blossomed and then withered away; mountains rose and then crumbled.  Over and over the same cycle continued until he saw himself; first as a baby, then a child, then a young man.  All around him time was collapsing. 
   
Euclinton had breached the heart of the tree, and in a euphoric trance of omniscience, he slipped over the edge of the cliff and fell gently into the infinite, back into that whence everything comes and goes.
   
The tree never made another plum.  Eventually all its leaves were carried away by the wind, and now all that remains are the skeletal branches that not even the crows can bear to look at.