The Last Tree

by Denise Getson

  I shiver when the camp residents join their voices into one unified voice, reciting, “We weep. We wail.”

  A woman from the back of the room speaks next, her voice reaching down into the hearts of the grieving community. “We weep for the grain which cannot flower. We weep for the herbs which will not grow.”

  “We weep. We wail,” voices cry out.

  “We weep for the loss of habitation, for homes destroyed, and sustenance withdrawn.”

  “We weep. We wail.”

  “We weep for the perishing children, for the bright-eyed girls and spirited boys who walk no more among us.”

  “We weep. We wail.”

  “We weep for all who dwell in the house of darkness, where dust is their nourishment and their pain is without limit.”

  “We weep. We wail ….”

  The call-and-response continues into the evening, as deep, soul-searing cries sound into a vast universe followed by a collective response of grief. I am not surprised to discover tears on my own cheeks. A glance around the room confirms that all here this night are bathed in tears and pain, and there is power in their coming together.

  15

  After the weeping ceremony, Thomaz collects us, and we rejoin Thorne. The camels have all been packed with supplies for our journey, and I am assisted onto one of the animals. I have no experience with animals of any kind, but I’m not one to pass up an opportunity to learn something new. Being in the presence of an animal, let alone astride one, is most definitely something new.

  A short time later, nauseated by the sensation of swaying back and forth, the experience of riding this beast has already grown old. Thorne informs us we’re going to pause at a date palm orchard on our way to the tree. I heard the orchard mentioned in the camp, but I’m unsure how to imagine such a thing. Whatever this new landscape holds, I am curious to see it. As I try to adapt my swaying to the creature below me, I study the local vegetation, small tufts of rough grass and the occasional tamarisk tree. A lonely wind stirs the dry air, and my skin prickles as we pass ancient riverbeds that have no water.

  “What is that?” I ask our guide, pointing to a small, knobby plant covered in scales. Since leaving the airstrip, I’ve seen multiple clumps of them along the ground.

  “They’re called resurrection plants,” he replies. “They’re in a state of dormancy due to the lack of water. They can exist like that for a hundred years. As soon as they’re hydrated, the clumps you see will open up and bloom.”

  “That’s an interesting coping mechanism,” I observe, swallowing back the bile that creeps up my throat. Blasted, humpy animal.

  “Indeed it is. The plant has existed in this part of the world for a hundred million years. Its ability to adapt to changing conditions has been essential to its survival.”

  “Have you ever seen one in bloom?”

  “No.”

  As we approach an area of low hills, I can see in the distance the ruins of a stone fort. I keep my eyes on the landscape coming closer and discover a curious thing. There is an orchard, or the remains of one, planted along what appears to be an empty riverbed. Perhaps this is an extinct tributary of the once-mighty Euphrates River.

  Thomaz leads us past the withered and ravaged trees, mere husks of what they must have been long ago. Then we come to the end of the orchard, and I cannot hold back my gasp of astonishment. A small group of the trees has been brought back to life, nurtured to health so that fruit now hangs in giant sheaths of round, green dates throughout the branches.

  “Date palms have been cultivated in this area for over six thousand years,” says Thomaz, hearing my exclamation. “Everything on a date palm is edible—the flowers, the leaves, and the seeds. And there’s sap, which can be used as a sweetener. If we’re successful in sustaining the trees, the orchard will provide much-needed variety in our diet. Not to mention the tree’s other uses—with the leaves, we can weave ropes, mats, and baskets, and we’ll be able to insulate the permanent structures both above and below the surface of the biosphere.”

  “You know a lot about dates.”

  “I care for the orchard; it’s my business,” he says with a laugh.

  “And the tree—you care for it also?”

  He sobers, ponders my question, then shakes his head. “The tree takes care of itself. And apparently always has.”

  He calls a halt, and before my camel can even kneel, I swing one leg over and drop off. I stumble once, taking a moment to regain my balance, then move forward in a state of awe toward the scene in front of me. I touch one tree, then another, winding my way through the small orchard. At first, I duck my head to avoid the low branches, then let it go, enjoying the slap of the palm fronds as I move through this incredible sign of life.

  “This is wonderful,” I breathe. I notice Thomaz following my journey with his eyes. “Did you do this?”

  He nods.

  “How did you manage the water?”

  “Eden is a new biosphere with a small population. Until recently, the desalinization plant at Ash-Shatrah had no problem meeting the hydration needs of the residents and also piping in water for plant irrigation. Not enough for the whole orchard obviously, but a large enough portion to help extend our food supplies this year. I had hoped we could hydrate more trees in the future and supply fruit to the other biospheres in trade.”

  I point to the ladders propped against trunks, to woven baskets stacked on the ground. “And you’ve begun to harvest the dates?”

  “Since the earthquake, we no longer have enough water to spare anything for irrigation. We decided to remove the dates now before the trees become stressed. We’ll let them ripen in storage.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “I believe so.”

  I look at Thorne. “Is it okay if J.D. and I have a moment here? Perhaps you and Thomaz can determine the best location for a local reservoir.”

  Thomaz gives me a confused look, but with a curt nod, Thorne directs him away with the camels. J.D. joins me among the trees. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to see if I can make water here, at the base of each tree.” I recall my first experience making water, the shock and surprise of it and the joy I had felt seeing something thrive under my care. “J.D., this reminds me of when I watered my flower at the Garner Home.” I don’t have to say any more. He knows the story and reaches for my hand. Comforted by his presence, I gaze at the striated landscape, my eyes noticing things they hadn’t known how to see a year ago. “Can you see it? This entire area used to be a network of canals fed by the Euphrates River. Thorne wants me to start with the source waters in order to replenish the rivers, but I’m hoping I can also call forth water here, specifically at the base of each tree, to provide hydration. I’ll need to go to each plant individually.”

  “Lead the way.”

  I move to the most distant spot, drop down to the dirt, and place one hand on the ground and the other on the tree. I take a calm breath and exhale. I whisper. I wait. It doesn’t take long. After a few moments, a dark stain grows around the base of the tree. It is exactly as it was the first time I called the water, and I feel a shiver of joy at the immediate gratification of bringing water to this lovely place. I take my time, making sure the ground is truly saturated. Then I hold up a damp, dirty hand, and J.D. helps me to my feet.

  In this manner, we work our way to each healthy tree, ensuring it will stay healthy for a little while longer. When we’re done, I slip an arm around J.D.’s waist, giving him a hug.

  His eyes widen with quiet pleasure. “What’s that for?”

  “I think I like making water this way best,” I tell him, smiling. “It feels personal. I can see immediately what’s being nurtured.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “Let’s find Thorne.”

  We wander the area, finally locating him southeast of a large, outlying mound. Surrounding the mound are shards of clay tablets. Some of the shards appear to have been organized into a system, while oth
er fragments are stacked haphazardly.

  “What’s this?” I ask Thomaz, who has approached at the sound of our footsteps.

  “Our best guess is six-thousand-year-old school supplies: classroom exercises and ancient textbooks for students. We’ve found mathematical tables and poetry. Someday, when survival is more secure, we hope to document the contents.”

  I pick up one shard and let my fingers roam over the characters scratched into the surface, small lines that are faint in the moonlight. “It’s hard to imagine a child once used this brick for learning—it’s so simple, so rudimentary.”

  “Yet enduring,” says Thomaz.

  “Yes.” I can feel Thorne getting impatient and shoot him a glance. “What?”

  “Beyond the mound, you’ll find the remains of a quarry. It’s where builders removed the stone they used to erect the nearby fort. It’s not connected to the canal system, so I wasn’t sure it would work for your purposes. Perhaps you’d care to examine it?”

  Carefully, I return the clay fragment to where I found it. J.D. takes my hand, and together we go in search of the basin. We are starting to lose visibility, but based on a few subtle cues, I determine this basin will suit my purpose. Clearly, at one time, this area had access to the water table. If I searched, I bet I’d find ancient wells. And the walls of the quarry appear to be solid. With J.D.’s assistance, I make my way into the depths of the quarry, climbing carefully along giant gashes in the walls and sliding over loose pebbles. When I reach the bottom, I repeat the ritual performed at the orchard.

  Long ago, I decided it didn’t do to think too much about this strange ability I have. Trying to understand it, to analyze it, seems to get in the way of actually using it. I possess a bizarre mutation in a time of prolific mutation. In my young life, I’ve encountered people born with small mutations that were easy to live with, easy to ignore, or easy to surgically remove. I am also well aware of the variety of lethal mutations that have created a spike in infant mortality rates. Then there are the truly inexplicable mutations, like the ability to act as a conjuror of hydrogen bonds. Whatever it was, whatever I was, it was beyond my ability to process intellectually. I had simply learned to accept it.

  After a moment, I rise and follow J.D. out of the quarry, not bothering to look back. I know in a space like this one, there will not be any evidence of water right away. With the large spaces, it takes time. I trust there will be a full basin here when we return.

  Reluctantly, I remount my camel and follow the others into the gathering darkness. Thomaz knows the way, so I try to relax for the ride. J.D. and I are used to traveling after sunset, and I welcome the cover dark provides. Unfortunately, as the night collapses around us, a hot, dry wind kicks up, driving dust and sand into our faces. Reaching into saddle bags, Thomaz hands each of us a head scarf, and we quickly cover our faces from the elements.

  In this way, we travel throughout the night. All is silent except for the occasional huffing of the beasts. I imagine myself lost in an infinite vacuum so vast that it drowns human speech.

  As the sun rises, Thomaz calls a halt near an out-cropping of boulders. We dismount, and I wince in discomfort. I am fit, but being on this animal’s back has forced the exercise of new muscle groups. I know I am in for an uncomfortable time later. Nonetheless, we all pick up tools and work together quickly and efficiently to erect dun-colored tents near the rocks. I can see this will be important protection against the sun and wind. I speak briefly with Thorne, then find a sheltered place to make water, enough for us to refresh and hydrate the camels. I can feel the eyes of our guide on me, but he says nothing.

  Before entering the tent J.D. and I will share, I walk over to Thomaz. “Are we in danger here?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You waited to stop until we were in a protected location. I wasn’t sure if this is simply a place of shelter from the elements or if there is another reason.”

  “I waited to stop until I knew desert vipers had returned to their nests. But it’s true there are bandits in this area who are not fans of the Unified Territories agreement. As a council member, Lukas Thorne puts himself at risk by being here.”

  “I see.”

  At the mention of bandits, Thorne snaps his tablet closed and approaches. “Have you had much trouble?”

  “The raid on our camp last month was almost surely one of the underground groups. They want the Abjadiyyah Territories to secede from the UTC.”

  “They want to be independent, but they want the provisions only the Territory Council can provide.”

  “That is the way of it, yes.”

  “And the tree?”

  “Appears to be safe. Few people venture into that area. There’s nothing there, and it’s not on the way to any other place. Nevertheless, we know there have been whispers about the tree.” He glances down to where I stand quietly, listening. “Just as there are whispers about Kira.”

  I return his glance, but this time it is I who say nothing. With a tired nod to both of us, Thorne enters his tent.

  I’m unable to hold back a small yawn and turn to enter my own tent. I cannot wait to lie down and sleep, but I notice Thomaz is moving toward higher ground and a position of watchfulness. It’s not in my nature not to pull my weight. “J.D. and I can relieve you in a few hours, if you’d like,” I tell him.

  “I appreciate the offer, but you do not know these lands. I will take the watch and rest later.”

  I acquiesce with a nod and slip into the tent. With one efficient motion, I drop my pack and stretch out on the bedroll next to J.D. I see his fingers reach to touch mine lightly, and before my nerves can even process the touch, I am asleep.

  16

  I dismount from my camel. I am finally getting the feel of riding, but it still takes me a moment to regain my land legs after hours of constant motion. We have been riding for hours, passing nothing but dry desert and the occasional ruin of a stone ziggurat in the distance. Over the past year, I have learned to find beauty in desolation. Faced with bleak monotony on a daily basis, I now use the time to reflect upon the resilience of a planet that will still be here after I and my kind are long gone.

  I stretch over, arching my back, then straighten, feeling my vertebrae realign. Exhaling with pleasure, I give the camel a pat. Taking the reins in my hand, I head toward the others.

  “We’ll walk the rest of the way,” says Thomaz. “It’s not far.” He leads us down a mild slope and into a gorge. A small enclosure has been built against the rock wall. He pens the animals, removing their saddles and harnesses, and then motions for us to follow him.

  J.D. falls into step beside me and slips his fingers between mine. The two of us are used to walking side by side, and I hang back a bit, letting Thomaz and Thorne stride ahead of us. J.D. gives me a curious look. “You okay?”

  “I’m not sure.” How can I express this sudden reluctance to move forward? “I asked Thorne to bring me here, J.D. I know it’s illogical, but now I don’t want to see this tree. Thorne is clearly captivated by it. But thinking about it confuses me.”

  He squeezes my hand and says nothing. J.D. has always been more comfortable with the unusual than I am. He likes one-of-a-kind creatures. Perhaps that explains why he’s still in my life. My strangeness doesn’t faze him. As we walk deeper into the gorge, Thomaz turns and waits for us to catch up.

  “If you stay in this area for long, you’ll discover gorges like this one have been gouged throughout the Abjadiyyah Territories, carved here by tributaries of the Tigris and Euphrates or formed by thousands of years of annual flooding.”

  A thought occurs to me. “If the Tigris and Euphrates began flowing again, would this gorge be in danger of flooding?” I glance at Thorne as I ask the question. He frowns. Evidently, this isn’t something he considered when he brought me here to replenish the source waters.

  “What you’re describing isn’t ….” Thomaz stops in midsentence. He looks at me, and I can see him connecting the dots. It’
s almost like I can hear his thoughts: if Kira could make water at the orchard, why not at the Tigris and Euphrates? He begins again. “This gorge hasn’t been attached to any of the main waterways for millennia.” He is thinking hard, taking his time with his answer. “It’s probably why the tree was able to grow here in the first place. So if the rivers were renewed, if such a thing were possible, then I think the tree would be safe where it is.” He turns to Thorne. “Lukas, you may want to have an engineer look at the underlying geologic structure and confirm that’s still the case.”

  Thorne nods and pulls out his mobile device to send a message.

  We’re moving into an area where large carvings cover the walls. I slow even more, entranced by the images rendered in stone. I can see J.D. is also captivated. He moves closer to the wall, running his hands over the surface, following the etched lines with calloused fingers. “Who is this?” he asks Thomaz.

  “That one is Enki. The ancient people considered him the god of life and replenishment. If you step back, you can see there are two streams of water which pour from his shoulders.”

  “The Tigris and Euphrates?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the two trees carved here?”

  “They’re the male and female aspects of nature. The duality.”

  “And the tree we’re going to see ….”

  “It contains both male and female reproductive organs.”

  “I should have paid more attention in botany class,” I mutter.

  “It’s only a little way farther,” says Thomaz.

  I stop him with a touch. “Those markings there.” I indicate a flat section of wall above where we stand. “Can you read what it says?”

  He does glance where I’m pointing, but I suspect he knows the words by heart. An ancient people carved this stone, perhaps his ancestors. His voice is quiet as he speaks.

  “Enter the exalted, the garden of the gods. At the entrance of the gates I set blazing swords and fearsome dragons. Be pure of heart and mind and be at peace.”