Guardian of the Oak Tree

1

Guardian of the Oak Tree

A short story

by Fannie Tsurakova

Lily caught a glimpse of her just in time to dab the morsel of putty left on the pallet onto the crackled surface of the door and slam it behind her. She then turned towards the back side of the garage and waited for the steps of the Guardian to shuffle past. The other woman wavered at the entrance, even seemed to push the doorhandle, but the hinges had given way and she could not open it. The Guardian deserved deference, no doubt, but that day Lily could not force herself to listen to what she had heard hundreds of times. Edging a step or two away, she squatted on the inside of the door and renewed her efforts to fill in the wounds in the wood. It was awful really, an intelligent decent person to end like that.

Some kind of noisy commotion in the street startled her and Lily lifted her eyes only to meet the blue-green gaze behind the thick lenses of the Guardian. The sagging corners of her mouth had blended deep in the furrows on both sides of the chin and yet she was strong enough to overcome her distress.

“It is an ideal place for crime,” - she began and her big bony hand went up to point at the forest. “Those people in the outlying houses have to be on the watch, or else the secret won’t come out.”

Lily stood up, opened the door and resigned to hear out her crack brained neighbour.

The district was on the verge of town and its last street ended before a gully, that set it apart from the forest. For ages the higher mountains had been covered with oak and those leafy hills were there for the town to gradually eat up, opening yellow patches which, when spring came, would gather the melting snow from up high and dump it with thunderous roar on one of the major roads. The first town administration right after the Liberation took up to afforest with conifers the bare areas and tend to the remaining oaks - giving space to younger trees and hammering together fences around the century-old. In later years politics had pushed first one, then another claiming to be doing good for the town; down there building and demolition would take turns but even unnoticed by newsmakers, local people had continued to take care of the oaks, change the fences, prop the carapaces with stones and mortar at first, with cement and preserving chemicals later. Time and storms, though, and the ever growing town had wrenched the oaks out of life and now, at least on the clearing across the street, there stood just one lonely tree. Grandiose like each that is the last of its kind, it leaned on a cement leg that stood in place of a large portion of its trunk and somehow managed, through the thin outgrowth of living tissue, to draw nutriment from the root and make one of the branches come into leaf, and sway like the mast of a worn in battle but still sailing ship.

Having voiced her monologue, the old woman - known as Miss Dina before everyone in the district started calling her Guardian of the Oak - made for that tree. Her eyes had lost their acuity, but her feet found the crossing through the gully, flat beaten stretch through which just a thin trickle of water flowed. The lean figure climbed the hill across with no visible effort and the path led her to Bear’s Glade. Lately children seldom came here to play - for one, the pines had crumpled the glade and, for another, mums and daddies were afraid and preferred to have the little ones within sight.

It was with compassion that the neighbour followed the Guardian as she emerged in the glade, and averted eyes when she, as had become her habit since spring set in, engaged to poke her walking stick in the base of the tree, mumbling incoherently, walking in circles around it. She bothered no one, of course, though what she said made people uneasy.

Lily even caught herself succumbing to the effect of those words – when busying herself in the kitchen, with no obvious reason she would lift her eyes and look through the window, towards the oak tree, and even watch out for someone passing by, stopping in their tracks.

She now looked down at her work. Blown by the eastern wind, the clouds approaching from the direction of the town were drawing closer and within half an hour it would probably be raining. She had come to live in the district in the thirties and since then had come to know - those black clouds down there would turn to heavy drops of rain in no time.

The Guardian had set down on the ground beside the tree. She could stay like that for hours.

Illness had befallen her in the last few years. For a long time, perhaps even after turning seventy, she’d kept herself in good health, imposing and dignified, even - beautiful. She had worked in the police - dealing with confused children. One of the best they had, some said. Even now many would came to call on her - men and women whom she’d met when they were in their teens. She lived with her nephew - and a good boy he was. Illness had crept furtively, this was what her neighbours thought. At first, every night at that, she would have that dream of a body buried in the basement.

Lily had not questioned the nephew, but it was what everybody knew - one day the boy had given in to his aunt’s insistence and had brought two men to dig up the basement. The Guardian, Lily knew, had not gone down there, she had paced to and fro out in the street, in anxious trepidation. They found nothing, of course, but on the very next day, when her nephew had gone to work, the Guardian proceeded herself and this was what had made the boy take her to the doctor.

The smell of rain was now overpowering. Lily dabbed putty for the last time and wiped the pallet. The Guardian was sitting still, her back leaning against the tree. Should the rain catch her there in the glade, by the time she got home, she would be soaking wet. Lily wiped her hands in the rag dipped in solvent. It was hardly likely the nephew would be back, so it was up to her to pick up Miss Dina. “Guardian of the Oak”, poor woman, she’d become a laughing stock with her talk and at the same time so many children had not seen the inside of a jail but for her. Lily took a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks, then exhaled loudly, opened the door and made for the oak.

The cloud came down with an unexpected swiftness, hung low over the tree tops and heavy drops started splashing on the asphalt even as the two women left the gully. Lily hoped the cold water would make the Guardian keep silent but, alas, for the second time that day she was forced to hear out the same old story in its fifteen or so sentences, repeated again and again.

“Those people in the outlying houses have to be on the watch, or else the secret won’t come out,” the old woman commenced, then paused and aimed to cast an inquisitive glance at Lily, but the rain blurred her glasses. “The old oaks are the ideal place to conceal a body,” - she continued. “The size of the body determines the choice of tree. I’ve worked on the mysteries of crime.”

“I know,” Lily’s patience was wearing thin at the prospect of another reiteration of what she knew so well, the numerous experiences with juvenile offenders.

“Yes,” The Guardian lost her train of thought and it raised Lily’s hopes. She was aware that the old woman’s stride had broken completely since the last time she’d walked arm in arm with her. Well, both would be dripping wet by the time they reached the house.

“The oak trees,” - resumed the Guardian “are suitable because of the hollows. Not every one, though. The opening should be up high. Not too high.”

The rain was already pelting down, somewhere behind them a blast of thunder struck.

“For miles around our oak tree is the most suitable. A criminal does not look for a retreat afterwards. He finds it beforehand. He only thinks he’s done it per chance and in anger. Otherwise, how can he, on the spur of the moment, remember this hiding place,” the Guardian felt weak and stopped to catch her breath.

“Don’t speak, talking exhausts you,” advised Lily.

“Our oak tree in the glade is marked all right. A million of people, four murders per month.”

“And a person missing every two months, you told me that!” It was Lily’s attempt to make her stop.

“It is marked,” almost without a pause the Guardian continued, “cause it’s more than suited, not far from the road and the opening not too high. Why shouldn’t it be too high up?”

Lily did not reply and even tried not to listen. They were half way to the old woman’s house.

“Is Harry home?” - A feeble attempt to change the subject.

“He’s home all right. That oak tree is century-old. Meaning, it’s at least a hundred years old. A hundred years with forty eight murders per year and six persons missing, it makes five hundred and forty bodies. Five hundred and forty murderers not to spot our oak tree!?” She tried to break off, expecting a reply.

“Come on, you’ll catch cold!” Lily put more tenacity in her hold. They both were dripping wet.

“Phytoncytes and resins that the trees discharge, are bactericides. A bactericide is a substance that either kills or holds the development of microorganisms. The oak is one of the plants with the strongest phytoncytes. And the hollow provides airiness. No germs, no rotting, but airy all the same and this is why bodies do not stink when put there!” she concluded triumphantly.

‘Get in!” Lily pushed the door handle of her neighbour’s house.

The door was locked.

“You think bears are stupid?”

Loosing patience, Lily pressed the bell.

“It’s wrong to think that bears choose to sleep in hollows to be warm. If it were for that, they’d dig holes in the ground - it’s warmer there!”

Lily pressed the bell again.

“They choose the hollows of trees for the phytoncytes, thus they tend to the parasites on their skin! Not only do they sleep, but there’s someone to take care of their fur! Can they clean it while sleeping? No, they can’t!”

‘It’s the child next,’ Lily thought.

“Is Harry home?” she asked aloud.

“If he isn’t, he’s gone out. It’s unique, the location of our oak tree. And I’ll tell you why.”

“Don’t you have a key?”

The Guardian fumbled in the pockets of her jacket, never interrupting her litany.

“There’re roads on three sides of the tree, a hundred yards from one, four hundred from the upper, five hundred from the lower. An ideal place for two people who’ve murdered a child!”

“Talk about something else!” Lily could not endure it any longer. She could not stand someone talking of violence, let alone violence against children. The old woman handed her the bunch of only two keys and went on:

“A bark of a tree is like skin…”

“Get in!” Lily opened the door wide and let the Guardian pass through. She seemed to hesitate, but the old woman was dripping and most probably would discard right away the necessity to change her clothes.

The storm was gaining strength, a branching lightning tore the sky and Lily winced in expectation of the thunder crash.

“Both the bark and the skin let in and out what they choose. For some reason the bark of oak trees does not let out the stench of a dead body!”

It turned out the second key was to the door of the basement, not to the main house. So they had to get in from there.

“The body should not weigh more than thirty pounds,” The old woman stumbled at the doorstep of the basement but Lily managed to support her on time.

“Would you need help to change your clothes?” She had no intention of going in there.

The Guardian went down the hall, leaving the question unanswered.

“It’s just the hall I allowed him to level away and if he levels anywhere else, I just dig it up anew.” And she pointed at the mounds of earth and broken parget in the central room of the basement. ”When it’s leveled, a have that dream of a body, when it’s dug up, nothing disturbs my sleep. There it is!” The old woman pointed at a wall.

Lily urged her up the stairs.

“Should it be heavier than thirty pounds, it’s still possible, though…” They had entered the room of the Guardian and she broke her babble only to show Lily where her clothes were.

For years Lily had not stepped in here. This time she was impressed - like that first time she had called - by the numerous charters, commendations, diplomas and pictures of grinning children that lined the walls. She thought it just was not fair the Guardian of all people to go weak in the head after what she’d done for so many people. She insisted the woman take off all her wet undergarments, then made her put on a sleeveless jacket over the dry dress and took up to mop her hair.

“Even losing them when hiding the body, it’s no miss,” she heard from under the towel. “He comes back. He goes round the oak tree in circles, that’s how one knows! The murderer just cannot forbear going there - to check if it stinks, if a leg or a finger is sticking out…”

Lily went to the kitchen and put an aspirin in a glass of water but could not make an effort to wait for the Guardian to drink it.

On the way back she ran and even as she approached the house, she caught the rumble from the gully - it had been years since it rained as heavily to make it talk. Lily went into the bathroom and warmed herself, then phoned her daughter and the unpleasant feeling was soon washed from her mind.

In the morning, when she was pouring coffee, through the window of the kitchen she saw that the storm had knocked down the oak tree.

“Well,” she told the dog, “one thing less for Miss Dina to worry about.”

She tidied up the house and when the last of those going to work filed out down the street, she took Caesar out. She’d decided just to go along the street, by the gully, but the oak tree, tilted to one side, cut through at the base as if by a knife, and leaning like a mandarin on the concrete girdle, drew her closer and she discarded the thought of dirty wet shoes.

She started from below, for water in the gully had not subsided yet. The dog poked his nose in the ground and was the first to reach the glade. As she was still climbing the hillock, it sniffed around the tree, then barked, watching his mistress, and next it was pulling at something. Still, Lily could not see what it was - that brownish thing that looked like a thrown away garment. She approached and though some time was needed, it finally dawned on her - a mummified human body was lying at her feet. It looked like a big doll.

Several days passed before she could recover from the dreadful sight, the questioning by the police, the prying of the neighbours. The oak tree still stood there, tilted to one side, attracting news people and the still curious. Early in the morning they had told the Guardian what had been found in the tree and she, either from the news or the cold she’d caught the previous day, had begun to talk quite incoherently and they had to put her in hospital. The newspapers never dropped the topic and Lily, though trying to forget, could not but turn to the crime page. Even the first X-ray pictures showed it to be the body of a five- or six-year old boy. The cause of death was defined as a hit on the head by a blunt object. Next, it became more or less clear that the body was placed at the base of the tree trunk shortly after the bottom of the hollow had been reinforced with bricks and mortar. The body had been found covered with pebbles from the gully. Afterwards the fairly small opening in the trunk, through which the body had been shoved in, had been built in with metal gauze, pieces of brick and mortar. Coroners came out with a statement that the lime, the bark of the tree, the airy glade and perhaps the dry hot weather had provided conditions for mummification. A month later the next conclusion was outlined - the child had lived about 70 years before.