The Seed of Grief

In the hills of ancient Argos, Vasileios watched spindly flames dance upon the pyre. The heat clawed his moist cheeks as tears continued to spill from his copper eyes. Orange and yellow swallowed the delicate profile of his beloved wife, Thaleia, reducing her skin to pallid ash. One week ago, that skin had been rosy and plump, free from the illness that took her.

How could life be so unfair?

Vasileios never asked the gods for anything. Begging for their favor seemed like a futile exercise, as his thirty-nine years had been filled with contentment and comfort. Now, seeing the final remnants of his wife burn before him, he grew angry. He turned his bearded chin to the sky and gazed at thick tufts of clouds that gathered around the sun. Beyond their irregular shapes, he imagined the grandeur of Mount Olympus.

I did not ask you to spare my wife when she was dying, as I never believed you would be cruel enough to take her from me, thought Vasileios. All I ask now is that you take my grief. I cannot bear to carry it any longer. Please, lighten my heart.

Light faded from the air as clouds stirred with blackness. Heavy droplets of rain pounded the ground, and a spire of lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder then growled like a threatened beast, cornered and afraid. Vasileios was so taken by the sudden display that he did not notice the cloaked figure at his side. The being had appeared from nowhere.

“Vasileios…” a raspy voice hissed.

Vasileios leapt and balled his fists, for he would not hesitate to defend himself against the menacing stranger. Their face was veiled by coarse fabric, and their small body was shapeless among its many pleats. They stood near to Vasileios without speaking or moving as if they were pretending to be his shadow in the absence of the sun.

In a steady voice, Vasileios demanded, “Who are you?”

“Hold out your hand,” the voice responded.

“Why should I give you my hand?” asked Vasileios. “I do not know you.”

A boney appendage emerged from the cloak and snatched Vasileios by the wrist. A single seed was deposited into his palm, and the figure closed his fingers around it. “Plant this deep in the earth, and your plea to the gods will be answered.”

As quickly as the storm came, the heavens returned to a vibrant shade of blue. The clouds were pale and white, floating on a gentle breeze. The air was silent beyond the crackling hiss of the fire, and the last beads of rain were devoured by thirsty grasses. Vasileios was alone once again, as the mysterious being had vanished in the blink of an eye. Yet, Vasileios clutched a tiny seed in his fist.

If not for this seed, I would think that I had strayed into a dream, mused Vasileios. My instructions are clear. I must plant this tonight!

Vasileios waited until Thaleia’s ashes had cooled. After, he placed them in a ceramic urn, and he carried the sacred vessel in his bulging arms. Together, they wandered home to the family farm. He thought constantly of the seed that rode in his pocket. Where should he plant it? If it was from the gods, it deserved a place of honor on his land.

He thought of the rear corner of his property. His wife had placed a bench there. It was her dream to spend summer afternoons in that spot, but the sun was always too bright. Perhaps the seed would grow into a tree, and he could finally give her the shade she always wanted…

Once he had placed his wife’s urn inside of their modest home, he went to the bench. He did as the stranger had commanded and dug a deep hole beside it. The seed was planted in the earth, and he saturated the ground with water from his well. It was his belief that he would not see growth for several weeks.

Vasileios returned to his house, where he climbed into his bed alone. He struggled to find peace without the hoarse snores of Thaleia. The room was cold in her wake, and he could not rest between lonely shivers. He rose at dawn, exhausted, and peered through his window…

There was a fully formed tree beside his wife’s bench!

Vasileios sprinted through his house and shot towards the tree in disbelief. How could such a thing be possible? Surely, sleep deprivation had made him giddy. He touched the bark to be certain it was not an illusion. The texture was knobby, as he expected. Overwhelmed by this odd occurrence, he sat on the bench to ponder the miracle tree. When he looked up at its leaves, the breath left his body.

Every leaf displayed a memory of Thaleia. They were moving pictures, snapshots of the life they had shared. He was dizzy with emotion. His gaze flicked from image to image, and he relived the memories in vivid detail. As long as he stared at those leaves, he could live with Thaleia all over again.

For hours, he watched their first meeting in the town square. They were only children, each there to buy apples from the market for their families. Thaleia was so lovely with her golden hair and violet eyes. Vasileios could hardly speak when they reached for the same apple. He snagged it first, yet he offered it to her as a sign of affection. She smiled, took a bite, and then extended it to him. It was the sweetest apple he had ever tasted.

Other memories also unfurled on the leaves. He watched as he courted Thaleia, asked for her hand in marriage, and first brought her into his bed. Their life as husband and wife was followed by the years they spent raising their sons. Those boys were grown and had families of their own, leading Vasileios and Thaleia to beautiful, quiet days together…

He couldn’t look away.

Hours became days. Vasileios refused to abandon the leaves. He began keeping food with him on the bench, and he slept under the branches of his miracle tree. In his mind, Thaleia was living in those leaves. She could not truly be dead if he could see her in the tree. When that tree bloomed into beautiful white flowers, he convinced himself that it was a sign from Thaleia. She was telling him to stay with the leaves, that she was with him from root to limb.

Incredibly, the blooms eventually became apples. He was hesitant to pick one, fearing that such a thing might damage his magical tree. However, he soon ran out of food and did not wish to desert his beloved. His fingers delicately plucked a juicy apple from the branch, and he chomped on its reddish peel.

At first, the flavor was sweet. It reminded him of the apple he shared with Thaleia at the market. Yet, the flavor then became bitter. The unpleasant taste was accompanied by pain. It burned his tongue and throat like acid, gushing down to his gut. Fire sat in his belly, and he crumpled from the agony of its intensity. All the while, he saw Thaleia’s face so clearly that he believed she was standing in front of him.

That sobering moment of nostalgia was worth the discomfort. He reached for another apple, and then another. He’d live on them if he must, for he had no intention of leaving the tree. His farm did not matter. Nothing else did. He had to keep his wife alive.

Nevertheless, Vasileios finally picked the last apple.

When the apples were gone, the leaves turned. Their green flesh dissolved into a putrid yellow. The images of Thaleia diminished, becoming grainy and indiscernible. Vasileios simply stared harder, filling in the gaps with his memory. However, it was not a permanent solution. One by one, the leaves detached from the branches and drifted to the dirt.

He felt like he had lost his wife a second time.

Furious, he kicked the dead leaves and crushed them under his heel. The rage was blinding, tearing through his rational mind. In a lapse of absolute insanity, he considered chopping down the tree. He went so far as to visit the barn for his axe. He gripped the handle and aimed the blade at the base of the tree. He prepared to swing, to hack through the trunk, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The tiniest bud had appeared on the branch.

He dropped the axe and fell to his knees. A bud! Perhaps the leaves would return to him! There was no way he could destroy the marvel now.

With all his might, he embraced the tree trunk. Tears dripped from his nose as he promised to nurture the tree. He swore he would provide plenty of water and shelter, everything a tree required to thrive. All it had to do was grow those special leaves again. If it returned his wife to him, he would give it the best life imaginable.

Thus, Vasileios cared for the tree like it was a child. He tended to its soil and swathed it in a shawl on cold days. Slowly, the branches spouted fresh buds. Those buds grew and developed green tips. The tips progressively became leaves. Vasileios eagerly sat on his bench and stared at the leaves that had formed, but they were the color of limes. No images were on them.

He waited until all the leaves returned, maturing into emerald growths…

Nothing.

But how? How had the leaves lost their memory?

Vasileios collapsed in the dirt below the branches and wailed with despair. He remained on the ground for days, curled in a fetal position. He ignored the whine of his empty stomach and the cry of his dry mouth. There seemed to be no reason to continue. He had lost his connection to Thaleia, the one thing that had kept him going after losing her.

Even as the blooms returned and morphed into succulent apples, Vasileios did nothing. He wept for what had been lost.

“Why do you cry?” the raspy voice asked.

Glancing upwards, Vasileios once again saw the cloaked figure from the pyre. He wiped his eyes and pulled himself into a seated position. “Why do I cry? You gave me a miracle seed only for the tree to lose its magic!”

“Is that so?” the figure challenged. The gnarled hand reached for an apple. It came loose from the tree, and it fell in Vasileios’s lap. “Taste that apple.”

Unsurely, Vasileios bit into the apple. As always, the sentimental, sweet taste oozed into his mouth. Yet, the bitterness that followed did not overwhelm his palate, and there was no pain. The visage of Thaleia still came to him, but he did not understand why it was not coupled with anguish. He glanced at the cloaked figure, perplexed. “I do not feel pain.”

“No. And you remembered Thaleia,” the voice noted.

Vasileios took a second bite. While the bitter aftertaste remained, it dissipated after a few seconds. It was worth experiencing in exchange for memories of Thaleia.

“How is this possible?” asked Vasileios. “I remember my wife, but I do not feel the same distress that I once did.”

“The seed was a manifestation of your grief. Just as trees change with the seasons, so does our mourning. It will remain where it is planted for as long as you live, given that it is a tribute to what you have lost. But you will not ache as you once did when you eat its fruit. You will simply…remember.”

Intoxicated by a sense of relief, Vasileios left the shade of his tree. For the first time in weeks, he felt the sun on his skin. No longer did he miss the miracle of the leaves, as he knew he could revisit their magic in the tree’s fruit. A great weight seemed to have left his heart, and he could scarcely contain his gratitude. “Thank you, gods! You have spared me!”

“They did nothing,” the raspy voice assured Vasileios. “You planted the seed. You stood beside its growth. All they did was ask me to show you the way.”

“And who are you?” Vasileios wondered.

The figure vanished before Vasileios’s very eyes, leaving behind the soft whisper, “Time.”