I Am a Tree

by Kaye Umansky

  James Shawcross was in the boy’s toilets. He already had his hat and shirt on and was hauling up his sister Shirley’s tights. As I’ve already told you, they were too short and gave him trouble.

  ‘Problems?’ I said.

  ‘It’s the elastic in the waistband,’ he said. He talks almost normally when he’s not acting, which is weird. A bit reedy, that’s all. ‘It’s gone all loose.’

  ‘Tie a knot in it,’ I advised.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s long enough.’

  ‘Try breathing in.’

  He tried breathing in. After a lot of fiddling, he finally got enough surplus to tie a knot.

  ‘How’s that feel?’ I asked, as I pinned on my acorns and adjusted my wood pigeons.

  ‘Like I’m cut in two.’

  ‘Show business, eh?’ I said.

  Then the Merry Men came barging in with their carriers, all loud and overexcited, and we mucked about a bit and one of the sinks overflowed and Rakesh’s bow snapped in half and Mr Huff came in and told us off.

  Then we had to go and wait with the rest of the cast in Blue Class, because the audience was beginning to arrive and we didn’t want people to see us in our glorious costumes. It would spoil the surprise.

  Old Mr Turnbull had the unenviable task of looking after us and making sure we didn’t muck about. He tried to get us interested in a game of hangman, but nobody could concentrate. We could see the audience arriving through the glass bit of the door.

  Flora’s mum was one of the first. She wore a smart coat and lipstick. I watched her limp up to the front and station herself right in the middle of the front row. I turned around to Flora, who was sitting on a table in her leaf costume, looking white (apart from her green eyelids) and turning the pages of an old joke book she’d found on a shelf.

  ‘Your mum’s here,’ I mouthed to her.

  She nodded and went back to her book. I don’t think it was a very good one. She certainly wasn’t laughing, anyway. The rest of the girls were playing clapping games and practising their dance steps, but she wasn’t joining in.

  Nearly all the seats were taken when my family finally showed up. They had to sit at the very back, which was just as well. It meant they could leap out easily if Kenny played up, which he tends to do during school plays, violin recitals and weddings, particularly the quiet, emotional bits. I hoped they’d remembered to bring plenty of bananas, which we use to keep his mouth full.

  Our school hall’s got a reasonable stage, but there’s no room behind and hardly any room at the sides. So all the dancers and people playing the smaller roles have to sit on the floor at the front. That included me, of course. If ever there was a small role, it was the tree.

  Seven o’clock came. The hall was packed. Through the door, we could see all the mums and dads waving to each other and chatting and looking expectant. Mr Cunningham sat in the front row, next to Flora’s mum. He had the Mayor with him, and a man with a camera, who I guess was from the paper. The Mayor had a huge, gold chain on. That was how I knew he was the Mayor. Either that, or a hip-hop artist.

  The lights went down. As instructed, we all lined up at the door. The piano started to tinkle and the choir stood up. The curtains pulled back to reveal the painted backdrop of a woodland glade. Everyone went quiet apart from Kenny, who announced, very loudly into the silence:

  ‘WANT ’NANA!’

  I could hear mum shushing him and a rustling noise. Good. They had remembered to bring some.

  The choir struck up with their first rilly-dilly greenwood-o type song. Mrs Axworthy appeared with her finger on her lips, and quietly and sensibly we filed through into the hall, where we took our allotted places. Most of us sat cross-legged on the floor below the stage. Well, I sat curl-legged because of my trunk. Robin and the Merry Men went and stood in the wings, ready for their entrance.

  The first song was quite long, all about how merry everyone will beee when they drink a toast to Robin Hooood beneath the Greenwood Treeee. Except that the tree was nowhere to be seen because there wasn’t enough room for me on stage in this scene, as Mrs Axworthy had predicted.

  When it finally finished, James came on. Mrs Axworthy had tried to get him to bound, but James was a boy to whom bounding doesn’t come naturally. He came in at a sort of shambling trot, accidentally dropped his bow, picked it up and launched into his opening bleat.

  ‘Well here I am Robin Hood hiding in the forest I wonder what I can eat tonight times are hard...’

  It was a long speech. Half-way through, a familiar voice from the back said, loudly: ‘MORE ’NANA.’

  And who could blame him?

  Thankfully, Little John entered on page two, preventing Robin from delivering any more history. They did their fight and as always it looked like a nasty playground incident. Mr and Mrs Kite looked proud, though.

  Time then for the entrance of the Merry Men. Each had to deliver a small, dull speech, introducing themselves. There were no jokes, and they hardly came across as people you’d like to be stuck in a lift with. The Mayor was looking at his watch.

  Then there was a castle scene, with Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham discussing Robin Hood and how awful he was. Then Marion and her handmaidens joined them and there was more talk with extra squeals. Rachel’s wimple caught on the scenery and came adrift, which caused a bit of mild interest. Then they all trooped off. The audience is supposed to clap at the end of every scene, but Prince John tripped over his curtain, so they laughed instead.

  Then we were back in Sherwood again, with a load of oppressed peasants moaning about their lot. There came the sound of snoring from behind me. I glanced round. The Mayor was asleep. Next to him, Mr Cunningham was staring straight ahead with his arms folded. He looked a bit grim.

  ‘WHAT’S ’AT BOY DOIN’?’ demanded Kenny from the back.

  I didn’t know what he was on about. As far as I could see, nobody on stage was doing anything apart from standing around droning on about the right to gather kindling.

  At this point, I tried to catch Flora’s eye. She was sitting with the rest of the leaves in the row behind me, right at the far end, staring down at her big feet.

  ‘NO!’ Kenny advised us all as the peasants finally trailed off, to ill-deserved applause. ‘NO! NO MORE ’NANA!’

  Next came the bit where Robin Hood is in disguise and talks to the Sheriff of Nottingham. James’s disguise consisted of leaving his hat off and putting a cloak on. Everyone but the Sheriff could clearly see it was Robin. His sheep voice alone gave him away. But at least Kenny had stopped heckling.

  Probably dozed off, like the Mayor.

  Chapter Seven

  I was getting pins and needles by now, so I was very relieved when the next song began. It was a sad one about peasant poverty, and my cue to go on stage. At last! My acting debut. I heaved myself upright, shedding acorns. I adjusted my bird’s nest, made sure my wood pigeons were properly attached and climbed up the steps to the stage, where I took up a commanding central position and raised my smoke-alarm hardened arms. The lights were shining directly in my eyes. I couldn’t see Mum or Dad, but I heard Kenny all right. He wasn’t asleep after all.

  ‘TIM!’ he roared, wild with excitement. ‘TIM! TIM! TIM! TIM! TIM TWEEE!’

  The audience laughed indulgently. Ever the professional, I ignored him and concentrated on the job in hand.

  The peasants came back on and formed a tight circle around my trunk. It has to be tight because there are only four of them. The orchestra struck up with something skippy and the peasants linked hands and squeezed around me, while I swished. Jason trod on my foot, I lost a couple more acorns and my waving elbow caught Zoe in the eye, but we’ve done it worse. We got a polite clap, anyway, and loud, appreciative cries of ‘TWEEE! TWEEE! TIM TWEEEEEE!’ from Kenny.

  The Mayor was still asleep.

  After the dance, I remained on stage and continued to enrich the world with my tree presence while Robin and the boys came back on and gave the peas
ants some money, which they’d robbed from the rich. Then there was a sort of celebration in mime, where they all pretended to drink mead and tried to look like they were having a good time. That’s when I said my first lot of rhyming couplets.

  Right on cue, I swished my branches and declared, in a loud, clear, only faintly bored voice, with a hint of twig:

  ‘So Robin and his merry men

  As happy as can be

  Now spend a night carousing

  Beneath the greenwood tree.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interval. Drinks and raffle tickets are on sale in the foyer. All proceeds will go towards a new climbing dragon in the infant playground.’

  Mrs Axworthy had told me to say that.

  Everyone clapped, James dropped his bow again, the Mayor woke up, chairs were pushed back and the parents fled to the foyer for a strong drink. Wine is one pound a glass. Mum says it’s like vinegar, although that never stops her drinking it, I notice.

  Flora’s mum was a bit slower than the rest. She gave me a thumbs-up sign as I came shuffling offstage and mouthed: ‘Wonderful!’

  She’s really nice, actually, pretending to enjoy herself even though Flora hadn’t done her dance yet. I looked around for Flora, but she wasn’t there. Probably being sick in the girl’s toilets, where I’m not allowed to go.

  The cast isn’t allowed in the foyer at the interval. Mrs Axworthy says it’s unprofessional. So I went back to Blue Class with everyone else and mucked about.

  Then it was time for Act Two.

  There we all were, back from the interval, house lights off, orchestra and choir revving up for their next song, which is all about the Fayre and how everyone would be there and they wouldn’t have a care and so on.

  ‘’NANA!’ shouted Kenny when they finally sat down, and I couldn’t agree more.

  Next came the archery contest. After a lot of failed experimentation with elastic and consultation with the other teachers, Mrs Axworthy had decided to have the competing archers shoot offstage. Then Friar Tuck rushes in holding a dartboard with Robin’s arrow miraculously sticking out from the bull’s-eye. I told her that in a modern age of dazzling special effects it might seem a bit feeble, but she just looked tired and said it would have to do.

  In every version of Robin Hood I’ve ever seen, the archery contest is the best bit. Not in ours, though. There were so many people on stage you couldn’t really see what was going on. The entire cast were up there, milling about. Everyone except the leaf dancers and the tree and King Richard the Lionheart, who doesn’t show up until the very end, when he says all of three lines. (Tariq was King Richard. Like me, he had drawn the short straw. Though he claimed he didn’t care.)

  James and the Merry Men had been practising shooting arrows ever since they got their bows, but they still weren’t any good. The trouble was, the bows were too flimsy and the arrows hardly ever made it offstage. Dillon managed it once, in rehearsal, but it was a fluke. Miss Steffani was in despair.

  Tonight was no better than usual. Little John’s arrow went sideways into the orchestra and Will Scarlet’s broke in half before he even fired it. Dillon’s stuck in the stage curtains. It didn’t matter so much for them, of course, but Robin is a different matter. He’s supposed to be a great marksman. His arrow is supposed to fly straight and true. In James’s hands, it rarely left the bow.

  Everyone crossed fingers and hoped for the best as James raised his bow and Billy Tarbuck from Year Three played a dramatic roll on the drum. Yeah! We thought. Come on, James. Concentrate. Let that arrow fly!

  He pulled back the string. The drum roll stopped. A tense silence fell.

  ‘WHAT’S ’AT FUNNY BOY DOIN’?’ demanded Kenny, into the silence.

  James let go and the arrow flopped on the stage in front of him, same as usual. The audience pretended not to notice and acted duly amazed when it turned up in the bull’s-eye brought on by Friar Tuck. A couple of the dads even cheered. Well, you had to laugh. Mr Cunningham didn’t, though.

  I looked over at Flora, to see what she thought. She didn’t look up. She was still staring down at her feet.

  Did I mention the Mayor was asleep again?

  After the contest comes the scene where Robin declares his love for Marion. James tends to speed up during this, like a sheep in a hurry, anxious to be over the hills and away to pastures new. Charlotte does a lot of hair tossing. Why had I never noticed her simpering before? I can’t believe I used to like her. I must have been dazzled by her socks. Stars in my eyes, I suppose.

  After the love scene, in which James managed to drop his bow yet again, there was another tedious bit with Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham. And then —

  Me again. Up I got and shuffled up the steps to my familiar position stage centre as the orchestra struck up for the next dance.

  ‘TIM!’ howled Kenny, completely out of order now. ‘TIM! TIM! TIM! TIM! TIM! TIM! TIM TWEEEEE!’

  Any minute now, he would have to be forcibly removed, I could tell.

  Charlotte, Wendy, Shanti and Fatima came skipping on and began circling me with linked hands. I began madly waving my foliage.

  The dance didn’t go too badly, although one of my wood pigeons slipped and my shoulder nest was beginning to give me a rash on the chin. Fatima’s shoe came flying off during the second circuit and she had to carry on with one bare foot. I saw Charlotte glaring daggers at the poor girl.

  After the dance, they did a bit of talking and squealing about Robin, then ran off. And now it was time for the Leaf Dance.

  The leaves all clambered to their feet and filed on stage. I looked down at the front row. Mrs Ferguson was sitting up eagerly, eyes glued to her big, green daughter. I noticed that her fingers were crossed.

  Flora was last on. She tripped a bit, on the top step. Head bowed, hair out, she plodded to her place on stage like she was approaching the gallows. Poor Flora. She knelt down at the back, like she was supposed to do, along with the rest of the leaves.

  The leaf music is recorded. Miss Steffani couldn’t get the tape recorder to work, so the leaves had to keep on kneeling while Miss Joy came and helped her. I did a bit of extra swishing to fill in. I could see the leaves getting uncomfortable. The audience was very patient. I could hear Kenny’s echoing voice out in the foyer, still screaming, ‘TIM!’ Dad had taken him out, then.

  Finally, they got the tape recorder working. Clearly relieved, the girls rose to their feet and began fluttering. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flora dutifully leaping about with the rest of them.

  I caught a glimpse of her mum in the front row. She was on the edge of her seat, craning to see. She had a job, because Flora was doing most of her fluttering behind me, and my foliage tended to block her out.

  Finally, it was over. The music stopped and the leaves fell to the ground, where they would presumably become mulch. The audience applauded. I bowed in a majestic, tree-like way and allowed my branches to droop. That was a relief. High-level swishing hurts after a while, despite my smoke-alarm arms.

  Now, this is where it all went seriously pear shaped.

  There had already been a few instances in the play where things had gone a bit wrong — Fatima’s shoe and Josh’s trip up and James continually dropping his bow and the archery contest debacle — but none of them were serious.

  This was. I’ll tell you what happened.

  The leaves were attempting to get offstage. There was a bit of a bottleneck at the steps, as always. At this point, I’m supposed to shuffle off and wait in the wings to make space for the next bit. Robin and the Merry Men and Marion and her lot are meant to come on and talk about the future of Merrie Englande.

  I looked over into the wings to make sure Charlotte and James were ready to make their entrance. But there seemed to be a bit of a problem. There was a lot of milling around and anxious whispering. Everyone had their back to the stage. Whatever was going on?

  Mrs Axworthy’s face turned to me. She was frantic
ally mouthing something, but I couldn’t make it out. Shanti moved to one side, and I suddenly saw what had happened. James was standing there, eyes wide with anxiety, clutching desperately at his middle.

  Ahhhh! Disaster! His tights had given way! The boy had dropped his bow once too often. The elastic had finally snapped under the strain!

  The leaves were nearly all offstage now, leaving me alone in the spotlight. Except that Flora hadn’t quite managed to get down the steps. She desperately wanted to, but there was still a bit of a blockage.

  The audience was getting restless. Nothing was happening. In the wings, Mrs Axworthy was making desperate, circular motions with her hand. I know what this means. It means do something, for crying out loud. Improvise. Do something, say something, anything! Whatever happens, keep going, for the show must go on. So I did.

  ‘Hey, Leaf!’ I said. I pointed a branch at Flora.

  She was just about to step down off the stage. She hesitated and turned her red, agonised face to me.

  I felt for her, but I ploughed on. ‘Yes, you!’ I said, in my twiggy voice. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  For a moment, I thought she would ignore me and just scuttle down the steps, leaving me high and dry. But she didn’t. She said, rather croakily:

  ‘Who, me?’

  ‘See any other leaves around here? What are you, the last leaf of autumn?’

  ‘Yes,’ croaked Flora. She cleared her throat, and then said it again, more clearly. ‘Ahem. Yes. That’d be me.’

  ‘What are you doing after the show, Leaf?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ said Flora, adding, after a moment, ‘But I can’t be-leaf it’s not flutter.’

  A play on the name of a well-known margarine product. Not bad, on the spur of the moment. It brought an appreciative rumble of laughter from the audience, who were starved of humour.

  ‘Me, I’m off to find my roots,’ I said. That got a laugh, too. Encouraged, I went on.