Zola and the Tree
Once upon a time there was a maiden who wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her days reading. She was so fond of books that she often found herself wandering through unknown pastures completely unaware of how she’d gotten there or how to get home. She had few friends, as she preferred those inside the books to those outside them, and her parents both worried that she would not grow into a social being, perfectly accepting of the fates of maidens at the time. Surely a knight or prince would find no affection for a girl with her nose stuck in a book all the time!
Despite their concern, however, she was kind and gentle towards all creatures. When she was just twelve, her mother fell ill. Zola, the maiden visited her daily and read to her stories with “happy ever after” endings. It was soothing to hear her daughter’s voice so compassionate and engrossed in such tales that her mother just closed her eyes and smiled. And so this continued until her death day, when she whispered to tell her daughter never to stop reading. After her death, however, Zola’s father became strict, so strict that he sold all of Zola’s books and sent her away to a harsh school where she wasn’t allowed to read for pleasure.
Her teachers there were very fond of math textbooks and their large wooden spoons, which they found reason to use on Zola quite often. Sometimes they even threatened to hit Zola with the math books! She was frightened and felt very alone in this new school, and forever wondered why her father suddenly decided to hate her so much. It was true, he was more concerned than her mother was while she was alive; often her mother had to talk him down from giving away Zola’s books, sharing her triumphant smiles across the table at supper. “She is nearly grown,” her father would reason, “and needs to take her eyes away from those words and into the real world.” He’d continue on about how vital it was that Zola began to appeal to the opposite sex. Horrified, she sunk further into her seat and wondered what the princesses in her stories would do.
Unfortunately, however, her father got his way, and there she was stuck in an awful school waiting to run through her sentence. She made no friends, though the other girls seemed to find her funny. At first, she was always afloat somewhere inside her head, but eventually she began to conform. Thus, she grew up in her faraway boarding school and learned proper manners, embroidery, and how to courtsey at a formal dance. When she returned to her father one Christmas, instead of her usual defiant glare she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a gift of homemade soaps. He was shocked at the change and wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. All it took was four years in a boarding school! Giddy, he began thinking of husbandly prospects, as she was almost seventeen and nearly too old to be a bride. She merely smiled when he brought it up, her expression otherwise as blank as the inside of her mind.
For, you see, while she spent time in that dreaded school, her mind had been wiped clean. She hadn’t forgotten how to read, but she no longer knew how to read for pleasure. She didn’t revel in folk tales or fairy ideas, even called them “silly” on occasion. No, she was lost to that world thanks to the strict, cruel ideas of her attended school.
Back at school after the Christmas festivities, she worked harder than ever. Her father had promised a surprise if she did well in school, and at the moment any surprise seemed absolutely delightful. Of course, she wasn’t outwardly excited, but kept her pose and posture, her handwriting steady and her eyes still glazed over. She continued her studies diligently until one day a small girl approached her.
She couldn’t have been more than Zola’s own age when she had entered the school, but her mouse-face and stern expression suggested she knew a lot more than she let on.
“Hello,” the little girl said, quite forwardly as Zola was walking to her dorm.
“Hello, there,” Zola replied politely, smiled, and waited.
“I am Penelope. What’s your name?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Penelope. I am Zola. I’ve never seen you here before, are you new?”
The little girl grinned almost evilly. “You could say that,” she said slyly as if she had something to hide. Zola felt a sensation she hadn’t felt in quite some time. Was that… distrust? Was she thinking differently? She shook it off.
“I have something to show you, Zola. Will you come with me?” Sweet and innocent as ever, the grin wiped completely off her face. Penelope held out her hand expectantly.
Unsure, as she wanted to immediately get back to her studies, Zola hesitated.
“Come on,” Penelope said sensing her stillness. “It will only take a few minutes! I promise.” She held her hand over her heart and took a deep breath in.
“Oh, all right.” Zola thought there was no use in fighting the urge, now that it was there. It was another feeling she was unfamiliar with, yet which felt oddly missed.
The girl took Zola’s hand and just as suddenly set off. She led Zola through the grand hallways of the school, out the tall, brass-handled double doors leading to the back fields, and straight across the flower beds. Zola whispered an apology though she wasn’t sure if it was meant for herself, the flowers, or the gardener. Penelope was very determined and didn’t stop for one moment, even when they reached the end of the property. Zola stopped, forcing Penelope to tug on her arm.
“You said you would! It’s not much farther.”
Zola bit her lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Penelope. We aren’t supposed to leave the school grounds. We could get into a lot of trouble.”
Penelope turned around, eyes wide. Sarcasm dripping feverently from her lips, she said, “You mean you have never done anything wrong in your whole life? Seriously?” She sighed. “Come on.”
Hurt and confused, Zola reluctantly followed. This time, Penelope led without dragging her by the hand; she had to run to keep up. The girl was much shorter than she was, but somehow much quicker, even though one of Zola’s strides could have easily overtaken four of hers.
They crossed through thick bramble, winter trees and long dead, snow-covered autumn leaves, deep into the forest. Zola shivered and held her arms close to her.
“Wait!” she cried as Penelope quickened her pace, trailing ahead of her at an alarming rate. “I can’t go that fast, wait! Penelope!”
No answer. Not even a rustle. Zola slowed to a stop and breathed heavily. The forest was absolutely silent, the girl all but gone. She could no longer hear her footsteps crushing the leaves to get past. Where was she? Where could she have gone? Why would she have dragged Zola to this desolate place just to leave her alone?
The distrust seared through her once again and she was afraid. She bit her lower lip and felt tears welling underneath her eyes. She was frozen to the spot; it was as if she couldn’t remember how to move. The only consolation was the silence; she knew that she was safe in her aloneness.
She waited for what seemed like an eternity. Penelope was really gone, then. Zola thought that if she stood still long enough, the girl would have trackbacked and found her, excitedly pulling her along to their final destination. Time stood still in those moments and yet she felt time would never stop. It was so quiet, she could barely comprehend her own thoughts.
Zola fell to her knees, finally defeated, and let the tears stream down her face. Quiet, sweet, soothing tears. They came and went, forgotten quickly as she enveloped herself in the comfort of her own emotions. It seemed ages since she’d last cried, and now seemed like the perfect time to do it even though it wasn’t going to solve anything. She clearly needed to stop, get up, and find her way outside of the forest. She would get a right beating for leaving school grounds, but at least if she could get out before dark she knew she’d be okay.
She heard a noise in the distance and ceased her sobbing. She became perfectly still and even for a moment stopped breathing.
It was a while before she heard the noise again, still sitting on the crunched leaves hoping she didn’t twitch. The second noise, however, was followed by a third, fourth, and fifth, ever growing louder and seemingly closer. Yet nothing happened. Nothing in her vision changed, and though she didn’t dare look behind her she was sure the noise was coming from a direction in front of her. She cocked her head to the side and mused that perhaps Penelope was playing a trick on her. Still, she didn’t move. If the sun never set, she’d be perfectly content sitting in that same position forever.
At least, of course, until something came through the forest.
But what if it was just Penelope? Or worse, what if Penelope was in trouble? Maybe the little girl stopped just as Zola had, waiting for Zola to catch up, but then became frightened? What if this noise was coming from some… thing… that had found Penelope, the poor little girl, and decided she would make a nice lunch? As strange and defiant as the girl was, she deserved a better fate. Zola rose from her crouching position with the intent to take action.
A stick. She needed a really big stick. The forest was full of them, but suddenly she felt as though the trees were watching her. Were they egging her on or looking at her menacingly, warning her of dangers ahead or cackling at her stupidity? She didn’t care. She found a log almost too large and heavy for her, and started walking in the direction of the noises.
She looked behind her at every chance, but there was never anything behind her. The noise continued in front of her - she was sure it was in front of her, as it got louder the further she walked in that direction. It seemed to get angrier as she approached. It roared while the rest of the forest stayed silent, as if waiting. Or afraid.
Zola heard a giggle and turned. “Penelope?” she said quietly. Her voice cracked and squirmed to get out; her throat was so dry by this point that she could scarcely swallow her own spit. She turned not to the view of a little girl giggling, but to that of a giant, gnarled, mangled tree, tortorously thrashing. There was no storm and no other trees gave a hint of breath, but this one struggled his plight. Zola backed down a few paces and almost screamed when it stopped and seemed to regard her.
She could almost see a smile, an evil grin that matched the one Penelope had given her earlier that afternoon. But it was a tree, that was ridiculous. She dropped her bag full of textbooks, which she just realized she had been gripping tightly the entire time left alone in the forest. Funny that she didn’t notice it before, but now that it was on the ground she wished it was back in her arms. She didn’t dare move.
The roots were ripping from the ground. Finally her scream came as one came flying close to her, slamming on the ground next to her feet. The leaves brushed her legs and fluttered around her skirt. The tree emitted a bellowing growl, almost a laugh if trees could laugh. It was a hollow, murky noise which chilled Zola to her very bone. Another root shot out of the ground and headed straight for her, a speeding bullet that was sure to choke her to death. She didn’t have time to find out; before she knew it, she had bolted straight away, flew in the opposite direction, panting, crying, her legs on fire being so unused to such vigorous running. She ran until she felt she would collapse, slowed her pace but kept going. With any hope, she would find someone near the edge of the forest who could help her.
When she passed the threshhold, she didn’t even notice. She kept running, soaring through the wind, until she bumped into her Literature professor just outside the double doors.
“Zola! What are you doing!?” the woman said, exasperated, her papers spread across the ground.
“M-Miss Angelique! I’m so sorry, s-sorry,” she said, breathless. “Oh, I-I’ve done something, I’ve left her there!”
Miss Angelique straightened her dress after having gathered all her papers with the girl’s help. She took a deep breath and said, strictly, “Zola! Calm down! What have you done, who have you left? Please, sit down.”
“Penelope, Miss Angelique, I’ve left Penelope.” She sat, defeated, and sobbed. The professor patted her back gently but distantly, obviously awkward in this encounter.
“Who is Penelope?”
“I don’t know, we just met. She wanted to show me something, and I left her there. Oh, I left her there, in that awful place with that awful… THING.” She started crying and felt a release in it. “And now my math book is gone!”
Miss Angelique frowned. She was one of the first teachers to deal with Zola when she’d first arrived to the boarding school, and this was all to reminiscient of her former days. A shame, it was, as the young woman was turning out to be quite delightful. She must have found a book to read.
“Stop it. Stop it this instant, Zola. All the progress you’ve made hasn’t been for nothing.”
“W-what?” Zola looked up, confused.
“Don’t you say ‘what’ to a professor like that!” Miss Angelique raised her chin. “Stop imagining, get rid of whatever book you found, and go straight to your dorm room immediately.” She stood up.
“Imagining? No, Miss Angelique, you don’t understand. It’s real! It’s… It’s in the forest!” She pointed.
“The forest?” She could hardly contain her anger and excitement. Even when Zola made up stories to explain new experiences when she was first beginning, as disobedient as that was, she’d never even thought to break school policy. She’d entered the forest? This was a field day. “You’ve been in the forest? You know you are not supposed to go there! What were you thinking, child? Lines. I would like lines - every day now until the end of the year. And your father will be disappointed, I’m sure.”
“M-My father? No, please, Miss Angelique, please don’t tell my father. I won’t do it again.” Suddenly she snapped back into the complying fool that they’d molded her into. She forgot everything except her homework and her father’s surprise. “It was a momentary lapse, I’m sure of it. I apologize.” She straightened and bowed her head slightly.
Miss Angelique was pleased and upset once again. Though she’d have loved to punish the girl who once gave her so much trouble in her Literature course, thinking the class was for the pleasure of reading books - ha! poor helpless girl, it was an accomplishment nonetheless to see one so proper. She dropped it. “Okay, Zola. I won’t tell your father, but I do expect those lines.”
“Of course, Miss Angelique,” Zola replied and inclined her head once again.
The next day, she was a wreck. She’d spent the night copying her roommate’s notes and hoping she could finish her assignments on time, but without her notebook, which was in the bag she left in the forest, she had nothing. And poor Penelope had haunted her all night. She was sure that she’d heard the girl laugh, which meant nothing seriously bad had happened to her - that is, until Zola abandoned her in the forest with that monster tree.
She resolved to return to the forest after her classes. If not to rescue Penelope, at least to get her books back. Surely that awful sight was a thing of her imagination. All the trees must have been rustling, but she was too scared to notice it. This one was just bigger and had more holes, allowing wind to climb through hollow bark and bang from side to side, thus creating the “roaring” she thought she’d heard. And the smiling? Well, you could put a face to anything if you thought about it enough.
This time, she left everything at the dorm. She wasn’t going to leave anything in the forest again if she took fright, but she wouldn’t allow herself that. It was just a stupid tree! If she could acquire an ax, it’d all be over with.
She walked quietly through the forest, alone this time, and not sure where exactly she was going. She hoped she wouldn’t get lost, and relied on her acute senses and memory to guide her. After all, when she was a little girl, she used to get lost in other people’s fields all the time and managed to find her way home.
Zola inhaled quickly when she found the tree. It was still, perfectly still, and it seemed that she got to it much faster this time. Of course, she didn’t spend nearly two hours sitting alone in the forest crying this time, so that probably made sense. There was no sign of Penelope, but her bag still rested quietly right where she’d left it. She picked it up too quickly, expecting a weight that wasn’t there. The books were gone. Her notes were still there, pencils and pens left untouched, but the textbooks had completely disappeared.
Her first thought was that Penelope must have found them and stolen them. Textbook theft wasn’t a big problem at the school, but it happened every now and then among students who couldn’t afford their own. But wouldn’t she have seen Penelope at breakfast that morning if she had gotten safely out of the forest? Perhaps she picked up the books to save them and return them to Zola when they met again. She smiled at the thought. What a sweet girl.
She scanned her surroundings, walking around the tree two, three, four more times. There was no sign of Penelope or any life, and the tree was perfectly still as all the trees were. Nothing tried to grab her or trip her.
She left the forest as quickly as she came in. It was starting to get late and she didn’t want to be caught running frantically, irrationally, again. She saundered casually into her dorm room, though as her roommate rarely paid any attention to her anyway she supposed it didn’t matter. She could have been bleeding from her eye sockets and the girl wouldn’t have noticed.
Even though she hadn’t read a book in years, and had learned and applied all the right things about behaving and being generally proper and sociable, Zola still didn’t have any friends. She fibbed to her father about “the girls at school,” talking about them as a general group while he interpreted the phrase as referring to a small group of friends. It suited them both that way; Zola didn’t understand why she couldn’t fit in, but at the same time she didn’t care to.
The next day, she ventured to return to the forest again. Her math book was still missing; she had to tell her teacher that she accidentally dropped it in a puddle on the bathroom floor and was letting it dry out. The excuse wouldn’t last for more than a few days. Penelope was also still missing, and what concerned her most was that no one at school seemed to care. She mentioned the girl to a few people in her age group, and they just shrugged and walked away. Even if recognition was there, they would say, “I’m sure she’ll turn up sometime.” Zola was worried she’d turn up in the wrong condition.
She found the tree much quicker this time and again it was quiet. She got the distinct feeling that it may have been sleeping, but that thought rubbed her the wrong way. Trees don’t sleep. They just are, and this one has no wind for it. That’s all.
Zola fancied she saw a bluebird in it this time, though, perched somewhere near the top. It made no sound or movement, but clearly something blue was up there. She smiled at the thought that such a beautiful creature could find harmony with such a disgusting thing. It suddenly made her think of her parents. Her mother was beautiful, she knew, but she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought her father was fowl. The feeling creeped up on her, though, and settled uneasily somewhere near her heart. She didn’t know what to do with it, so she ignored it.
As she walked back to school after browsing the surrounding area once again, she realized she was starting to enjoy her lonely walks in the forest. Nothing remotely terrifying had happened to her since that first day. Clearly the forest was deserted by all life, and she found that to be very comforting. Perhaps she would start to bring her homework with her and find a lovely place to sit. She would be free from all distraction and could focus fully on her work.
This decision satisfied her so completely that she brought Miss Angelique’s homework assignment with her the very next day. It was gloomy, but she was sure she could get out before the rain started pouring. The class had to read some boring poetry and analyze every bit of it; she was taught that every poem can be analyzed to a T thus explaining a lot about the author and his thoughts on the world. Miss Angelique seemed to enjoy studying poetry which involved boats, but Zola just found them to be utterly uninvolved.
The tree came upon her surprisingly as she walked. She wasn’t seeking it out this time, only looking for a place to lean herself against. It was there much quicker, much closer to the edge of the forest, though she could have sworn a few minutes previous she could see the breaking of the trees. Once she saw the tree, though, she realized she was much further inside.
It was quiet, as usual, without any hint of the winds that came with rain. She sighed and smiled, and found herself leaning against a tree that was facing her disgruntled friend. The bluebird was there again, or was still there, and she wondered if he lived there. What a wonderful picture that would make!
She opened her book and fell inside the words.
Just at the part where the gods argued over what to do with the protagonist, Zola hadn’t noticed the shifting in the forest. The leaves rustled, broke free of their places on the branches and fell around her. If she had lifted her head, she would have seen a most beautiful scene. The patches of sky were bright blue, so contrasting to the earlier grey. The trees danced happily, greeting each other politely and smiling down on this strange being so engrossed in a book below them.
Engrossed? Surely, she wasn’t. But she wouldn’t lift her head for any noise; her eyes soaked in every word of the poem. She hadn’t even noticed when she was halfway through the book, though she was only required to read the first part for that day.
The tree grumbled, but she did nothing. He scowled at her, curiously, but she did not even blink. He smiled and waited.
An hour later, she was nearly through. The hero was about to return home, but she was finally distracted. The tree was roaring with impatience. Again, it seemed that all else was still, but this one fellow was sharing his pain with the young woman in the forest. His arm stretched out to her again, strained to reach her, and her mouth dropped. This isn’t happening. She stood to run, but the root wrapped itself around her ankle and she fell. Her book fell just out of reach on the ground, right in front of two feet. A barefoot little girl in a white dress.
Penelope picked up the book and smiled. When Zola blinked in disbelief, she was gone again.
The tree calmed and sighed. He released Zola’s foot and brought his arms back in. Zola turned onto her back, now covered completely in dirt. She couldn’t get enough of this tree, so big he was, so vast, so frightening. He let out a grunt and, it seemed, turned his back on her.
There, behind his left ear, or what she would have imagined was his left ear, was her book of poetry. She glanced to the ground where she thought she saw Penelope pick up the book, and saw that she’d not imagined its disappearance. No, the book did somehow find its way into that tree, and it… calmed it down. The tree had only stopped howling once he possessed the book.
Her jaw dropped once again, but the tree was silent. She bolted as soon as she could, leaving her poetry book behind.
Was that? Did she? Was she going insane? How could she had imagined such a thing? And how could she explain that yet another of her books had disappeared?
She found her way out of the forest as quickly as she had come into it, only to be met with scores of torrential downpour. It was perfectly serene inside the forest and she could still see the blue skies peeking out. It didn’t phase her; she wasn’t thinking of the weather.
Zola avoided the forest for weeks. School was nearing an end and she struggled through as much as she could. Unfortunately, her lack of reading material showed through her marks. Thankfully, because she had read so far ahead in her poetry book, she survived most of that class, but she dreaded the possibility of an exam question asking about the ending.
She’d resigned to the idea that Penelope may have been a figment of her imagination. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, and strived in every possible way to correct that sort of thinking, but she couldn’t get her mind past the strange vision she had of the little girl picking up her book and giving it to the tree. That was what she must have done, right? In reality, Zola must have put it up there and forgotten out of the imagined cause for fear.
The last day before exams started, however, something pulled her into the forest. She missed the walks. She wanted that confinement again to think through things. Her father had finally given her a big hint at her surprise, hoping to motivate her to succeed better with her classes. He said it involved a ring, a bond, something that would keep her eternally. She could guess, of course, that this meant he’d finally found a suitor for her, but somehow it excited her less than she’d hoped.
She took her remaining study materials and her new math book with her to the forest. Her father was not happy to buy a new one, but she explained that hers was stolen by some unfortunate student. She told him she was too afraid to tell him, which was why she’d been failing, and he scolded her for not saying anything sooner. It was the first time she’d ever rolled her eyes in his direction since her mother was alive, but thankfully he didn’t see.
The tree was still, but it didn’t sneak up on her this time. She expected it. It’d happened so many times that she unexpectedly ran into it that now she would have been surprised if it wasn’t there waiting for her. As terrifying as it was, when it was calm she considered it a good friend.
He smiled at the thought, and was glad to see her again too. His eyes were closed but he felt her plop down nearby, closer this time than last time. He was afraid of losing his temper again; he really liked her company and would have hated to never see her again. He grunted, upset with his childish behavior, and decided not to act like that again. The tree took a peek over at the girl, who stared at him curiously.
She began walking towards him, cautiously. She’d left her books unattended, both protective of them but also curious to know what he would do when they were left alone. For a moment, she felt silly thinking the tree would do anything, but somehow her way of thinking had returned to what it naturally should have been. This tree was alive, she knew it, and he yearned for something. She didn’t know what it was, but why else would he writhe in such agony until he got it?
Her hands touched his bark softly, then pulled away quickly. He shuddered, sparks flying through his branches. It had been too long since he had felt something touch him. Animals did not live in this forest. Humans dared not enter - except this one. How strange she was, so fragile and small, yet so bold. He hadn’t smiled in centuries, yet every time she appeared he found himself in a sheepish grin.
He quietly lifted her books to his branches. This time he vowed no tantrums or storms would scare her away, and while she explored his trunk, his roots carried her artifacts away. They each had their own place where he could suck in the stories, learn the words, bring life into himself through another’s ideas. The second math book wasn’t necessary, but he took it as a gift from her anyway. Were they gifts, or was she just careless? He couldn’t tell.
She gasped. Her books! The tree hadn’t even moved, but there they were up above already. No struggle. No scare tactics. She sighed. So they would be friends.
“Why do you steal my books, Tree?” she addressed him for the first time.
He couldn’t answer, of course, but he wanted to.
She sat next to him this time, against him, and he closed his eyes. There was peace between them and, it seemed, peace everywhere. She couldn’t understand the feeling, why she felt so comfortable and safe next to this unearthly creature who had frightened her more than once. She just wanted to sleep…
In her dreams, she murmured aloud, “Why won’t you let me finish the book I started?”
When she awoke, the tree was still asleep. Next to her, however, she found the poetry book open to the page she’d left off. She picked it up, stuck a leaf inside to mark her spot and closed the book. Zola stood up and turned to leave, but hesitated. She took one last glance at the strange tree in the forest, then ran quickly back to school.
She graduated soon after, not at the top of her class as she’d hoped for so long, but actually somewhere near the bottom. She didn’t care anymore, though. She remembered the promise she’d made to her mother and started reading again. Her father sulked and demanded, but she wouldn’t budge. His “surprise” never seemed to materialize, which made him all the more angry. But that didn’t matter either. Now that she was reading again, anything seemed possible.
