Pointers on Pruning the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil

Borg was not much of a reader, but Sonja, Borg’s wife, was an avid bookworm.  Living on Tvorkla Island off the coast of Norway, Sonja quickly found that the tiny library in town was not able to keep up with her voracious reading appetite.  In less than three years, she had read most of the books on the shelves of the library. Due to the isolation, sometimes it would take over three weeks for one of her requests to make it to the library.  Boat was the only way to access Tvorkla Island where Oliver was the lighthouse keeper out at Sorvika Point.  Three miles east of the mainland, the island needed a beacon to warn ships about the presence of the rocky island that was no more than a mile in circumference.  With severe sea winds and long winters, gardening was not a practical hobby, but Sonja had Borg build her a greenhouse where she could grow a good variety of flowers.  Both of them were very happy living on the island.  Borg did not have to work very hard.  The hardest part of his job was climbing the winding stairs that led to the beacon.  He would spend the night babysitting the beacon and listen to the ham radio from the passing freighters.  

Things were very idyllic on Tvorkla Island until one day when everything changed.  After an errand to the bakery where Sonja got a loaf of fresh crusty bread right out of the oven, she went next door to the library.  She was greeted by Mrs. Bjorkland, the elderly librarian who had lived on the island for over forty years and in that time had kept the library in shipshape so that even before she walked in, Sonja knew what book was where.  But today she was taken by surprise, when she went to the reference books and saw a strange book whose spine protruded over six inches past the shelf’s edge.  Strange that Mrs. Bjorkland would allow such an irregularity, but was even more odd was the title of the volume, Pointers on Pruning of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  She plucked it off the shelves and opened the bizarrely shaped book.  

It smelled of must and mold as if it had sat there for a long, long time, but she knew better as besides Mrs. Bjorkland, Sonja knew where every book was shelved in the tiny library considering she had read them all at one time or another. 

There was no ISBN, no publishing date and no publisher for that matter.

How strange.  

There were some illustrations, but some of the words were from a foreign language. 

“Ab-ba Cum-laud-on Ak-halla Ben-nostra.” She repeated the words to herself and as she did idiosyncratic visions danced in her head. Evil and saintly imaginings raced through her jumbled mind.  

Abba Cumlaudon Akhalla Bennostra.

“Sonja, what are you doing with that book?” Mrs. Bjorkland peered out over her silver spectacles that matched the color of her hair.

Abba Cumlaudon Akhalla Bennostra.

“No more.” She put her hand up in Sonja’s face.

Her pale blue eyes twitched and after blinking several times, came back to this world.

“What happened?” She shook her head free of the cobwebs.

“This book...is dangerous.” Mrs. Bjorkland explained taking it from Sonja’s hands.

“It was right here on the shelf.” Sonja pointed.

“Sure, sure and only you would notice it.” She laughed, “But I can assure you, it would be better if you did not read what is contained in this book.” 

“I saw things...wicked things…” She began to feel faint.

“Which is why this book is better not opened in the first place.” Mrs. Bjorkland tucked it securely under her wing.

“But it’s the only book I’ve never read.” She shook her head. 

“Those words you chanted were from the division between Heaven from Hell itself. These are the very words Eve whispered to Adam when she offered him the apple from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.” Mrs. Bjorkland explained. To Sonja’s surprise, Mrs. Bjorkland put the book right back on the shelf where she had found it. 

“Why are you putting it back?” Sonja could not help asking. 

“My dear, this is where it belongs.” She smiled.

“If it has such evil, why not burn it or destroy it?” Sonja put her hand to her mouth. 

“Because it exists.” She glanced at Sonja as if the young woman had lost her mind. “And it shall remain as it was intended to be.” 

Sonja walked home with the bag of bread, but she could not get her mind off of the last words Mrs. Bjorkland had told her. 

And it shall remain as it was intended to be.

By whom? 

On her trip into town the next day, Sonja saw that Torkel Mrs. Bjorkland’s son was tending the counter.  She walked into the library.

“Mrs. Hanson.” Torkel greeted Sonja with a smile.

“Good day, Torkel.” She nodded, but her real destination was for the shelf in back where she had found that odd book.  It wasn’t there.  She spent some time searching, but came up empty. It was becoming clear that Mrs. Bjorkland was guarding that book. She was about ready to leave when she looked up and saw the book sitting on the top shelf.  Very carefully she removed the book and took it to the front desk to check it out.  Torkel did not say a word as he stamped the due date on the small slip attached to the back cover of the book.  Tucking it into her coat, Sonja started her trek home.  She would conceal the dreaded book until she got home.  She would not even tell her husband about the book.  

Seeing her greenhouse, Sonja decided to put it on the small table inside the greenhouse.  When she had a spare moment, she would look at it in private. 

The night would bring a furious storm and Borg would make sure his beacon was visible to any and all naval traffic as the waves violently slashed against the rocks along with the icy rain.  There were radio signals sent in from some of the fishing vessels fearing the waves would capsize their boats in the squall that had erupted from nowhere.  Using his radio, Borg called out the rescue units.  It was a long arduous night.

“I need some rest.” He kissed Sonja when dawn finally arrived and the storm had ceased its perilous roar.  

“Poor dear.” Her gentle land softly stroked his face.  She was finally free to pursue her book.  

No sooner had Borg got into bed, he was fast asleep.  Sonja did not waste a single second running out to the greenhouse. She figured by now, Mrs. Bjorkland discovered that the book was no longer in the library.  

Abba Cumlaudon Akhalla Bennostra.

She repeated these words several times.

Evil fought with good as it once had before God had created the earth, if you were to believe Genesis from the Old Testament.  

Lucifer was God’s favorite angel.

Lucifer’s betrayal was the hardest blow that could have been delivered.

Even watching His own son die on the cross was not as devastating as when Lucifer led the rebellion against God Himself.  The battle was decisive as a legion of angels were cast into Hell while those who had stood by God, licked their wounds as a multitude had been slain in mortal combat.  

God wept.

God wept at the destruction of what he had perceived as tranquility for the angels He so loved. 

Abba Cumlaudon Akhalla Bennostra.

And so in His sorrow, He created a garden and in this garden he put creatures, various kinds of beasts to live in harmony, but even this place of peace became corrupt when the apple from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was eaten by the inhabitants.  Suddenly their eyes were open.  Suddenly they knew good and evil.  Suddenly they were no longer innocent.  Suddenly they were both corrupt.

Abba Cumlaudon Akhalla Bennostra. 

These were the words He spoke as he cast these corrupt humans from his Garden of Eden.  Paradise was lost.  His tears fell as he repeated his words.  Life would become hard.

She awoke several hours later.  Rising from the place where she had been put into a deep sleep, she hurried back into the house where Borg had just risen from their bed.

“I had the strangest dream.” He declared as she entered the room.  She did not wish to tell him that whatever he had seen, she had seen things far more disturbing, but she kept her silence.  At least for now.  

Four police boats pulled into the docks at the east side of the island. Borg was still in the beacon room, as he called it, when he saw them.  Immediately he went to his ham radios and listened to the buzz.

“Woman’s body.  Bloated and caught in some debris about a hundred meters offshore.” He heard the squawk.  

He went down the spiral stairs as fast as he dared move.

“Sonja.” He called out.

“What is it?” She met him at the bottom.

“A woman’s body has been found off the island.” He reported. 

“Really?” She could not believe what he was saying.  

In a single car garage, Borg parked a beat up old Volvo that he drove less than once a month, but he started up the dependable engine and together they drove the one mile into town.  When they got there, Sonja was horrified at seeing Torkel in cuffs and being led to the docks by a company of policemen and women.

“What happened?” Sonja asked one of the on-lookers.

“Her son murdered poor old Edith Bjorkland.” One of them reported. 

“Oh my God.” She shook head. 

“He seemed like such a loving son.” The woman sighed heavily. 

In a thick black bag, lying on a gurney, the body of Edith Bjorkland rested in peace.

“She kept nagging me about that book.” Sonja could hear Torkel explain. Upon hearing that, Sonja’s heart nearly stopped.

The book.  Pointers on Pruning of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  

Mrs. Bjorkland went looking for that book and upon seeing that the book was no longer there, blamed her son.  She must have known that a patron, Sonja, had signed it out.

After spending an hour in town that included a trip for coffee and Danish at the only coffee shop in town, they drove home quite somber and silent.  When she got out of the car, she told Borg that she wanted to check her greenhouse.  He nodded as Sonja went inside.

In one of the boxes, much to her surprise was a sapling that was about two meters high.  Yesterday the box was empty and fallow, but now there was something growing in it.  She walked over to the sapling and saw buds on the young branches. It was an apple tree.  In a few months apples would be growing on the branches.

It was about midnight when the storm came rolling in from the west.  Borg was asleep in his chair when the winds began to howl.  There have been bolts of lightning that have enough power to destroy a substantial building, but the one that hit the beacon directly blew off the top of the lighthouse, sending Borg screaming into the jagged rocks below.  Without the beacon, a rather large cargo ship destroyed the rest of the lighthouse as it ran aground on the rocks, smashing into the lighthouse and bringing it down as if it was made of building blocks.  

Sonja had chosen to spend the night in her greenhouse which was several meters from the ravaged lighthouse.  The greenhouse escaped unscathed.  When she awoke and wandered outside, she could not believe her eyes when she saw the devastation for the first time.  Seeing the ruin of what was her home, she had no doubt that her husband Borg had not fared so well. It did not take long for her premonition to be confirmed.  The police had returned, but this time in greater numbers.  One of them pulled her aside and bestowed the awful news on her.  As much as she had once loved her husband, the news did not seem as awful as they made it out to be.  She did shed some tears for the sake of the show, but the reality was there was little grief in her heart for the death of Borg.  

The apples were small and green.  She picked one.  Without hesitation she bit into it and let the juice flow down her chin.  She wiped off the juice with the back of her hand.  Visions filled her head.  She walked down to the rocks where her husband had perished.  Waves were washing over the rock making them slippery, but she did not stop.  As the tide was rushing in, she put her foot on one of the breakers and lifted herself up onto the rough seas. The violence of the waves did not deter or push her under.  She took another step and another.

The police examining the hull of the wrecked ship were astounded as they watched the woman wearing a long dress walk on the water.

She finished her apple and discarded the core into the raging surf.  

One of the officers managed to remove her cell phone and snap the improbable photo of the woman walking calmly on the water.

The photograph went viral. 

When she finally made it back to shore, they were waiting for her, but she did not wish to be their captive.  She did not wish to answer questions.  Whatever miracle had occurred, she did not wish to be part of it.

As they moved toward her, she turned to glare at them with eyes that burned in pure evil.

“How can that be?” One of her pursuers gasped, “Twas a holy man whose feet last walked among the storm at sea.”

Her laugh came from a place much deeper than anyone could ever imagine.  So powerful that the earth began to tremble until most of the buildings on the island were reduced to rubble.  

Tvorkla Island became deserted shortly after that, unable to bear the tragedies that seemed to regularly occur on this sparse spit of land.  Yes, deserted except for the one person who decided to stay behind.  The debate about this tree that grew through the roof of her greenhouse continues to this day.  On a shelf on her small table, the book is open to a page she finds particularly useful.  Some words that no longer have meaning, but are just as powerful all the same.

Some say these words are pure evil, while others say this was ordained by the Creator since neither Heaven nor Earth could seem to be able to sustain peace and tranquility sought by His original design.  

No matter, for the battle continues to rage as the lure of that which is forbidden still remains stronger than that which is the salvation for our souls.  Sonja sits on Tvorkla Island in her greenhouse pruning the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil to this very day just like the open book tells her to do.