Our lovely Mango Tree

Feeling the air in the shadow of that mango tree brought me back to my early days. The perfume of the fruits began in December. So Christmas had this particular fragrance in the house. It was an American colonial-style house, like the one in Gone with the Win, in a small size. My mother had seen a picture in a magazine and told my father she wanted something like that. She was not an architect but she made not only the design of the facade lest the plan inside, with a dining room on one side, a living room on the other, and a hall in black and white marble. The stairs made a square spiral and we loved to slide by the handrail, yet nothing compared with climbing the mango tree.

We were three children, me, my cousin Marine and my cousin Alfonse. We used to climb the tree starting in the big branches that were very inviting, as they were low. We reached them easily at six, seven, and eight years old. Of course, my mother watched us but compared to the current children, we were much freer. I remember one day when Marine touched something like little stains, and Alphonse cried out "Watch out! This is a snake egg!" Of course, it was not, but Marine jumped from where she was, some five meters high. She fell on a wooden bench and she did not cry because she was ashamed of crying. Ir must have been a horrible pain. Fortunately, she broke nothing. And she was thin as a toothpick. We all came down, but she did not shed a tear.

Life went on, each of us in their path, we got married, had children, grandchildren, the house had been sold but the mango tree is still there. There are no more mangos now, not even year in and year out, as it used to be, and there is a big building in the place of the house. Yet, whenever I come near that tree, everything comes back as in a dream. I remember all the laughter, all the bruises, the fear to go on the taller branches, as they might break, the effort to seem courageous in front of the cousins, that kept saying, "You are a little princess, an only child, you have been spoiled!"

And I replied, "Not in the least! My mother is severe with me not making me a silly girl!"

Nevertheless, I was a bit silly as a teenager. I remember enjoying the company of my first boyfriend sitting on the same wooden bench by the mango tree, hand in hand. When he asked for a kiss, I denied it because I did not know how to act in such situations. As we laughed a lot, me, him, my friend Claire and her boyfriend, Mark, my father appeared in his bedroom window and said we were making too much noise.

This remonstrance made me feel bad. Why so much freedom in childhood and so much restrain in adolescence?

This little romance lasted a few months. We were too young and too silly. Other friends of mine were not so naive at that same epoch. They were wise enough to appreciate a good boyfriend that later became their husbands. I know quite a few in this case.

Well, the other day I passed by this tree and saw an old man under its shadow. This footage took place several times. I wondered who he was and was a little afraid to ask him. Yet, one afternoon walking my dog, I decided to go near and ask him.

When I approached the man, I recognized him. It was Paul, my first boyfriend. I was so astonished that I almost fell when my dog pulled the lead. I cried, "Paul! It's you?"

"Yes, Mary! It's me. I thought you would never come near. I was afraid that you would not recognize me after all these years!"

"Jee, Paul! Of course, I would! How come you are in the neighborhood?"

"Well, I lived in lots of places, but now, once retired, I decided to live where I have been happiest, here, on the street where you lived!"

"It sounds like My Fair Lady, remember, the film with Audrey Hepburn that we saw at a cinema holding hands?"

"Sure I remember Mary! We liked her very much, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. And we were so happy together!"

"Yes, we were. We loved each other. And I heard you are divorced. Is it true?"

"It is. And you?"

" I am also divorced."

There was a thick silence. We did not know what to do. I finally asked him why he came to the shadow of that tree every day and sat at that bench. He told me this shadow belonged to him. It was part of his life forever. It was like in the known Chinese tale that a man buys the shadow of a tree and is his owner. There was no need of buying this shadow. It belonged to him because it was part of his history. I had never thought so but I agreed with him entirely. Yes, the shadow of this tree belonged to us.

This time, as he approached me, I did not back off. I stood still and when he kissed me, I kissed him back. This has been a kiss of love. We were so happy! We were teenagers again. Eye in the eye, hand in hand, we stood there for a long time, as tears came by. Even the dog kept quiet, not pulling the lead. He sat on his paws and looked at us peacefully. We were reunited at last.

This has been the best surprise of my life. I thanked this magnificent mango tree for its long and fruitful life in all possible senses.

The next thing to do was to introduce each other to our families and hope they will like us. My family would certainly approve of him, a lovely man, good father, and excellent grandfather. The day I was to meet his daughter, I was so nervous that my hair went crazy, not to be fixed in my ordinary hairstyle. I had to make a bun and finally got it straight. She was a bit shy at first but then she gave me a warm hug and we became friends instantly. Our grandchildren met sometime after that and we all went to see the famous mango tree that united our families.