THE TREE
The rain lashed down. It was two in the morning. He did not have to look at the clock. He knew what time it was.
It was not the rain, or the thunder, that kept him awake, and it was not the cold, but he knew something was stopping him sleep. Just as it had for the last few weeks, ever since the big storm when the old tree was struck with lightning.
Tonight he had taken two sleeping pills, but they were only making him dizzy for he felt wide-awake. He looked at his wife. Her nights had also been restless, but she seemed fast asleep tonight. He thought of the big tree that had cracked, and split from end to end. They had noticed at the time what appeared to be the outline of a head, where the lightning burn had left its mark; but now all that remained of the tree were the withered roots, for the rest had been taken away soon after.
Was it this memory that kept him awake? He looked again at his wife: she was fast asleep and he could hear the baby snore from its cot in the other room.
He was glad the child had its own room for it seemed more content as it was seldom disturbed. Until lately, that is, for lately he had found himself getting out of bed and going to the child’s room. He did not know why, but he knew he could not rest until he had taken the baby back to bed with him for the rest of the night. So he went to the child’s room and gently lifted her, bringing her back to his bed. The child did not awake, or even stir.
Sometimes like tonight the child would not wake, and as he looked at his wife he wondered why they both still slept, for the thunder now seemed very close.
Perhaps she had taken some of his tablets for he knew lately her nerves had got worse as she was irritated by his insistence to have the baby sleep with them.
Why – she would ask
Wake the child up when she is fast asleep and bring her into a cold bed. As the weeks passed she had grown more resigned but he knew was a constant worry to them both.
It was not the rain, or the thunder, that kept him awake, and it was not the cold, but he knew something was stopping him sleep. Just as it had for the last few weeks, ever since the big storm when the old tree was struck with lightning.
Tonight he had taken two sleeping pills, but they were only making him dizzy for he felt wide-awake. He looked at his wife. Her nights had also been restless, but she seemed fast asleep tonight. He thought of the big tree that had cracked, and split from end to end. They had noticed at the time what appeared to be the outline of a head, where the lightning burn had left its mark; but now all that remained of the tree were the withered roots, for the rest had been taken away soon after.
Was it this memory that kept him awake? He looked again at his wife: she was fast asleep and he could hear the baby snore from its cot in the other room.
He was glad the child had its own room for it seemed more content as it was seldom disturbed. Until lately, that is, for lately he had found himself getting out of bed and going to the child’s room. He did not know why, but he knew he could not rest until he had taken the baby back to bed with him for the rest of the night. So he went to the child’s room and gently lifted her, bringing her back to his bed. The child did not awake, or even stir.
Sometimes like tonight the child would not wake, and as he looked at his wife he wondered why they both still slept, for the thunder now seemed very close.
Perhaps she had taken some of his tablets for he knew lately her nerves had got worse as she was irritated by his insistence to have the baby sleep with them.
Why – she would ask
Wake the child up when she is fast asleep and bring her into a cold bed. As the weeks passed she had grown more resigned but he knew was a constant worry to them both.
But tonight she never stirred. He turned the light out, and felt a deep sense of relief as he held his child close. Now he felt sleepy and exhausted. It was always the same. He knew now he could sleep. He knew that now, not even the thunder could keep him awake. He felt himself drifting off and very soon sank into a deep warm sleep.
It seemed only minutes before he was suddenly awoken by an enormous crash in the other room. He sat up in bed stunned. His wife held the child safe in her arms as they switched on the lights. He thought the wardrobe must have fallen over. He rushed out of the room and dashed into the child’s bedroom where he froze in horror.
There was a gaping hole in the roof; debris littered the room, and a smell of burning told him lightning had struck the house.
His wife was still trembling beside him as they stared at the child’s cot. It was still smouldering where the lightning had struck it, just where the child had lain a few minutes earlier, and as they stared at the remains neither of them could deny that the burn marks resembled a tree. A forked tree. Just like the one in the garden.
Radical Rooney ©
It seemed only minutes before he was suddenly awoken by an enormous crash in the other room. He sat up in bed stunned. His wife held the child safe in her arms as they switched on the lights. He thought the wardrobe must have fallen over. He rushed out of the room and dashed into the child’s bedroom where he froze in horror.
There was a gaping hole in the roof; debris littered the room, and a smell of burning told him lightning had struck the house.
His wife was still trembling beside him as they stared at the child’s cot. It was still smouldering where the lightning had struck it, just where the child had lain a few minutes earlier, and as they stared at the remains neither of them could deny that the burn marks resembled a tree. A forked tree. Just like the one in the garden.
Radical Rooney ©
