“Unkept” by Jane Liddle

The Empathy Tree looked like a stunted monkey puzzle crossed with a Norfolk pine, reptilian and confused. Olivia, my sister, turned the potted tree as if it were on display. I thought about how life would be different, better, if my sister were the type who would enjoy going to the Christmas Tree shop or the outlet malls with me every once in a while.

Olivia showed me the tree’s nuts with an excitement of a scientist discovering a new species of bird. She said, “Chosen women have been taking care of this very tree for centuries, generation after generation, waiting for it to bear its nuts. When someone consumes the nuts, it is believed the person experiences a euphoric state best described as emotional hallucination.  But more important, the nuts are said to have healing properties, properties that heal the mind, that put a salve on the psychic wounds of social ills. It is believed the essence of the nut builds empathy, loosens compassion. It is a solution to patriarchal violence, to war, to rape. To greed, mostly. It satisfies. The person is left with a sense of love for all humanity and an increased sensitivity to others, like how LSD can shift consciousness, except the results are permanent.

“Throughout the generations there’s been a keeper of the tree and the keeper kept the tree with a heart full of faith. I’m the keeper for this generation. And the miracle is finally being realized.

“But of course it is a secret. There’s only one tree like this in the world. The others were destroyed long ago because the rulers and capitalists and white men didn’t want a populace happy with themselves and with others. War is a business, and masculine, and the nuts were looked upon as witchcraft that feminized…”

“We’re white.”

“What?”

“You said white men destroyed the trees out of greed. But we’re white.”

“That’s not really my point. I’m supposed to keep this tree secret from everyone except for a handful of people because it’s unsafe for those who know about it and for the tree.”

“So why you telling me?”

“Because I want you to be the first person to eat a nut.”

She cupped a nut that was hanging from a branch like it was a fragile tree ornament that had been in the family for decades. It had a top like an acorn that was smooth, but the nut itself looked like it was a roughed-up planet. I wasn’t going to eat that.

“You going with me to visit Mom or not?” I asked.

“Not.”

“Fine then.”

That afternoon I went to see Mom in the home. I never liked going there since it felt so much like a hospital, with railings and linoleum everywhere and people talking in phony optimistic tones. It was a gloomy dead end, but also a solution that we could afford. Mom was having a good day and recognized me. I told her all about my sister’s tree and how she said it would save the world and Mom said that feminists ruined the world and we had a good laugh about that. One of my mom’s buddies approached us in the dining room and said how nice it was to see me. I said it was nice to see her, and I meant it. Dottie always had a perfect face on and a compliment to give. She complimented my hair, which I recently had streaked. I told her I liked her bead necklace. Then the curtain drew over my mom’s eyes and she started getting nasty with me, thinking I was one of her old friends from high school who had stolen some boyfriend of hers. She told me I would always be flat-chested. That’s how I knew she didn’t realize I was me. I took her to her room and wrapped the scarf my sister had knit her, the one with embroidered deer along the edges. Deer are my mom’s favorite animal, but of course she’s never had a garden.

I garden as a hobby. I have a vegetable garden, but I also have rose bushes.

Olivia is a botanist. And a horticulturalist. That’s two different degrees.

And if those two degrees weren’t enough, now she’s playing Jackie and the beanstalk, raising a magical tree.

I thought about it some more. Even if there were a magical tree, why would she be chosen to keep it? I’ve seen her walk into more glass doors than I could count. The whole scenario rank of Big Foot. I couldn’t tell if my sister was playing a joke on me or if someone was playing a joke on her.

A few days later I was raking leaves in my backyard. Well, more like raking branches since my neighbor had a willow that shed on my side of the property. But to be fair there were a lot of leaves from my elms too, and from afar the ground of my backyard looked like it was covered in sunflower petals. I stored the branches and leaves in black lawn bags and placed them way back by the property border next to a stone fire pit for burning that weekend. My neighbor’s kids eyed me wishfully, though they knew better than to ask if they could jump in the leaf piles. I didn’t let any neighbors on my property because I didn’t want to get sued in case someone got hurt. This was when Olivia called me. She said, “The nuts are changing color so fast now, I think they’ll be ready much sooner than I expected. And it’s so strange because I feel like the smell of the plant is changing too. It used to be just pine smelling, with maybe some cedar, but now there is a distinct nutmeg scent.”

“Maybe the nuts are the secret ingredient in Coke.”

“Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? This is the only tree.”

Olivia had no sense of humor.

“When the nuts are ready I’d like you to come over and meet some of the other people I’ve been working with…”

“I haven’t agreed to any nut eating. I’m not a guinea pig, I’m a person and I don’t do drugs or eat poisonous nuts.” It’s true. I don’t drink either, not even the blood of Christ.

“I’m giving you an opportunity to be part of a revolutionary and amazing moment in the history of personkind. Literally amazing. We can do it together.”

“Why do you want me to eat a nut anyway?”

Olivia was silent for a few moments too long. That meant she was going to say something rude but in a sly way so I wouldn’t notice.

“I just feel like…you could benefit to connect with the world in a new beautiful way.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how I connect with the world.”

“I didn’t say there was. This could just be a new way, it’s not right or wrong.”

I didn’t say anything back to that because I knew that if she thought my way of “connecting to the world” was right than she wouldn’t be suggesting I needed a new way. It’s like how when me and Mom used to ask Olivia to go on walks and hikes with us for family outings when really we just thought she was getting too fat. People don’t just suggest stuff because they think everything is fine. I was just about to tell Olivia where exactly in her body she could shove those nuts when she asked, “How’s Nancy?”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that her claws grew back.”

“I thought declawing a cat was a permanent procedure.”
“It is permanent. You’re not the only one witnessing miracles.”

That Saturday was Mom’s birthday. She was turning ninety. She had me and Olivia when she was forty-three and forty-four respectively, both accidents. She never sweetened the retelling with “happy” before “accidents.” She was confused by her luck, to have built a life around not having children, then to be burdened with two right when all her friends were ready to party again.

But she was a fair mom. Olivia disagreed.

I met Olivia in the parking lot of the home. The air had a fresh crispness to it, like raw celery, and there was a chimney smell from far off. Olivia had straightened her hair and wore it down and it looked pretty. I said, “I bet you’re gonna put your hair in a ponytail within five minutes.” Olivia gave me a strange look, took a deep breath, and said, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” I said it like it wasn’t a big deal, because it wasn’t.

Olivia got Mom a bathrobe. It was cashmere, but she was able to get a great deal on it from one of those overstock websites. I told her I doubted it was real cashmere. She said that technology had made cashmere cheaper than ever before so it was no longer only attainable for the rich. She quoted an article saying so.

I gave Mom an iPod already filled with Frank Sinatra and Kenny Loggins. She got the hang of the iPod quickly and sat on her bed with a big smile. This meant that she had the headphones on for the rest of our visit, not even removing them to eat the cupcakes I had brought (carrot cupcakes made with carrots I grew in my own garden). Olivia said something about why bother being there if Mom was just going to listen to her headphones. I pretended not to hear her.

As we were leaving Olivia invited me over to her place the next day for brunch. She said she needed some advice on her cauliflower. I admit I was too flattered by the fact she was coming to me for advice to recognize it was a trap.

Olivia’s house was only ten minutes from mine in the Catskills. Her house was a farmhouse from the early 1900s that always had a room in need of remodeling. My home was a 1970s bungalow that suited me fine.

When I got to her house she led me to the kitchen where two other women were sitting. They sat around that stupid tree like it was a sleeping newborn. Olivia introduced one of the women as Ronnie, who had her hair done in braids. The other woman was named Wind and she had her hair in braids too. I smirked at Wind’s name and I could tell Olivia tried not to roll her eyes at me. I noticed my sister had her hair done in a French braid. Wind said, “Nice to meet you, Sofie,” and Ronnie just nodded.

“The nuts are ready,” Olivia said. “And it would mean so much to me if you tried one.” There were six nuts in a medium-sized Pyrex bowl, the mint green one, next to the tree.

“Where’s this tree from anyway?” I asked.

“Mexico,” Ronnie said.

“I’m not eating any strange nuts from Mexico.”

Wind said, “This tree was born in Mexico but it also lived in Arizona, North Carolina, West Virginia, and now here. Native women and rebels have cared for it all this time and all for this moment. Today is a beautiful day.”

I found it strange to refer to a tree as being born. “Then why don’t you eat it?”

“We don’t need…”

Olivia interrupted Ronnie. “I’ll eat it with you.”

“You eat it first.”

“They have to be boiled,” Wind said. “Until a single crack appears down the middle. Then the cap can be pried off easily. Inside will be a substance the consistency of warm chocolate and the color of dark moss.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Oral history. We have an obligation to pass on this information as detailed as possible.”
Olivia already had the water boiling and dropped two nuts into the pot where she stood and watched. Ronnie joined her at the stove and put her hand on Olivia’s back. I wondered if they were lovers. Olivia never talked about her love life with me, always saying it was none of my business. But being a lesbian made more sense than not being anything.

I heard two popping sounds like popcorn kernels catching heat and Olivia spooned the nuts out of the pot and put them in a strainer.

Everyone was quiet. I said to Olivia, “Well, go on now.” I admit I was interested to see what, if anything, would happen to her.

She flicked the top part off the nut like it was a pen cap and stuck her pinky in, spooned out whatever was inside. “What does it taste like?” Wind asked right as Olivia put her finger in her mouth. Olivia smiled, closed her eyes as if she were eating something decadent. “Like Christmas.” Ronnie gasped. Olivia opened her eyes and looked at Ronnie, said, “I love you,” looked at Wind, said, “I love you,” looked at me, said, “I love you. I’m so sorry your mind goes dark like Mom’s.”

I didn’t know or care to know what she was talking about. I didn’t have dementia. But the smug looks on those two women’s faces combined with the pathetic needy expression on my sister’s as she held the second nut out to me made me hate everyone in that room. They acted like they knew more than everyone else when all they did was believe in an old myth.

I said, “Is that a coyote?” and pointed out the window. Olivia asked, “Where?” I picked up the tree, heavier than I thought it would be, and ran out the house. I heard Wind scream, “No!” like I had kidnapped her child. I threw the tree into my car and sped off, all three women chasing after me on foot, their long dresses picking up wind like they were young, all too slow-thinking to get into their own car.

When I got home I emptied the bags of leaves and branches into the fire pit, ripped the tree out of its pot, and threw that on the pile. I threw lit matches at all of it. The smoke of the burning leaves and tree smelled spicy like ginger tea, but the smoke was dark. I worried about a breeze carrying the smoke into my neighbor’s yard. I could hear her children playing, laughing. I remembered that there were four more nuts in the Pyrex bowl and wondered if a tree could grow from one. I felt something on my lower back, right in that intimate spot, and turned around to see a young deer nuzzling there.

Jane Liddle grew up in Newburgh, New York, and now lives in Brooklyn. Her work has appeared in Wigleaf, Two Serious Ladies, Heavy Feather Review, Thrice Fiction, and elsewhere. She has recently finished a collection of short stories. You can find her at www.liddlejane.tumblr.com or on Twitter @janeriddle.