Sanctuary Tree

It was a hot day.

The sun beat down, frying my scalp and burning my skin. Sweat stung my eyes. My tongue was dry as dust.

I despaired. I can’t keep going, I thought. I felt the despair tangle with the irritation and resentment building in my gut.

Why did it have to be so hot? Why today? Why now? I just wanted to curl up and die.

No, that wouldn’t do. But what else was there to do? Keep wandering until I died? That’d be real fun. Go back?

No. There was no going back.

Keep wandering it is, I thought.

I shuffled forward. One step. Then another. I seemed hardly to move, but I kept on.

Soon, though, I found myself more tired, irritated, and despairing than I had been before. The sun stood still in the sky and beat down hotter than before. I was so weak. So tired. My breath rattled and my legs ached. I felt hopelessness gather within me. I was going to die alone, surrounded by nothing and no one. The worst part was that I knew I deserved it, too. I stumbled forward, about to collapse in a heap. I’d let the sun would bake me like a raisin.

Just then, a great oak appeared to me. It was still far away and tiny, but I could see it clearly. It sat atop a small hill. It, too, was alone, surrounded by the rolling plains of tall grass. I steadied myself. I felt hope lift my heart. My back straightened slightly. Despite the guilt I felt, and despite knowing I should just let myself die, a wild energy took possession of me. SHADE! REST! My body screamed. And I, like a coward, complied to its wishes. I forced myself, step by step, to move towards the tree. After an eternity, it stood before me. I climbed the hill with a few final, pained steps and collapsed, spent, at the base of the tree. In its shade, the air was just that bit cooler, and the sun didn’t beat down into my eyes. My eyelids grew heavy, and, despite the digging of the bark of the tree into my back, I dozed off.

The woman crouched down, her face contorted with agony, and put her face into her shirtsleeve. Her mind was blank with the pain, and she was blind to anything but her own suffering. With each cramp, she felt her desire to escape her prison of a body intensify. She wanted to yank the baby out of her womb, to get it over with in one swift motion. She wanted to squat right there, uncomfortable and dangerous as it might be if only to ease the pain. She looked up to the sky, praying for relief. And how had she missed it? The tree was not a hundred paces from where she stood now. She gritted her teeth. She could stay here and crouch uncomfortably for hours, exposed to the elements, or she could walk just a few more steps to that blessed tree.

The journey to the tree was not easy. Any movement of her limbs sent pain rolling up and down her body. Several times, she nearly fell. Each time, she caught herself. If she fell, she knew she would not be able to get up. Finally, gasping and nearly sobbing from the pain, she braced herself against the tree.

As if to punish her, the pain grew still more intense. Her back grew so tight she thought it might snap, and the muscles there burned white-hot.

She screamed.

She knew she was one of the lucky ones. Sometimes the pain subsided, and she could breathe again. She could relax her tightened muscles, unscrew her eyes, and brace herself for the next bout. She met each new wave of cramping with dread, and she felt she could not bear the seemingly endless pain that squeezed and stretched at her. Then the pain would retreat, and she could come back to her body for a little while. The worst part was when the baby was in the process of being birthed. There, she felt as if she were being split wide open, ripped apart by the legs, and nothing in her life had ever seemed so visceral as that moment.

The baby finally slid out, and the new mother had the sense and strength to catch it before it fell onto the rough, dirty ground. She cradled it in her arms, smiling despite everything. The agony of moments ago seemed inconsequential now. She was so happy. How she loved the child. How sad she was that it cried so, and yet so happy! She hugged it closer to her bosom.

Then a torrent of anguish crashed over her. No. This was not her baby. It could not. The laws and ancient customs said as much. Any child of… that union could not be allowed to live. If she took the child back with her, they would kill it and make her watch. No, no… but what to do? To leave it here was to but slow its death.

The baby, now quiet and tranquil, clung to her, its little hand clasped around her pointer finger. She felt compassion and love surge within her. At that moment, she felt she was capable of anything, any act, in order to save her child. She would go to the ends of the earth if only her child could live.

But the moment passed, and she became human again.

She watched as her fingers pinched off the cord that tied her to her most beloved. She watched as her arms took the tattered shawl that wrapped around her shoulders and wrapped it around the baby again and again. She watched as she set it carefully at the feet of the great tree. She wondered if she should wind the cloth across the face.

The thought was too terrible for her to bear. She hid her face and, weeping in guilt and shame, fled. The child wailed terribly, but she did not stop. She did not dare. The cries of the child tore into the air, echoed off the tree, and carried through the wind, but she did not once turn back.

It was night. The cool, dry air moved occasionally to create a soft breeze. The chirps and clicks of insects filled the night air.

The man was exhausted. Only the thought of sleep filled his mind. He thought perhaps that he should simply stop here, form a pillow of the grasses, and sleep. He had done it before. Though it was uncomfortable, he would surely live.

His head knocked against something. Surprised, he lost his bearings and almost fell. Rubbing his forehead, he thought, wasn’t this a plain? He peered into the dark and made out the silhouette of a large oak tree. Ah! Satisfaction filled him. He could rest here. The branches would shelter him from the cool breeze. He might dig out a little depression for comfort’s sake. He had made up his mind to rest when he heard a soft cry from near the base of the tree. Though he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew in his heart of hearts that the cry was unmistakably human.

Instantly, his exhaustion vanished. Kneeling carefully, he searched the ground with his hands until he found the child. He felt the child under a set of low-hanging branches. At that moment, he also smelled the odors of the child’s waste.

His heart was in tumult. What was a baby doing here? How had it gotten here? How long had it been here? Would it live past the night? What should he do?

Even before he had begun, he had decided. He must save the child, whatever it took. He must return posthaste to his village. He could not let it die. It did not deserve such a cruel death, so soon after birth and exposed to the elements. He felt pity and compassion for the child, and anger towards the ones who had abandoned it.

Without losing a moment, he scooped up the baby and ran. His eyesight sharpened to that of an eagle’s and his hearing to that of an owl’s. He ran through the endless tall grass, barely conscious of anything, and only thinking of his destination. He ran for eons, but it felt to him like only a moment had passed.

At last, he saw the lights that indicated his village. Despite knowing from the arrangement of them that this was indeed his village, he prayed nonetheless that he had gotten it right, that this was his home. It soon became clear that it was.

He ran through the village, clutching the listless baby to his chest, and turned corner after corner. He knew exactly where he had to go. He pounded on the door.

After a short moment, which felt like many decades, it opened.

“What is it?”, a voice, gruff from sleep, said.

“Baby”, the man gasped. “Please. No time. Talk to. Elena”

After a moment, the other man came back, this time with his wife.

“Elena”, the man breathed out harshly. “Found child. Nearly dead. Please care for it. I know you lost yours. Take this one as your own”

Elena considered the child. She grieved for the one who had passed. She resented that this one still lived while the one of her own body had died. She hated herself for that. She also felt a great swell of motherly compassion for the child, which she had not yet even seen. Perhaps this was God’s gift to her, even as He took her child to His Kingdom.

She stretched out her hands. “I’ll take it”

“You’d better leave. Now”

I stared, still in shock, at the group of men. Their arms were either crossed or holding pitchforks or clubs.

“But why?”, I babbled. “What did I do?”

“You’re a witch baby. Born a witch, always a witch”

“Killer!”

“Murderer!”

“Cursed demon!”

But none of this struck at my heart the way the next statement did.

“The old man saved ya, but ya killed him”

I couldn’t find anything to say. Part of me wanted to shout that I was innocent. Part of me knew better.

The woman who had nursed me soon fell ill. She grew weak and listless. Within a few months, she had died. The woman who had come in to care for her died in a carriage accident. The husband, suspecting a curse, had wanted to kill me, but an old man had saved me, offering to take me. He promised he would make sure to keep the village safe. From me.

For all those years, we had been careful. I had quickly learned to dress myself. Always I wore long-sleeved shirts and pants. Always I wore gloves and boots, even on the hottest of summer days. I had sat apart from the other kids. I’d never played with them. Everyone avoided me like the plague, and I’d learned to live with it.

Then, the old man had become ill. It was then that I’d made my fatal mistake.

One day, after I had brought him broth and was sitting by his side, I took his hands in my gloved ones. This time, though, something was amiss. I realized with horror and dread that there was a hole in the glove, and through the hole, his wrinkled hand touched mine. I recoiled, but it was too late. He smiled.

“Worry not, Moses. No harm was done”

“How can you say that?!”, I wept. “You’re gonna die! I killed you!”

“No”, he whispered. “God will take me. I knew it even before. It is no fault of yours, child. Now, kiss my cheek, and promise that you will be a good boy”

“I will”, I cried.

“Now, hold my hand. I love you, Moses. God loves you. Have faith”

“But--but how can he love me! I’m a killer! I kill everyone!”, I sobbed.

“No, Moses. You must never believe that. I will grant that, perhaps, some demon has latched onto you, wishing to inflict torment on you. Perhaps God is testing you. But you have done nothing. Have you not endeavored all these years to safeguard others? Yes! Have you once cruelly threatened others with death? No! Then you have done no evil! Promise me you have heard and believe me”

“I promise”, I whispered.

The curse kindly waited a day to take the old man. I carved a great headstone for him and buried him behind his house. The men had forced me away, brandishing their weapons, while I buried him.

“We’ll finish the job”, they snapped tersely. “You get out”

I woke from the dreams.

The tree stood before me, its branches stretched out in all directions. The full moon shone through the branches. The light grew brighter and more vivid. It shaped itself, becoming more distinct.

“Father?”, I whispered.

He walked towards me. I stood, watching him in awe. I felt grief and joy at once surge through me.

“Father!”

He embraced me. I embraced back. I squeezed, trying to convince myself he was real. I wanted to laugh with the sheer love and happiness I felt at seeing him again.

At last, we stood back. He smiled.

“I was so worried for you”, he said. “I knew you thought of joining me before your time. I knew that the villagers had driven you away in my name. I begged for God to save you. And he has”

At that, I grew angry.

“How come you still trust God!”, I shouted. “He took you! He cursed me! All of this is God’s fault!”

The old man frowned.

“You must not say such things, my son. Remember how God tested Job. He gave Job disease and poverty. He took Job’s wife and children to His Kingdom. But Job retained faith in God, and God returned to him his former prosperity and gave him another wife and many more children. You are like Job, my child. Have faith that better things await you if only you continue to believe in God”

“What about the people who died?”, I cried. “What of their suffering?”

“God takes all people at their time”, the old man replied. “Their time had come. Mine had come. But yours has not yet come. You are destined to live for much longer yet”.

I bowed my head, letting the tears flow down my cheeks. He put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up.

“Have faith, my son”, he whispered, fading back into the moonlight.

“Don’t go!”, I shouted. “Don’t leave me!”

I woke. The sky was gray with the hint of morning light. The air was crisp and cool. I looked into the distance.

The woman giving birth had surely been my mother. This tree had surely been my first shelter. That child had been me. I looked into the sky, feeling a mixture of wonder, confusion, and awe.

“What do I do now?”, I asked aloud.

Find your mother.

“Does she live?”

She does.

For a moment, I considered. I felt joy, but I also felt foolish. What if I was just going mad? How could I know my mother was still alive?

What other option did I have?

I rose, stretching my arms and legs. I walked down to the hill.

As I walked away from the tree, the sun broke through the horizon, sending its golden rays across the sky. I walked towards it.

I didn’t look back.