Marjorie Hart and the Tree of Life

by Amanda Vink

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t trust you,” Marjorie said. “I’m still considering what to do with you.”

  DuPont struggled against his bonds, but it was useless.

  She stood and made her way back to the plane. Frank’s head popped out of the cargo hold. He had found flat, slightly stale bread, hard cheese, and some kind of jerky, and he held it up for her to see. “Good enough for us,” he said. He ripped off a corner of the jerky with difficulty and chewed on it. “Not bad.”

  After breakfast, Frank refueled the plane using canisters DuPont had loaded into the cargo area the day before. Hopefully, it would carry them the rest of the way. He then did his best to make sure the plane was ready to fly—but both he and Marjorie realized a lot of their success depended on luck. While Frank busied himself inside, Marjorie touched the side of the plane as though she would a holy shrine. Please get us there in one piece.

  “The biggest problem,” she said, “is that someone might recognize DuPont’s plane. He certainly would’ve been this way before. Plus, there are only so many places to refuel.”

  “So we land outside of the city and leave the plane,” Frank said. “I think that’s our only option. It’s probably better since we don’t know who else is looking for us. It’s a good plane. I’ll be sad to see it go, though.”

  She shivered slightly. “Well, I’m not sad to be rid of DuPont. If I never think of that man again, I’ll be just fine.” She cast a weary glance at DuPont off in the distance, still tied up and glowering.

  “We can’t just leave him,” said Frank. He shrugged. “I don’t like the man, but he was just after a buck. Can’t get mad at him over that.”

  “Oh yes I can,” Marjorie said. She glared at Frank. How was he so cool about the whole thing? He acted as though DuPont hadn’t tried to kill them outright.

  He saw her expression, and his back stiffened. He turned to her, and she almost didn’t recognize him. He’s hiding something.

  “I’ve seen a lot of people do a lot of things just to survive,” he said.

  Like a shot through her, Marjorie realized that she hadn’t even considered his upbringing. He had grown up in Ireland during the 1920s, right smack dab in the middle of the Irish war of independence. How could she have been so blind, not even considering that? What have you seen in your life? she wondered. It seemed everyone grew up with their own trials. Reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, she tried to guess how he may have been involved. “Do you want to tell me?” she asked.

  His warm hand encircled hers. “My brother joined the fighting when I was at Trinity. I didn’t know until he was deep into it. I tried to stop him, but he went to Belfast in ’22. He walked into a protest with a bomb. There wasn’t anything I could do, you know?”

  Marjorie gasped, and her heart ached for him. She didn’t know much about the movement except that it was a bloody affair, a civil war that ended in partition of the country. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “How did you feel about it?”

  Frank considered her. “I wanted an independent Ireland, believe me. As a lad, I hoped there would be a more peaceful solution. I miss my brother, but he knew what he was walking into. He believed in the cause. It taught me that everyone’s got their reasons, you know? Even DuPont there has his reasons.”

  Marjorie turned to glance at the man, who had given up trying to escape. His expression was laced with fear, and Marjorie felt herself relenting. She wasn’t about to forgive him—he had almost killed her—but she was not the kind of person who could leave a man to die.

  Giving Frank’s hand one last tug, Marjorie let go and turned to the task at hand. “We’ll give DuPont enough supplies to make it to a town, and we’ll untie him just before we leave. That way his life isn’t in our hands, and we also don’t have to worry about him.” As she said it, she felt the spot where the gun grip had dug into her head. It had swelled into a goose egg. She was still sore about that, and nothing Frank said would change that.

  “That’s fine,” Frank said. He turned his attention back to the plane. Everything was packed and ready to go. The only thing missing was… “You said you know how to fly?” he asked.

  Marjorie glanced away, her face turning an unusual shade of pink. “Well, sort of. I’ve flown before.”

  “Something about that doesn’t sound very confident,” Frank said. His voice sounded suspicious, and his eyes bored into her.

  “It’s just the takeoff and landing that seem tricky.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

  ***

  The engine sputtered to life, and it was almost as loud as Marjorie’s heart roaring in her chest. She couldn’t remember a time she had been more nervous. When she had flown before, she had the help of Shorty. Now, she was all by herself.

  Hamid sat in the passenger seat, buckled in, and Frank took up the back. He shouted over all the rumbling, “You’ll do great, Marjorie!”

  Please let this work.

  She thumbed on the push knob and pulled back on the flight control. The plane slowly shuffled forward and quickly picked up speed. She directed it toward the long field near which they had landed the previous day. With the wheels rolling over the grass and dirt, they rocked up and down.

  Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the wheels lifted from the ground. Marjorie held her breath, pulling back even more. The wheels came back down—it was normal, but they felt it with the same intensity as though they had crashed—and then went up again. They hovered for just a moment and then the entire mechanism rose into the air. They were flying.

  Up and up they went. Marjorie laughed in delight. She looked out over the plains and the mountains. She was doing it. She was flying the plane.

  Hamid, who had not shown the slightest bit of concern, whooped in joy.

  Then, Marjorie turned to see Frank. He was shaking.

  “Easy as pie!” she cried, trying to reassure him. In response, he gave her a pretty pathetic attempt at a thumbs-up. She couldn’t help it—she howled with laughter again. She was too relieved not to.

  By the time they were flying over the Kingdom of Iraq, it was midday. A lush landscape opened up before them, rich with green growth in between the hills.

  Over the roar of the engine, Frank yelled, “These two river systems are part of the Fertile Crescent. Some of the earliest civilizations grew up out of this area. These two rivers meet—and then they empty into the Persian Gulf to the south.”

  “That’s great!” she yelled back. “I’m going to try and land it now.”

  She bit her lip. Maybe we should’ve kept DuPont around.

  But it was too late for second-guessing. She had a plane to land. She checked the gauges and then steered the aircraft toward a flat plain outside the city. “Hold on!” she cried.

  She barred down on the landing gear, and the nose of the aircraft tilted sharply. Too fast, she thought, then lightened her grip. Her palms sweated, and her heart felt like hammers in her chest. The ground came up to meet them, and the plane shook and bumped as it collided with the earth again. But it didn’t stay grounded long. Instead, it bounced as it traveled. Eventually, the wheels found purchase and carried them to the end of another long field.

  After reaching a complete and lurching stop, Marjorie noticed her teeth were clenched so tight that her mouth ached. “Everyone alright?” she asked. Her hands shook as she took them off the controls.

  “I am!” said Hamid.

  “No,” Frank said, his voice soft. Marjorie looked over at him sharply, scanning for any signs of trouble. He seemed fine in his person, but his skin had turned white. Is he going to be sick? Finally, his eyes met hers, and she realized he would be just fine.

  Marjorie said, “My good friend Shorty says, ‘Any landing you survive is a good landing!’”

  “I don’t believe that,” said Frank as he unbuckled and quickly made for the exit. Once on solid ground again, his shoulders finally relaxed.

  ***

&nbs
p; In the city of Al Qurna, the Tigris and the Euphrates came together before flowing south. Then, the waters emptied into the Persian Gulf after passing through the larger city of Basra. The southern tip of Al Qurna formed a point against the water, and that’s where they were heading.

  Marjorie knew that Basra had a rich history as part of the Ottoman Empire, but it had been occupied by British troops and had become something of a commercial port city—especially around and after the Great War, where the city had seen a surplus of Allied troops. Marjorie recalled a painting she had seen of the Basra horse races that had become popular for both locals and ex-pats.

  Al Qurna was a small city in comparison, and Frank explained that it was the site of the Battle of Qurna where British troops had officially taken over in December 1914. Since the two rivers came together within the city limits, the city held an excellent strategic position.

  Along the river, there was green stubby growth—reeds and brush. Moving away, there were long stretches of flat dirt. From the skies, they spotted large patches of green. Farming, Marjorie assumed.

  They came to the city center from the west through long rows of palm trees, happily resting in the late morning sunshine. Marjorie considered that the trees were probably grown by the people who lived in the region. She remembered how versatile and helpful palms could be—whether for food or for construction.

  A slight breeze picked up as they walked, blowing sand haphazardly about. Marjorie felt it in her clothes and hair. She was happy to be wearing loose, breathable garments.

  The surrounding farmland suddenly turned into a small city—green swatches of land traded for sandstone buildings and the sound of birds picking through the dirt replaced by the whistle of wind through empty streets. It was a transition that left Marjorie breathless. But something else unnerved her: there weren’t any people here. The city seemed deserted. Marjorie had an eerie feeling about the place.

  As though he hadn’t noticed, Frank spoke. “British soldiers came back from this area with reports that locals believed this was the location of the original Garden of Eden.”

  “If that’s true, why didn’t my father look into it?” Marjorie asked, puzzled.

  “He did,” Frank said. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  “Where is everyone?” Hamid asked.

  “I don’t know,” Frank said, “and I don’t like it. When I was here last, the place swarmed with people. It’s a regular tourist site, you know.”

  Marjorie looked around, waiting for soldiers to jump out from behind the buildings and take them by storm. But nothing except the breeze moved. Where are all the people?

  “We should be careful,” she said, but Frank and Hamid were already moving away from her.

  Up ahead, the two walked toward a concrete platform surrounded by a brick walkway. What sat at the center of this platform made Marjorie stop in her tracks.

  “This can’t be it,” she said. “Are you sure?”

  A very large tree towered at the center of what could be a busy area, but which at that moment lay desolate. It was deciduous in nature—clearly not a palm. Or, more accurately, it had been deciduous. Given the way its limbs sagged and its bark blanched, it was clear that it was now dead. In addition to that, there was not a leaf on it. Nearby, Marjorie noticed another much smaller tree grew—that too seemed in the process of dying, but it still held some foliage on it. The roots pushed up through broken rock, reminding Marjorie of the driftwood she often pulled out of Lake Erie back in Buffalo.

  “When one sacred tree dies, another is planted in its place. That’s an ancient religious custom,” explained Frank, following Marjorie’s gaze and pointing to the second tree—the more alive one. “That way they can preserve the stature of the sacred tree.”

  Hamid ran to the trees. “Don’t climb on them,” Frank called after him.

  He didn’t. Instead, the boy reached out his hand to touch the trunk of the dead tree. He looked to Marjorie like he had been preparing for this day for a long time, probably all his life. His face was scrunched in thought, and his fingers grazed the bark. He stood there for some time, staring at the tree. All was silent.

  Marjorie shifted on her feet. Clearly they were not going to gain anything on this day. Maybe this was what finding a lost treasure felt like. Maybe this was the end of the road, and the journey was over. She couldn’t help feeling that she had missed something along the way.

  Frank stood silent next to her, his expression hard to read. “He seemed so sure of it,” Frank said, indicating Hamid, but Marjorie couldn’t help thinking of her father. He would be so disappointed. It really is only a myth.

  “I wanted to believe him,” Frank continued.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Marjorie comforted, reaching out to him, but she didn’t make it. From over by the tree, Hamid, his voice excited, spoke.

  “Here!” he said. He pointed at the trunk.

  Marjorie tried to think of words that would explain to him. How do you tell a kid that the thing he’s dreamed of isn’t real?

  She made her way to him, her feet dragging on the ground. Standing directly behind him, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hamid—” she began.

  Then she saw it too—a little space within the tree itself, carved into its side. It looked like some kind of gold metal. The space seemed … just big enough for a key. Around it swirled text Marjorie couldn’t read.

  “Frank!” she called, a growing excitement and urgency clear in her voice. Frank hurried over and translated: “The seeker must search his heart. He must remember what he means to reap. His heart plants the truth.”

  “Okay,” Marjorie said. “Whatever that means.” She removed the key from around her neck and held it up. “I suppose we could try.” It slipped effortlessly into place.

  As the key fit, Marjorie’s heart fluttered and a fresh wave of excitement rushed through her like a bolt of electricity. “It fits!” Maybe the Tree of Life does exist after all.

  “Here goes nothing,” said Frank as he turned the key. Something—an internal mechanism?—clicked, and they waited. Nothing happened.

  Hamid, impatient, reached out and gripped the key. He tried to wiggle it, but it didn’t budge.

  “Maybe the mechanism is too old,” Frank said.

  The words had only just left his mouth when the group felt movement. A buzzing noise filled their ears—the sound of something motorized. It filled the space, drowning out all other noise for a brief moment in the time. Then, before them, the tree began to move.

  It broke in two, the inside of the trunk bright green and alive. A door opened just next to the key, and steps lowered and slid down into the darkness. No lights shone from within—it was just a deep, cavernous hole.

  When the movement stopped completely, the sound did too. There was nothing but the steps leading down, down, down.

  Marjorie dug in her rucksack and pulled out her lighter—the only light source they had. She used her thumb to set a spark, and the weak flame illuminated only the steps in front of them.

  “Stay close to me,” she instructed.

  They began their descent clustered together. The lighter didn’t shed a lot of light, so to steady himself, Frank rested his hand on Marjorie’s shoulder. It felt comforting, a touch of warmth and closeness. Hamid trailed behind them, holding onto Frank’s shirt.

  Slowly they moved, deeper and deeper into the earth below the tree. They were only able to go down one at a time. On the walls they could see roots anchoring the tree into the ground. Perhaps it looked like it was dying from the top, but down here it was a maze of life. In fact, the roots spread out in many directions—Marjorie had trouble figuring out how far they went down or how wide they stretched.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the way opened up to the start of a path. On the walls beside them hung unlit torches, trailing into the maw of the darkened tunnel for who knew how long. Frank retrieved one, and Marjorie used the lighter to set it aflame. Now everything seemed a bit brighter, bu
t not by much. Marjorie could still see very little in front of her. The path before them consisted of sand and brick, painstakingly laid to drain any water away.

  They continued farther in, deeper and deeper. The tunnel was surprisingly huge, much larger than it could ever appear to be on the outside. She realized they couldn’t be anywhere near the dead tree they had entered. Yet, in the walls she could see enormous roots, alive and well. They seemed to hold the tunnel together, but where were they coming from? That also begged the question … where were they going? Marjorie wished her father was there to see it. She could barely believe that she was doing this now. What was this place?

  Finally, the tunnel ended and deposited them into a large underground room.

  Barely able to believe her eyes, Marjorie gasped. Before her stood a golden tree, its base at the very center of the room. Its large roots—as wide as a person—traveled out in all directions and eventually met the walls. Impossible! It defies physics.

  The beauty of this tree was undeniable. Even in the low light, one could see that the entire space was lined in gold. Upon further inspection, Marjorie had a hard time deciding if the tree itself was made of gold or just covered in it. Whatever the case, the tree looked healthy and thriving. Unlike the dead tree above ground, this golden one was lush with curling leaves—nothing like any kind Marjorie had ever seen.

  She needed to get closer to take a better look.

  There were spaces for torches on the walls, and Marjorie slipped hers into place. It fit snug—no chance of it coming out. And, she noticed, oil had been poured in a line around the wall of the room. Once her torch sat against the wall, its flame danced across. At intervals, the other torches lit themselves. It was like watching a shooting star travel across the sky. When its journey ended, the entire antechamber glowed and thrummed, as though alive. Marjorie could feel the warmth of the fire on her face.