[naviga:h2]The Loquat Tree[/naviga:h2]

Out in St. George's, when there was still a railroad, there was a cottage the colour of peaches. It had a large sweeping garden and in the middle of that garden was a loquat tree that grew fruit as large as apples and as fragrant as frangipani. Everyone agreed there was something very special about it. The tree had been around for as long as anyone could remember and the people in the neighbourhood had long memories. Maybe it was something in the soil, they said, or maybe an underground well gave it that magical quality. During the spring the family in the peach coloured house would throw parties lasting for days on end. Everyone chatted and laughed under the shade of the tree's leaves, getting fat and dozy on loquat jam and loquat pie.

With all the attention and love the neighbourhood lavished on this tree it developed an ego as immense as its trunk. While all the other trees in the garden were busy getting on with their tree-business, the loquat tree would spend hours rustling its leaves to arrange them just so. It was awfully vain for a loquat tree, even if it was unique, and so, in the wintertime when people stayed indoors more and there were no loquats to eat, the tree was very bitter towards Christmas. It hated seeing everyone happily spending time with their families and dearest friends without it. It was also jealous of the Christmas tree they placed in their living room each year, dressed with shiny glass balls and decorations that were hung with such care. Every year this resentment would grow until the tree felt it would spontaneously combust with all the pent up envy.

One year, the loquat tree had had enough. On Christmas Eve, when the house was asleep and dreaming, it reached forward to the living room window and smash! It broke the glass into a hundred tinkling slivers and knocked the Christmas tree over, crushing the delicate glass balls. The family awoke together and they rushed down the stairs, mother, father, daughter and sons. When they got to the living room the moon lit up all the shattered decorations, winking like stars all over their rug. How sad and angry they were! The father rushed outside demanding the vandals show themselves. The daughter moved to the window to pick up the broken shards of glass from the carpet before anyone stepped on them. She stood and stared at the loquat tree with such a quiet sadness the tree was snapped out of its gloating; the girl was very kind-hearted and she could never understand why anyone would want to be malicious, especially on Christmas Eve. Her family was always generous to others, and all year round her parents gladly accepted those who came to them looking for all sorts of help. She had grown up always thinking the best of people.

The loquat tree experienced a strange emotion it never had experienced before. It had never noticed what beautiful golden eyes the girl had. At once she turned, holding a handful of broken glass and stepped from the window, leaving the tree feeling very odd. The commotion in the peach coloured house died down and it pondered what it had just done in moonlit silence. That sad look in the girl's eyes made the tree feel as if it was in need of a good dose of what the people called 'tank rain'.

The tree spent some feverish hours thinking over its emotions. By dawn it felt very dry and brittle indeed. It did not understand any of the sensations it had encountered so it timidly asked a fat blue lizard perched on a branch, sunning itself in the early morning light, what they could mean.

"When I broke the window," it began, "I was happy. But then I saw the girl's eyes and my roots felt dry and shrivelled."

"Ah," said the lizard, "that would be guilt. You've never felt guilty before because you've never cared for others."

"When I saw her eyes, I felt as though I was in a hurricane- the night air was still, but when she left, I could have pulled my roots from the ground to follow her."

"You have fallen in love with her," replied the lizard. "You were so in love with yourself that you never looked at others and saw their beauty."

The tree asked, "How do I make her love me?"

"I can't help you with that. You can never make people fall in love with you. All you can to is be good and kind and hope she sees how much you care."

The loquat tree spent many months thinking over what the lizard had said. The cold gave way to warmth and little bunches of freesias sprouted from the lawn. But although the tree was noticed again, it didn't revel in the attention. Instead it held out its branches to keep the girl out of the sun, and its once handsome leaves burned and crumbled away. When it was stormy, it braced itself against the wind to protect her house, and its many branches broke. It let the cats sharpen their claws on its trunk and climb up it so the girl was amused and laughed at their antics. By the end of summer the loquat tree didn't look fine anymore; its branches were almost gone, and what few leaves were left by winter, were brown and dry.

A year had passed and it was Christmas Eve, but something was very different this time. It was colder than usual — so cold in fact it started to snow. Not just any snow but a blizzard, covering the island in a thick blanket of white that froze everyone. The loquat tree was freezing too, but it was more worried about the girl and her family who were frighteningly blue.

And so it rocked back and forth until it had uprooted itself and its once majestic trunk split in half with an almighty crack. The family felt a tremendous shudder and when they rushed outside, they were terribly sad to see their magnificent loquat tree prostrate in the snow.

But the wind kept howling and they needed the wood, so the father cut the trunk into hundreds of pieces and gave them to his neighbours. The family kept a couple of logs for themselves and they spent the night huddled in the living room. They all slept easily that night, warmed right down to their bones, except for the girl. She stayed up, watching the logs smoulder and spark and she thought back to the days when the loquat tree produced fruits as large as apples and how wonderful it felt to sit in its shade, reading or braiding her hair.

She was still awake when the embers of the fire burned out and all that remained of the loquat tree was a pile of smoking ash. The girl went to the fireplace to sweep up the cinders when she stopped, shocked at the sight of a slender hand shooting up out of the ashes. It searched for something to grab hold of and the girl, who was no coward, took it in her own and heaved. She heaved until an arm appeared clothed in grey silk and a shoulder and finally a head and she toppled back from the weight of the fully formed man she had just pulled from the ashes.

He had a kindness about him and dark green eyes. He smiled at the girl with such love she forgot to be taken aback at the strangeness of the situation. His skin cast a soft warm glow about the room and he took the girl's hand in his own and told her how he had done a terrible thing to her family; he told her about his vanity, and how he had fallen in love with her.

Gradually, the family awoke with surprise at the sight of their daughter and sister with the straight-backed stranger.

"Our old loquat tree," she said, "and I are getting married."

They saw how kind his face was and heard his tale and they soon loved him as much as his bride-to-be. They forgave his past indiscretions and announced to the neighbourhood that their only daughter was to be wed that New Year's Eve.

When the day came, the neighbours gathered in the garden of the peach coloured house. The snow had melted and the day was warm and the people were glad to be outside. When groom appeared to them in the hard morning light in his silk grey suit, they saw how broad his hands were and how giving his heart and they loved him as much as their own children.

The girl and the loquat tree moved into a house of their own and they filled it with green eyed children with generous hearts, who always listened to the wisdom of lizards.