The Mango Tree

"Aw, I dunno, Penny. I think you're fibbin'. I ain't never heard of a mango tree dropping plum fruit tasting like a fizzy."

"Oh, Michael—you're from Sydney," Penny answered with a roll of her sparkling green eyes. "An' no one from the city knows what kinda good secrets we Bogans keep past the black stump."

"Where's that? The 'black stump?'"

With hands upturned and thrust to the heavens, Penny shook her head, sending her braided, blonde pigtails flailing, "It's not a real 'black stump'; it means it's far off—like a long way out of the way."

Michael stood there looking at this girl. Since his family moved to Bowral last week, he'd hardly seen any kids his age. School was still more than a month off, and even though this rural town was only a couple hours from Sydney, it felt far away—past the 'black stump' far. And it was odd. This girl was weird, too, but she was also cute—in a silly sort of way.

Penelope Hathaway shrugged, turned and began walking away in a slow, knee-dip, toe drag in the dusty trail. "Suit yourself, Michael. C'mon, if ya want. Go on if ya don't, but don't expect me to invite you to the mango tree again."

He followed along but kept his distance. "How come you call me

'Michael' and not Mike or Mikey?"

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Well—Michael, you're from the city. Means your so-fist-a-cated. Plus, we already have a Mike and a Mikey round here. Mike Wallins, he's okay, but he doesn't talk, and Mikey Plunkett, but he's a real bludger and would never make it to the mango tree."

"Hmm—how come Mike Wallins doesn't talk?"

"Don't know. Just never has."

Michael watched as Penny stopped, snapped her heels together and twirled. Her pigtails swung out horizontally and held, spinning like a helicopter rotor with her arms out as if she were trying to rise from the ground. Her eyes were closed, and she was smiling. When she stopped and opened them, looking right at him—she winked. Michael jumped like he'd been stung by a bee.

"You said these mangos taste like fizzy pops? What flavours?"

Penny's mouth curled into a smile, "Mmm—well, you'll have to come see! But I've had ones that tasted like cherry, root beer, and Pepsi, but I really want to find one that tastes like cream soda—my favourite."

After a long, hot slog through open fields with low, dry grass and dust that puffed up with each step like talcum powder, Penny pointed to a slope. At the bottom, a lone tree, bursting with greenery and resplendent with great globes of fruit, stood at the edge of a flat plot. "That's Mother," Penny said with a sigh.

"Mother?" asked Michael.

"Yes," Penny answered, now skipping toward the tree. "Because she gives me whatever I want and loves me."

A funny feeling crawled up Michael's neck. He stopped walking and turned around. The sun was getting low, and everything around him looked like nothing—a plain field, not much of a road, no signs, houses or landmarks. He realized he had no idea where he was, and his parents would never know where to find him. He heard Mom's voice—don't go off with strangers—was Penny, a stranger?

"Whaddaya doing standing there?" Penny shouted, already halfway to the tree.

His feet didn't seem to want to take another step forward. Why'd I follow this stupid girl anyway?  It'll be almost dark by the time I get back. It felt like a pile of rocks was tumbling in his tummy. He looked at Penny, walking backward, slowly descending the slope toward the tree. He watched as her legs disappeared, then her shoulders, until all he could see was a hand waving for him to follow. Damnit, Mike! Now you're sunk. You're lost; it'll be dark soon, and you've got no way home, just that dang country girl you followed into the middle of nowhere!

He kicked the dirt path. A mushroom cloud of pale dust rose to his knees. Concluding that it was better to be with a strange girl than alone and that at least the mango tree would provide food, he decided the best plan was to follow Penny, find out about this magic mango tree and then get himself home. After I get home—after they nearly kill me, I bet Mom and Dad will finally get me a phone.

He began walking again and turned to see the sun almost touching the hilltops in the distance. The rocks in his stomach tumbled again. If, I get home.

Even with nighttime approaching, it was still plenty hot, and it felt good to sit under the cool umbrella of the mango tree. He watched Penny as she slung herself around the trunk, hugging and kissing the bark, saying sweet things and telling "Mother" that she'd brought a new friend she had to show him her magic.

He looked at the many plump, oblong fruits hanging from the branches, and his mouth began to water. His stomach still churned, but now it was from hunger. "How do I know which one will be a fizzy?"

Penny came and scooched down in front of him, with her knees touching his, "You have to close your eyes and ask Mother for it."

Michael peered at this girl with the small nose and pretty eyes. He didn't know enough about girls to know anything about them, but he was pretty sure Penny was pulling a prank. "I bet this a gag," he said rather petulantly. "I bet you'll have me making silly wishes and asking 'Mother' like she was real, and when I bite into a mango, it'll be just that—a plain ol' mango and you'll have a big laugh at me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Michael! You're carrying on a like a pork chop! You think I'd drag you all this way for a joke? That I haven't anything better to do with my time than tease some stupid boy?"

Her nose got all squished up, and her eyes pinched, so she looked mean, but somehow, Penny looked even cuter—it made him think of a rabbit about to sneeze. He got another funny feeling floating in his stomach. "Alright! Sheesh—it was just a question! Fair dinkum! You don't need to get so mad."

"So, you'll try?" Penny asked, softening her eyes and brandishing a smile that could make the moon blush.

"Sure. I'll try. What kinds of flavours can I ask Mother for?"

"Welllll," Penny drew the word out as she quietly clapped her fingers together, "I asked for chocolate cake once and a bickie a few times, but getting those right seem to be about as scarce as hen's teeth—so I stick to more basic flavours. I once asked for a strawberry float and didn't Mother give me the most luscious mango!" Penny leaned in and laid her hand on his arm. "I swear I thought I was at ol' Pip n' Sip's soda shop having their best cream float!"

"Mother," Michael said, looking up at the tree, "I'd like—"

"—No, Michael, not like that. You have to close your eyes and imagine the flavour. Then you ask."

"Sorry." Michael closed his eyes and steepled his hands. He was thirsty and hungry, but most of all, he just wanted to be done with this and go home. He played along as genuinely as he could muster. "Mother, my favourite fizzy in the whole world is Dr. Pepper. We don't get it much and haven't had any since we left Sydney. I'd be very grateful if I could have a taste right now."

He felt Penny sidle next to him, her hair touching his, and he smelled the lilac-scented shampoo.

 "Good," she whispered. "Now keep very still and your eyes shut. Mother will show me which mango is for you."

Her hair fell away, and he heard her feet scrape the dirt and the shake of a leafy branch. A snap. A rustle. Then, a hand on his head. "Bite, Michael. Sink your teeth in and taste what Mother has given you."

He bit. The mealy pulp threw him off for a moment but then the sugary, peppery bubbles leaped along his tongue. It was real! A Dr. Pepper mango! He bit again, drinking and gorging on the fizzy soda sensation bursting from the fruit. Overwhelmed and overjoyed, he opened his eyes and looked at Penny who leaned over him with the fruit in her hand, smiling, looking proud and contented.

"Ahh canth beweeb thith mathgo taththo emerthhhin—" Puzzled, he felt his tongue fat and heavy, pushing on his lips and filling his mouth. He looked up, but Penny didn't look like Penny anymore. She seemed to stretch up from the ground, a creature with a body pulled like an elastic band, her face ballooned and distorted. His head lulled, and the silty dirt between his feet lay the mango, the fruit black and porous.

Penny reached a long, bony arm at him, and he felt her hand clamp around his wrist. "Thank you for coming with me today, Michael. It's been an awfully long time since I've been able to bring someone to see Mother, but she always says, ‘fate is resourceful.’”

"Whathhh thlong wlitht mee? Whathhh err yewww dooingth shoo mee?" His thick and soupy words spilled from his lips like the sugary syrup dripping from his chin.

She was dragging him now, pulling him around the back of the tree. His legs felt heavy and wet like he'd been dunked in a pool. His chest wheezed, and he felt his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

Everything was failing him, but his eyes remained clear, and what he saw set terror into his soul.

The base of the mango tree turned the blackest black he'd ever seen, like a hole into endless nothingness, an emptiness filled with need, hunger, and pain.

Thick, pulsating roots broke from the earth and moved like spider legs, with bends, knots and knuckles everywhere. The greyish-blue tendrils folded over one another, looking like the twisted blue veins in his grandfather's calves.

They grabbed at him, rolling around his legs, tightening over his feet, wrapping around his ankles—pulling him toward the dark. Mangos and leaves fell from Mother's branches. The heavy, soft, rotten fruit fell apart in globs of grey flesh, and an army of hard-shell beetles with luminescent oil-skinned backs crawled out and stormed his body like an army.

Though he felt no pain, he watched as the swarm of bugs tore away at him, sending bits of flesh into the air like shavings spit from a chainsaw.

Penny loomed over him. Her pretty eyes looked almost grateful, her smile nearly loving. He saw her reach down and felt the cool touch of her fingers slip between his rib bones. There was a tightening, then a tug.

He felt his body go cold. He looked up at her, and the last thing Michael Moorehouse would ever see was Penny—eating his heart. Then he fell into darkness, falling and falling and falling into the black.

***

The good citizens of Bowral showed their sympathies and grief to the Moorehouse family over the weeks after Michael's disappearance. Police and volunteers scoured the town, the fields, woods, ravines and creeks, searching for the lost boy, but they found no trace.

Following tips and reports from passersby who saw Michael playing alone at the park and later walking on the dirt track toward the old orchard, searchers used every available asset to find him, including drones with heat-detecting cameras. It seemed like the earth had just opened up and swallowed him whole.

***

The corner plot was staked out, and Casey Barlow stood with his wife, looking over the expanse of open land around them. Like countless others, the Barlows decided to leave the pace and stress of city life behind, leaving Sydney for a life of leisurely country living between the outback and the city.

"Can you believe it, Beth-Ann?" Casey asked his wife, who held their nine-year-old daughter, Adelaide, by the hand. "First ones in! Another year, babe, and these prices will double! We're gonna love it here!"

"Look, Mama," Addy said, pointing to the lone tree in the entire subdivision, "Do we even get our own tree?"

Casey tussled his daughter's hair and took a knee beside her. "This used to be a mango orchard, Addy—looks like we inherited the last tree. I can see she's sproutin' buds too. Reckon we'll have fresh mangos all summer!"

At the corner of the new subdivision, Barney Chambers and Luke Dawson stood in front of the bulldozer and grader, having lunch while watching the new arrivals and soon-to-be residents of Tharawal Gate. "Shoulda tore out that damned ol' tree," grumbled Barney.

"Yeah," agreed Luke, "Damn hoon business that was. You reckon the developers told those folks about mad Missus Darby hangin' herself from that ol' timber?"

"If you was sellin' a slab of good-for-nothin, used up old plot for barrels of dosh—would you go an tell a story of a ma who lost her young'un, then hanged herself dead because her heart was tore out? No, you wouldn't."

"They ought to have at least left the gravestones there," Luke said, finishing off his fizzy. "Ain't right not knowing she's buried there with her girl." He climbed back into his dozer and took a last look at the nice, young family. "Funny about the tree," he said, "I never seen one ever grow such fruit."