"We provide the brains and they provide the furniture."
"Phyllis! What a thing to say!"
"I've heard of man-eating trees before. I suppose there could be
man-loving ones, too."
"Phyllis, these trees are as gentle and sweet as--as--" He didn't know
how he could explain it to her. No one who had never been friends with a
tree could appreciate the true beauty of the xylemic character. "Why, we
even offered to go over to the other side of the planet and fetch some
pollen for them, but they wouldn't hear of it. Unfortunately, they'd
rather die than be mated to anyone they had never met."
"What a perfectly disgusting idea!"
"I don't think so. Trees can be idealistic--"
"You fetching pollen for her, I mean. Naturally she wouldn't want pollen
from a tree on the other side of the planet. She wants _you_!"
"Don't be silly. Incompatibility usually exists between the pollen of
one species and the stigmata of another. Besides," he added patiently,
"I haven't got pollen."
"You'd better not, or it won't be her who'll have the stigmata."
"Phyllis--" he sat down on the arm of her chair and tried to embrace
her--"you know that you're the only life-form I love."
"Please, James." She pushed him away. "I guess I love you, too, in spite
of everything ... but I don't want to make a public spectacle of
myself."
"What do you mean now?"
"That tree would know everything that goes on. She's telepathic."
"Where did you get a ridiculous idea like that? What kind of rubbish
have you been reading?"
"All right, tell me: how else did she learn to speak such good English?"
"It's because she's of a very high order of intelligence. And I
suppose--" he laughed modestly--"because I'm such a good teacher."
"I don't care how good a teacher you are--a tree couldn't learn to speak
a language so well in five months. She must be telepathic. It's the only
explanation."
* * * * *
"Give her time," the tree advised later, as James came out on the lawn
to talk to his only friend on the planet.
He hadn't seen much of the other scouts since the house-building frenzy
had started, and visits among the men had decreased. The base camp,
where the bachelors and the older married couples lived, was located a
good distance away from his land, for he had raised his honeymoon
cottage far from the rest; he had wanted to have his Phyllis all to
himself. In the idyll he had visualized for the two of them, she would
need no company but his. Little had he imagined that, within twenty-four
hours of her arrival, he would be looking for company himself.
"I suppose so," he said, kicking at a root. "Oh, I'm sorry, Maggie; I
didn't think."
"That's all right," Magnolia said bravely. "It didn't really hurt. That
female has got you all upset, you poor boy."
James muttered a feeble defense of his wife.
"Jim, forgive me if I speak frankly," the tree went on in a low rustle,
"but do you think she's really worthy of you?"
"Of course she is!"
"Surely on your planet you could have found a mate more admirable,
high-minded, exemplary--more, in short, like yourself. Or are all the
human females inferior specimens like Phyllis?"
"They're--she suits me," James said doggedly.
"Of course, of course. It's very noble of you to defend her; you would
have disappointed me if you had said anything else, and I honor you for
it, James."
He kicked at one of the pebbles. The tree meant well, he knew, yet, like
so many well-meaning friends, she succeeded only in dispiriting him. It
was almost like being back at the faculty club.
"I don't suppose a clod like her would have brought any more books
along," the tree changed the subject. James's own library had been
insufficient to slake the tree's intellectual thirst, so he had gone all
over the planet to borrow books for Magnolia. Dr. Lakin, at Base, who
had formerly taught English literature, possessed a fine collection
which he had been reluctant to lend until he had learned that they were
not for James but for a tree. At that, he had fetched the books himself,
since he was anxious to meet her.
"A lot of the trees here have learned the English language," he had told
James, "but none seems to have developed a taste for its literature.
Your Magnolia is undoubtedly a superior specimen. Excellent natural
taste, too--perhaps a little unformed when it comes to poetry and the
more sophisticated aspects of life, but she'll learn, she'll learn."
* * * * *
Unfortunately, the same, James knew, could hardly be said of his wife.
"Phyllis did bring some books," he told Magnolia.
"For you, no doubt. That was kind of her. I'm sure she has many good
qualities which will unfold one by one, as her meristems start
differentiating. I hope you don't feel I've been too--well, personal,
Jim. I was only trying to help. If I've gone too far...."
"Of course not, Maggie. After all--" he laughed bitterly--"I do know you
better than I know her."
"We _have_ been good friends, haven't we, Jim? It was rather nice--these
five months we spent alone together. For the first time in my life, I
have never regretted being so far from my sisters. 'And this our life,
exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.'"
Her blue leaves shone violet in the scarlet rays of the setting sun; the
gold of her trunk was lit with red radiance. She was the most beautiful
creature he had ever seen ... but she was a tree, not a woman.
"I'm sure she'll fit in after a while," Magnolia continued. "Perhaps she
isn't well. She seems to guttate an awful lot. Do you suppose she's been
overwatered?"
"That wasn't guttation," James said heavily. "It was tears. It means
she's unhappy."
"Unhappy? Perhaps she won't fit in on this planet, in which case she
should by all means go back to Earth. It's cruel and unfair to keep an
intelligent--loosely speaking--life-form anywhere against her will,
don't you think?"
"She'll be happy here," James vowed. "I'll _make_ her happy."
"Well, I certainly hope you can manage it! By the way, do you suppose
you'll have a chance to read me the books she brought, or will she be
keeping you too busy?"
"I'll never be too busy to read to you, Magnolia."
"That's very nitrogenous of you, Jim. Our--intellectual communions have
meant a lot to me. I'd hate to have to give them up."
"So would I," he said. "But there won't be any need to. Phyllis will
understand."
"I certainly hope so. I so admire your English literature. It's so
deeply cognizant of the really meaningful things in life. And if your
coming to this planet has served only to add poetry to our cultural
heritage, it would be reason enough to welcome you with open limbs. For
it was a truly perceptive versifier who wrote the immortally simple
lines: 'Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.'
"And such a charming tune to go with it, too," Magnolia went on. "We
have always sung the music that the wind and the rain have taught us,
but, until you came, we never thought of putting words and melody
together to form one glorious whole. 'A tree that may in summer wear,'"
she caroled in a pleasing contralto, "'a nest of robins in her hair.' By
the way, Jim, ever since reading that poem, I've been meaning to ask you
precisely what are robins and do you think they'd look well in my hair,
by which, I suppose the bard refers, in a somewhat pedestrian flight of
fancy, to leaves?"
"They're a kind of bird," he said drearily.
"Birds--nesting in my hair! I wouldn't think of allowing it. But then I
suppose Terrestrial birds are quite different from ours? More
housebroken, shall we say?"
"Everything's different," James said and, for an irrational moment, he
hated everything that was blue that should have been green, everything
sweet that should have been vicious, everything intelligent that should
have been mindless.
* * * * *
Since matters could not grow much worse, they improved to a degree.
After a day or two had passed, Phyllis, being a conscientious girl, came
to realize how wrong it had been for her as a Terrestrial immigrant to
show overt hostility toward a native of the planet that had welcomed
her.
"But how can she be a--a person?" Phyllis wanted to know, when they were
inside the cottage, for she had learned to hold her tongue when they
were near Magnolia or any of her sisters, who, though they could not
speak the language as fluently as she, understood it very well and
eavesdropped at every possible opportunity in order, they said, to
improve their accents. "She's a tree. A plant. And plants are just
vegetables." She stabbed her needle energetically through the tablecloth
she was embroidering.
"You mustn't project Terrestrial attitudes upon Elysian ones," James
said, patiently looking up from his book. "And don't underestimate
Magnolia's capabilities. She has sense organs, and motor organs, too.
She can't move from where she is, because she's rooted to the ground,
but she's capable of turgor movements, like certain Terrestrial forms of
vegetation--for example, the sensitive plant or blue grass."
"Blue grass," Phyllis exclaimed. "I'm sick of blue grass. I want green
grass."
"However, these trees have conscious control of their _pulvini_, whereas
the Earth's plants don't, and so they can do a lot of things that Earth
plants can't."
"It sounds like a dirty word to me."
"_Pulvini_ merely means motor organs."
"Oh."
* * * * *
He closed his book, which was a more advanced botany text, covered with
the jacket of a French novel in order to spare Phyllis's feelings.
"Darling, can't you get it through your pretty head that they're
intelligent life-forms? If it'll make it easier for you to think of them
as human beings who happen to look like trees, then do that."
"That's exactly what I _am_ doing. And I'm quite sure she thinks of you
as a tree who happens to look like a human being."
"Phyllis, sometimes I think you're being deliberately difficult. Do you
know one of the reasons why I took such pains to teach Magnolia English?
It was that I hoped she would be a companion for you, that you could
talk to each other when I had to be away from home."
"Why do you call her Magnolia? She isn't a lot like one."
"Isn't she? I thought she was. You see, I don't know so much botany,
after all." Actually, he had picked that name for the tree because it
expressed both the arboreal and the feminine at the same time--and also
because it was one of the loveliest names he knew. But he couldn't tell
Phyllis that; there would be further misunderstanding. "Of course she
has a name in her own language, but I can't pronounce it."
"They _do_ have a language of their own then?"
"Naturally, though they don't get much chance to speak it, since they've
grown so few and far apart that verbal communication has become
difficult. They communicate by a network of roots that they've
developed."
"I don't think that's so clever."
"I merely said ... oh, what's the use of trying to explain everything to
you? You just don't want to understand."
* * * * *
Phyllis put down her needlework and closed her eyes. "James," she said,
opening them again, "it's no use pretending. I've been trying to be
sympathetic and understanding, but I can't do it. That tree--I've forced
myself to be nice to her, but the more I see of her, the more convinced
I am that she's trying to steal you from me."
Phyllis was beginning to poison his mind, he thought, because it had
seemed to him also, in his last conversation with Magnolia, that he had
discerned more than ordinary warmth in her attitude toward him ... and
perhaps a trace of spite toward his wife?
Preposterous! The tree had only been trying to cheer him up as any
friend might reasonably do. After all, a tree and a man.... Nonsense!
One had an anabolic metabolism, one a catabolic.
But this was a different kind of tree. She spoke, she read, she was
capable of conscious turgor movements. And he, he had often thought
secretly, was a different kind of man. Whereas Phyllis....
But that was disloyalty--to the type as well as the individual. The tree
could be a companion to him, but she could not give him sons to work his
land; she could not give him daughters to populate his planet; moreover,
she did not, could not possibly know what human love meant, while
Phyllis could at least learn.
"Look, dear," he said, sitting down beside his wife on the couch and
taking her hand in his. She didn't draw away this time. "Suppose that
what you say is true--not that it is, of course. Just because the tree
has a crush on me doesn't mean I necessarily have a crush on her, does
it?"
His wife looked up at him, her rose-red lips parted, her moss-gray eyes
shining. "Oh, if only I could believe that, James!"
"Anyhow, she doesn't know what the whole thing's about, poor kid!"
"Poor _kid_!"
"Phyllis, you know you're prettier than any tree." That was not
literally true, but reason was useless; he had to make his point in
terms she could understand. "And, remember, she's got a lot of
rings--she must be centuries old--while you are only nineteen."
"Twenty," Phyllis corrected. "I had a birthday on the ship."
"Well, you certainly must allow me to wish you a happy birthday,
darling."
She was in his arms at last; he was about to kiss her, and the tree
seemed very remote, when she drew back. "But are you sure she
doesn't--she isn't--she can't be watching us?"
"Darling, I swear it!" "_Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips
with silver all these fruit-tree tops_".... But he had sense enough not
to say it, and Elysium had not one blessed moon, but three, and
everything was all right.
For a while anyway.
* * * * *
"I see your wife is developing a corm," the tree remarked, as James
paused for a chat. He hadn't much time to be sociable those days, for
there was such a lot of work to be done, so many preparations to be
made, so many things to be requisitioned from Earth. The supply ships
were beginning to come now, bringing necessities and an occasional
luxury for those who could afford it.
"She's pregnant," James explained. "Happened before I left Earth."
"How do you mean?"
"She's about to fruit. Didn't I read that zoology book to you?"
"Yes, but--oh, James, it all seems so vulgar! To fruit without ever
having bloomed--how squalid!"
"It all depends on how you look at it," he said. "I--that is, we had
hoped that when the baby came, you would be godmother to it. You know
what that is, don't you?"
"Of course I do. You read _Cinderella_ to me. I know it's a great honor.
But I'm afraid I must decline."
"Why? I thought you were my--our friend."
"Jim, there is something I must confess: my feelings toward you are not
merely those of a friend. Although Phyllis doesn't have too many rings
of intellect, she is a female, so she knew all along." Magnolia's leaves
rustled diffidently. "I feel toward you the way I never felt toward any
intelligent life-form, but only toward the sun, the soil, the rain. I
sense a tropism that seems to incline me toward you. In fact, I'm
afraid, Jim, in your own terms, I love you."
"But you're a tree! You can't love me in my own terms, because trees
can't love in the way people can, and, of course, people can't love like
trees. We belong to two entirely different species, Maggie. You can't
have listened to that zoology book very attentively."
"Our race is a singularly adaptable one or we wouldn't have survived so
long, Jim, or gone so far in our particular direction. It's lack of
fertility, not lack of enterprise, that's responsible for our decline.
And I think your species must be an adaptable one, too; you just haven't
really tried. Oh, James, let us reverse the classical roles--let me be
the Apollo to your Daphne! Don't let Phyllis stand in our way. The Greek
gods never let a little thing like marriage interfere with their plans."
* * * * *
"But I love Phyllis," he said in confusion. "I love you, too," he added,
"but in a different way."
"Yes, I know. More like a sister. However, I have plenty of sisters and
I don't need a brother."
"We're starting a conservation program," he tried to comfort her. "We
have every hope of getting some pollen from the other side of the planet
once we have explained to the trees there how far we can make a little
go, and you've got to accept it; you mustn't be silly about it."
"It isn't the same thing, Jim, and you know it. One of the penalties of
intelligence is a diffusiveness of the natural instincts. I would
rather not fruit at all than--"
[Illustration]
"Magnolia, you just don't understand. No matter how much you--well,
pursue me, I can never turn into a laurel tree."
"I didn't--"
"Or any kind of tree! Look, some more books were just sent over from
Base."
Magnolia gave a rueful rustle. "Just were sent? Didn't they come over a
month ago?"
James flushed. "I know I haven't had a chance to do much reading to you
in the last few weeks, Maggie--or any at all, in fact--but I've been so
busy. After the baby's born, things will be much less hectic and we'll
be able to catch up."
"Of course, James. I understand. Naturally your family comes first."
"One of the books that came was an advanced zoology text that might make
things a little clearer."
"I should very much like to hear it. When you have the time to spare,
that is."
"Tell you what," he said. "I'll get the book and read you the chapter on
the reproductive system in mammals. Won't take more than an hour or so."
"If you're in a hurry, it can wait."
"No," he told her. "This will make me feel a little less guilty about
having neglected you."
* * * * *
"Whereupon the umbilical cord is severed," he concluded, "and the human
infant is ready to take its place in the world as a separate entity. Now
do you understand, Magnolia?"
[Illustration]
"No," she said. "Where do the bees come in?"
"I thought you were in such a hurry to get to Base, James," Phyllis
remarked sweetly from the doorway, wiping her reddening hands on a dish
towel.
"I am, dear." He slipped the book behind his back; it was possible that,
in her present state of mind--induced, of course, by her delicate
condition--Phyllis might misunderstand his motive in reading that
particular chapter of that particular book to that particular tree. "I
just stopped for a chat with Magnolia. She's agreed to be godmother to
the baby."
"How very nice of her. Earth Government will be so pleased at such a
_fine_ example of rapport with the natives. You might even get a medal.
Wouldn't that be nice?... James," she hurried on, before he could speak,
"you still haven't found any green-leafed plants on the planet, have
you? Have you looked everywhere? Have you looked _hard_?"
"Haven't I told you time and time again, Mrs. Haut," the tree said,
"that there aren't any--that there can't be any? It's impossible to
synthesize chlorophyll from the light rays given off by our sun--only
cyanophyll. What do you want with a green-leafed plant, anyway?"
Phyllis's voice broke. "I think I'd lose my mind if I was convinced that
I'd never see a green leaf again. All this awful blue, blue, blue, all
the time, and the leaves never fall, or, if they do, there are new ones
right away to take their place. They're always there--always blue."
"We're everblue," Magnolia explained. "Sorry, but that's the way it is."
"Jim, I hate to hurt your feelings, but I just have to take down those
curtains. The colors--I can't stand it!"
* * * * *
"Pregnant women sometimes get fanciful notions," James said to the tree.
"It's part of the pregnancy syndrome. Try not to pay any attention."
"Kindly don't explain me to a tree!" Phyllis cried. "I have a right to
prefer green, don't I?"
"There is, as your proverb says, no accounting for strange tastes," the
tree murmured. "However--"
"We're going to have a formal christening," James interrupted, for the
sake of the peace. "We thought we should, since ours will be the first
baby born on the planet. Everybody on Elysium will come--that is, all
the human beings. Only because they _can_ come, you know; we'd love to
have the trees if they were capable of locomotor movement. You'll get to
widen your social contacts, Maggie. Dr. Lakin and Dr. Cutler will
probably be here; I know you'll be glad to see Dr. Lakin again, and
you've been anxious to meet Dr. Cutler. They've been asking after you,
too. I think Dr. Lakin is planning to write a monograph on you for the
_Journal of the American Association of Professors of English
Literature_--with your permission, of course."
"Christening--that's one of your native festivals, isn't it? It should
be most interesting."
"That's right," Phyllis murmured. "It will be Christmas soon. I'd almost
forgotten. It'll be the first Christmas I've ever spent away from home.
And there won't be any snow or--or anything." She started to guttate--to
cry again.
"Cheer up, honey," Jim said. "It won't be as bad as you think, because I
didn't forget Christmas was coming. There's something specially nice for
you on its way from Earth; I only hope it gets here on time." Phyllis
sniffled. "Maybe we'll have a Christmas party, too. Would you like
that?" But she remained unresponsive.
He turned to the tree. "Christening's entirely different, though," he
explained. "It's--I guess naming the fruit would be the best way to
describe it."
"Is that so?" Magnolia said. "What kind of fruit do you expect to have,
Mrs. Haut? Oranges? Bananas? As your good St. Luke says, the tree is
known by its fruit. You look as if yours might be a watermelon."
"Why, the--idea!" Phyllis choked. "Are you going to stand there, James,
and let that _vegetable_ insult me?"
"I'm sure she didn't mean to," he protested. "She got confused by--that
zoology book I read her."
The door slammed behind his weeping wife.
"I don't think you quite understand, Maggie," he said. "In fact,
sometimes I almost think you, too, don't want to understand."
"I know what kind of fruit it's going to be," the tree concluded
triumphantly. "Sour apples."
* * * * *
"Ouch," exclaimed Magnolia, "that tickles! There's more to acting as a
Christmas tree than I had anticipated from your glowing descriptions,
Jim."
"Here, dear," Phyllis said, "maybe you'd better let me put the
decorations on her."
"You can't get on the ladder in your condition," he said, apprehensive
not only for her welfare but for the tree's. Phyllis had not taken
kindly to the idea of having Magnolia as official Christmas tree,
suggesting that, if she must participate in the ceremonies, it might be
better in the capacity of Yule log. However, Jim knew Magnolia would be
offended if any other tree were chosen to be decorated.
"I'll manage all right," he assured his wife. "If you want to be useful,
you might put on some coffee and make sandwiches or something. The
bachelors are coming over from Base with that equipment that arrived
yesterday, and they'll probably be glad of a snack before turning in."
"The coffee's already on and the canapes made," Phyllis smiled. "And
I've baked cookies, too, and whipped up a batch of penuche. What kind of
a Christmas party do you think it would be without refreshments?"
"Very efficient, isn't she?" Magnolia remarked, as the battery-powered
lights that James had affixed to her began to wink on, for the deep
red-violet dusk had already fallen and the first moon was rising. "Have
you thought, Mrs. Haut, that if you fruit today, it will save the
expense of another festival?"
"I don't expect to fruit for another two months," Phyllis said coldly,
"and why shouldn't we have another festival? We can afford it and I like
parties. I haven't been to one since the day I landed."
[Illustration]
"Is the life out here getting a little quiet for you, petiole?" the tree
asked solicitously. "It must be hard when one has no intellectual
resources upon which to draw."
* * * * *
Phyllis held her peace for ten seconds; then, "I wonder where those boys
can be," she said. "I hope they bring some pickles along. I asked to
have some sent, but I'm accustomed to having no attention paid to what I
want."
"There's a surprise coming for you, Phyllis," James could not help
telling her again, hoping to arouse some semblance of interest.
"Something I know you'll love.... And for you, too," he said courteously
to Magnolia.
"You mean the same surprise for both, or a surprise apiece?" the tree
asked.
"Oh, one for each, of course."
"I see the lights of the 'copter now!" Phyllis cried and, running out
into the middle of the lawn, began waving her handkerchief. He hadn't
seen her so pleasantly excited for a long time.
"I don't suppose I'll need to turn on the landing lights," he said to
Magnolia. "You should do the trick."
"Am I all finished?" she rustled anxiously. "I do wish I could see
myself. How do I look?"
[Illustration]
"Splendid. I've never had as beautiful a Christmas tree as you, Maggie,"
he told her with complete honesty. "Not even on Earth."
"I'm glad, Jim, but I still wish I could be more to you than just a
Christmas tree."
"Shh. The others might hear."
For the helicopter had landed and the visitors were pouring out, with
shouts of admiration. Not only the bachelors had come--and in full
force--but some of the older men from Base, who apparently felt they
could manage to do without their wives for twelve hours, even if those
hours included Christmas Eve. He wondered where he and Phyllis could put
them all, but some could sleep outside, if need be, for it was never
cold on Elysium. The winds were gentle and the rains light and fragrant.
* * * * *
While the visitors were crowding around Phyllis and the tree, James
rooted eagerly through the packages they had brought, until he found
what he wanted. Then he rushed over to the group. "I know I should wait
until tomorrow, but I want to give the girls their presents now." The
other men smiled sympathetically, almost as joyful as he. "Merry
Christmas, Magnolia!" He hoped Phyllis would understand that it was
etiquette which dictated that the alien life-form should get her gift
first.
"Thank you," the tree said. "I am deeply touched. I don't believe anyone
ever gave me a present before. What is it?"
"Liquid plant food--vitamins and minerals, you know. For you to drink."
"What fun!" she exclaimed in pretty excitement. "Pour some over me right
now!"
"Not so fast, Jim, boy!" Dr. Cutler, the biologist, snatched the jug
from James' hand. "First you-all better let me take a sample of this
here stuff back to Base to test on a lower life-form, so's I can make
sure it won't do anything bad to Miss Magnolia. Might have iron in it
and I have a theory that iron may not be beneficial for the local
vegetation."
"Oh, thank you!" the tree rustled. "It's so very thoughtful of you,
Doctor, but I'm sure Jim would never give me anything that would injure
me."
"I'm sure he isn't fixing to do a thing like that, ma'am, but he's no
botanist."
"And for you, Phyllis...." James handed his wife the awkward bundle to
unwrap for herself.