Big Trees Down

The forest had no music, only sounds—monotonous and sudden. Kalia had been working as a forest ranger for five years now. She was the only woman ranger in that area, though statistics like that meant nothing to her. It was enough that she was doing a job she loved. Protecting the forest from illegal logging, poaching, and the unlawful dumping of industrial waste was exactly what she wanted to do. That, and raising her only son. In that, she had a great deal of help from her mother. She was trying to return to university. She had separated from her former partner many years ago and had no interest in marrying again. The forest, and studying how to preserve it, filled her life more than enough.

The enormous oak lay fallen, and there were deep impressions in the mud left by large boots. Wood shavings were scattered everywhere.

When did this happen? Yesterday? Today? she wondered.

A few meters further on, another fallen oak. Only the trunk remained; the rest had been taken. Sawdust lay everywhere. Whoever had been cutting here had brought a vehicle, wore large boots, and processed the trees on site before taking them away—probably to sell. Yet the area was legally protected. She thought about the report she would need to write for the complaint she would file.

The following day, however, she heard the saw. The sound tore through the silence like a scream. She moved forward low and carefully. She saw a figure working hurriedly, as if afraid of the darkness itself. She stepped on a branch. The crack split the night. The saw stopped. The silence thickened. The man ran into the trees. She had no intention of chasing him.

Now he knows that I know. He won’t come back here to cut trees, she thought.

Still, it was a shame. Two great oaks lay cut down on the forest floor. She took dozens of photographs and videos and immediately sent them to her department. Others came to see for themselves. There was some stir about it.

The next day, while driving along the forest tracks, she saw his face as he cut an oak into sections with the saw. She knew him. He had been her classmate at school and sixth form. She stopped the car near him and pretended she did not understand what was happening.

“Hello, George. Is that really you? It’s been ages. How are you?”

“I’m well. I didn’t recognize you straight away, though. You became a forest ranger?”

“Yes. Quite a few years ago now.”

“Good…”

An odd silence followed the word.

“Can I ask you something? Do you realize it’s illegal to cut trees here?”

“No, I didn’t know. But I suspected it when I saw how wild and old the trees are here.”

“So now that you know, will you carry on cutting? What do you do with them? Sell them?”

“Yes…”

“I remember you at school—you cared a lot about trees. You used to tell us they were alive like animals and felt pain when they were cut. Do you remember saying that?”

“Yes…”

George nodded, almost apologetically, but he did not lower the saw. As though he were waiting for her to leave so he could continue. Kalia, however, was investigating this crime and was ready to call the police and have him caught in the act. But something held her back. Perhaps he was cutting wood out of necessity, just to make some money. Perhaps he was unemployed. She did not know whether he had a family, children to feed. All this stopped her from calling the police immediately.

“And George, what have you been doing all these years? I think you left when you got married?”

“Yes. I left because my wife’s home is far from here, towards Xanthi. But there’s no work anywhere, especially for someone who’s forty-eight. I have three children. You?”

“I have one child. A little boy. Unfortunately, I separated, but everything is fine. I don’t complain. I have a good job and we live with my mother, the three of us, in the old house where I grew up.”

“Good,” George said sincerely.

“I just want you to understand that cutting trees here is a crime, and you could get into serious trouble. So I’d ask you not to continue. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do. It’s just that when you’re unemployed, you think of every possible way to improve things—especially with children.”

“I understand,” she said, her eyes falling on the saw. “So you’ll stop now, and I won’t have a reason to call the police or the forestry authority. Right?”

“Right… yes…” he replied hesitantly.

Their lives had taken paths that never crossed again. Until now. The image of him holding the saw burned inside her. Not only anger. Sadness too. For everything lost before they even realized it. She felt the forest remembered them better than they remembered each other. There were no shadows left to hide in. He spoke of debts, of jobs lost, of children waiting for answers. He did not apologize. He only looked at her as if asking her to remember who he once was. She listened without interrupting. When she told him about the inspection, he did not react. He simply lowered his head. The forest stood between them. Alive. Silent.

The next morning she found more cut trees. Her anger could no longer be hidden. It was a weight. At home she could not sit still. The forest was visible from the window—wounded, yet still standing. She knew her silence had become complicity. She had to choose. Not between a person and the forest. But between fear and truth. She took her jacket and stepped outside. The air smelled of rain. Perhaps of cleansing.

The message from the department came like a warning. Inspection in three days. She walked deep into the forest searching for him. The trees looked exhausted, as if they had given more than they could. She called his name quietly. Her voice was swallowed by the leaves. When she found his tracks, she felt something close to relief. She found him preparing his tools. She told him the truth without anger. She could not protect him any longer. He spoke of fear. Not of prison. Of failure. Of his children’s eyes. The silence between them was heavier than accusation. She told him to stop now.

It was his last chance.