Something from the Fig Tree

What are you doing?

I’m watching them.

Watching who?

Come here. Look for yourself.

They’re running.

Yes, they are.

What are they running from?

Who said they were running away? Fleeing and seeking, it’s all the same. There is only one direction.

I suppose that’s true. How can they see?

They can’t. The woods are too thick.

You put them there?

Not exactly. The forest was always there for the each of them. I gave them each other, and they went in on their own.

Together.

Yes, together.

It does not make sense. How is it that they are running so quickly and so slow at the same time?

That is what they do.

There is a story here.

Yes, there is.

Will you tell it to me?

Well, look at her first. Tell me what you see.

She carries their bag. Her hands are full. She stumbles much more than he does, like she can’t seem to find her balance.

Why do you think that is?

Well, she can’t stop looking behind them.

No, she can’t. She keeps track of where they have been. She charts the stars and makes maps and writes stories. She sees her life before, and his, as the tools they need to continue forward. Even now, in the thick of it, she is ensuring the creation of their legacy. Can you see her?

Yes, I can.

This is a woman who is intimately familiar with what they are fleeing.

I see.

Now look at him.

He’s steady. He looks ahead.

Indeed. He sees the world as it opens up before them, rich and full of what could be. He does not see the woods as a limitation, but as the lining of the complicated, beautiful path upon which they are traveling.

He knows what they are seeking.

Not exactly. He can not see the future. But yes, he believes strongly that they are heading towards something brilliant, and he knows he can get them there.

And she believes in him?

She does.

And he believes in her?

Exactly.

That is not much of a story.

That is as much of the story as is necessary to understand. Watch them, closely, and you will see.

They are talking.

Yes, they are. Listen to them, now. What are they saying?

It sounds like they’re bickering with each other. She says she isn’t hungry. She tells him she’s fine.

Yes.

He thinks she’s lying.

He knows she’s lying.

He is giving her the sweet figs he’s picked.

And she’s eating them.

And she thanks him.

Yes, she does.

Why do they fight?

Because that is all they have. They’re handling something fragile. These are restless people, my child, smart people. They are stirred by the need to be in motion, and there is too much for them to discuss. Anger is rarely the true emotion.

Oh, I understand, now. They are in—

It’s best if you don’t say that word.

How come?

They find it ugly. They have only known it to be lavish in pain. It’s almost insufficient to them, I suppose. If you utter it around them, it will frighten them more than the label’s worth.

But they are? In it?

It does not matter what I think they are in. They are crafting the language they need to go on, and I care much more about that.

How do they know they’re moving in the same direction?

That is the trust they have in each other.

How do they know they’re moving in the right direction?

That is the trust they have in me.

Then why not show them the path?

There is no path. That is their curse. They tread through untouched waters.

But there is a destination, surely.

Of course there is. But they will not find it if I show them the way. I told you, these are smart people. It being difficult is what makes it worthwhile to them.

I’d like to hear them tell the story. You leave out all the details.

I promise, the way they would tell it is not much better. If you could hear them now, all they would tell you is that they are terrified.

That does not make sense. Why would they be running towards something they fear?

They are not afraid of where they’re going. They’re afraid of what will happen if they do not reach it. They’re afraid of what it will cost them to get there. They’re afraid that they’re wrong, wrong about each other, wrong about me, wrong about what I see in them.

Will they find it?

What do you mean?

Is it meant to be? Are they fated to discover it?

There is no such thing. They will find it, or they will not.

What will become of them? If they fail?

They’ll be okay. Happy, even. Their lives will be easier, in many ways. Impossible in others. But if they do not succeed, I do believe they will be haunted by what could have been. They think so, too.

Look, look! They’ve stopped. They’ve found something.

It would appear so.

It’s a river.

Yes.

They will have to cross it. He can get them across, right? He knows how. Of course he knows how. He must.

He can. But they will not be able to go back if they make it to the other side. It will deplete them too much. This is the moment they must choose.

There is another option?

Look at her.

She looks nauseous.

Yes, you’ll find she often does. The water is cold.

So what? A few seconds of her being cold, and then they’ll be on the other side, in the sun, where it’s warm.

Perhaps. Look harder.

She looks behind.

Yes, she does.

She knows the way home.

She knows that it is safer there. It’s warm there, too. It’s a place where she knows who and how to be, and she knows he will find such a thing, too. Without her.

Is that what she wants?

My child, this is not a decision of desire. They know what the rest of the journey looks like. It will often be bloody, filled with hardship. They do not wish to burden each other. But it could also be the only taste of fantastical they ever discover.

And they will have each other.

They will. They will lose each other if they turn around, now. But they know their lives will be just fine if they go back.

They will regret it. You said so yourself.

Most likely, yes.

Will they regret going on?

I do not believe so. But they do not know that.

You should tell them. You should give them a sign, a word. Something, anything. You have to. They’ll lose it all if you don’t.

It won’t matter. They know my opinion on the matter. They knew how I wished they’d proceed the moment they met; it is as clear to them as the water before them. They are smart people, but they are also stubborn. They must choose for themselves.

I’m scared. They can’t go back, they’re in—

I told you not to use that word.

I’m sorry.

Do not fear. There is no right answer. They will reach for it, they will settle for goodness, or they will stand there, paralyzed by the choice.

No, they won’t. They must be in motion.

Yes. Now you have learned. Watch them, now.

He’s offered her his hand.

He’s a gentleman.

She hasn’t taken it.

She knows what will happen if she touches him. Do you understand the story now?

The story is unfolding.

Indeed it is.

How does it end?

I can not tell you that. But you’re welcome to sit with me while I watch.

I think I will.

It’s a good story, I think.

I think so, too.