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The
Monkey Puzzle Tree (Pt I) |
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This story definitely comes under the 'work in progress' banner. It is a love story : He really didn’t like
doctor’s surgeries. He particularly disliked the waiting rooms. All
those ‘ill’ people coughing and spluttering as they sat isolated
from one another; politely avoiding eye contact and therefore the need
for conversation with any other person in the small, plain looking room. He took in a deep breath
and wore his finest dazzlingly friendly smile: “Good morning! I’m
10:15 for Dr. Ampworth, is anyone here before me?” He may just as well have
stood in front on them all and broken wind. Simultaneous looks of
surprise, annoyance and even disgust spread across the faces of the
others in the room. ‘Excuse me!’ He thought to himself as he sat
down in funereal silence, and the others went back into their own little
worlds. He really hated the city,
so bloody impersonal. This would never have happened back at home. Harry
had only lived in London for 5 weeks but already he was missing the
south coast desperately. Following the unwritten
rules of the waiting room, Harry found himself a seat at a respectable
distance from any other person, and lowered himself carefully into it.
He grimaced as, despite his best efforts, the metal legs of the chair
slid back across the cheaply tiled floor, making a loud scraping noise
before becoming silent again. Once more, seven sets of disgusted eyes
threw disapproving glances in his direction. He looked at his watch:
9:56 – perhaps he should not have been so eager to arrive a few
minutes early. Harry had never been much
of a magazine reader, but at that moment, the collection of periodicals
and glossies looked extremely welcoming to him. He leant over to flick
through the untidy pile. ‘As if I really have a preference’ he
chuckled to himself and randomly selected the third one down. Leaning back in his chair,
with only the merest of leg-scrapes, Harry started to thumb the pages of
Home and Garden. “Mrs Solomon. Dr
Peter’s 9:45 please.” said a neatly dressed, prissy looking woman
who had just stuck her head around the door. With an over-acted sigh, a
woman of about 40 moved smartly to her feet, adjusted her skirt, and
walked out of the room with her hands clasped across her stomach. From
just outside the room, someone broke into a fit of coughing, sounding
for all the world as though her lungs were about to explode. Harry’s eyes returned to
the pages of Home and Garden as he shifted uneasily in his chair,
imagining how much of the air that that woman had exhaled, had then been
drawn into his own lungs. The prissy looking woman returned, looking directly at a man who was at least 85. “Mr Holloway, sorry to keep you waiting so long, Dr Ampworth will see you now.” Her smile seemed genuine enough. ‘Must be a regular’ Harry thought to himself as the old man struggled to his feet and lumbered out of the waiting room. Sometimes, the pages of
magazines seem to fall open on certain pages, and as Harry started
flicking through them again, his eye was caught by a word he recognised,
but was not expecting to see. Lymington His hometown on the South
Coast of England. Why on earth was Lymington being featured in a glossy
monthly? Interested now, Harry
moved back a page to find the start of the article. Sally Gann: An Artist from the Heart
The headline was written
in bold lettering and it skilfully led the eye towards the picture of a
frail old lady, obviously in her 90’s at the very least, who was sat
before a large blank artist’s canvas, holding a set of oils and a
paintbrush in her tiny hands. Harry scanned the opening
text quickly, he did like art, but he was far more interested in
discovering how Lymington featured. He had to skip 2 more pages before
he found what he was really looking for, and was surprised when his eyes
fell upon one of Sally Gann’s paintings, carefully reproduced in
sumptuous colour as a full page picture in the magazine. It was the picture of a
Monkey Puzzle Tree and Harry recognised it immediately. In a park, in Lymington,
there was one such tree, and the painting was most definitely of that
particular one. The unmistakeable dome-shaped crown of leaves over an
intricate, ancient trunk, with branches spreading in all directions. As
a boy Harry had climbed that tree many times. It was a very easy tree to
climb and it towered above him when he was young. He had never dared go
more than halfway up as the thick shroud of leaves made the journey ever
darker and foreboding. He smiled absently to himself as he remembered
the time when one of the huge branches slid away under his feet. Such a
solid looking branch should not have moved at all, and yet it seemed
spring-loaded as he put his weight on it, and it rasped away from
another branch, nearly sending him crashing to the ground. Harry stared at the
painting, admiring its accuracy and detail for some minutes before
reading the footnote at the bottom of the page. The
Chilean Pine (or Monkey Puzzle Tree), which features so romantically in
Ms. Gann’s life. Intrigued now, and feeling
somewhat breathless, Harry moved back to the start of the article and
began to read. The first few paragraphs
explained how Sally Gann was born in Kent in 1896, and moved to
Lymington, in Hampshire, at the age of 16. It further explained how Ms
Gann had become one of the South’s most respected still-life artists
in the 1940’s and how her work had become extremely popular with the
rich and famous in the late 50’s and early 60’s, making her a
wealthy lady. The article said that she still lived in Lymington, in a
nursing home on the outskirts of the New Forest, and that she was still
able to produce paintings of staggering high quality to this day. Harry read on with
interest. He had never known that his small town was home to such a
famous person. On the second page there was what looked to be a long
quote from Sally Gann herself, written in italics. Completely absorbed
now, his eyes moved easily over the words, drinking them in hungrily: “Yes, the
tree. When I was a young girl, that tree was already over a hundred
years old. Back then; it was in the private gardens of Colonel Brooks.
The nurses here tell me that the Brooks family donated those gardens to
the public after the colonel died in the second World War, and that my
tree is still standing. When I was
eighteen, I was in love with a wonderful man. In the summer of 1914, we
used to visit the Brooks gardens (they were family friends) and my love
and I used to sit beneath that tree… “Sally, you are
so beautiful, have I told you that today?” She giggled.
“That’s about the twentieth time John!” Resting her head in his
lap, she shaded her eyes and looked dreamily at the clouds floating by.
As John combed her hair through with his fingers, long slow strokes
starting at her scalp and moving all the way to the end of her long
raven locks, she sighed contentedly, her eyes following a small flock of
ducks flying in a tight ‘V’ formation overhead. “Well darling,
its true.” John leant over and touched his lips to hers, savouring the
sweet soft caress of her kiss. She closed her eyes, and he could sense
her passion as she lifted her head towards him, tying to make him kiss
her deeper, to move his tongue into her mouth and taste her. For the
shortest of moments he gave into to his feelings and found himself
parting her lips, before decency again over took him and commanded him
to act like a gentleman. A huge pang of
sadness tore through his body like boiling water through his veins. How
he wanted to posses her completely, to explore her body, to touch the
milky white skin of her arms and legs, and to go on exploring. What made
things so much worse was the knowledge that she would allow him anything
he wanted. Her trust in him was total, innocent as she was to the fact
that this gentle man was fighting the urge to ravage her right here,
right now, beneath their tree. When should he
tell her the awful news? Not right now. He had perhaps another hour and
he was determined to make it a pleasurable one for both of them. Sally nestled her
head further into his lap and closed her eyes. The sunlight on her skin
casting tiny shadows beneath her perfect little nose, and on the
underside of her chin. John picked a buttercup from the grass and
trailed it across her cheek and down the side of her neck. This simple
action making her shudder and smile warmly up at him, shamelessly
accepting his intimate touches. With his other hand, he continued
stroking her hair, watching the rise and fall of her chest as her
breathing deepened. Sally had undone
her top button, it was a very warm afternoon, and he found himself
staring at that tiny piece of exposed flesh. The gentle dip of her
throat and just the tiniest hint of her shoulders. If only he could
touch her there. He so badly wanted to kiss that throat and move his
lips further down, to trail his tongue over her chest and towards her
breasts. He shifted his
position, aware that he was becoming aroused, and frightened that she
may feel the stirrings of his erection. Laying her head
gently on the ground her knelt by her side and kissed her once more. This time, Sally
was not to be denied. Yes, it was improper to kiss a man like this, to
be alone with him unchaperoned every afternoon. It was most definitely
wrong to have undone her top button, but she wanted him so badly. As
John’s lips found hers, she opened her mouth and took his tongue into
her. Dizzy with
excitement and passion, Sally found herself quivering all over. Clearly
he had wanted this too, for now his tongue was exploring hers. Their
lips pressed tightly together, the scent of him filing her nostrils as
she breathed in. The kiss became more urgent still, his hands caressing
the sides of her neck as John pushed his tongue deep into her mouth. Sally was becoming
light headed, finding it difficult to take in enough oxygen to feed her
desire, and she gasped breathlessly as he finally moved his mouth away
from hers and started to kiss her face. She moaned softly as his lips
travelled over her exposed neck, and she realised that her hands were
clawing at his back, urging him onto her. The sensations
surging through her body were indescribable. It felt like a dream. As
John’s teeth closed gently over her earlobe, a shudder ripped through
her body and she felt as though her entire being was on fire. An
exciting tingling sensation formed between her legs and she clamped her
thighs together, heightening the experience yet further. Suddenly, John
moved away from her, and for a few exquisite moments, Sally lay there,
panting and quivering, as her excitement slowly ebbed away. When she
finally regained some composure, she looked over to John who was knelt
by her side with a solemn look on his face. “Oh darling, you
are ashamed of me!!” Her heart sank, how could she have been so
wicked? Surely he would not want to associate with such a trollop.
His smile was
warm, loving and genuine. His eyes sparking in the sun as he held her
gaze for what seemed like an eternity. “No, my love. Never. I want you
as badly as you want me, but here, and particularly now, it would
certainly not be right. Sally, the Germans are increasing their
activities in Europe and I am to leave this evening for London where I
am to enlist in the army.” The words chilled
her to the core. News of the impending war were everywhere and she had
prayed to the Lord God every night that John would not have to be
involved. The inevitability of this moment made the shock no harder to
take and Sally felt herself go very faint, struggling to keep
consciousness. John raised
himself to his feet, his strong, 6-foot frame towering above her as he
gently lifted Sally to an upright position. “I’ve brought
you this, my love.” He produced a small box from his pocket and opened
it for her. Inside was a silver necklace and heart-shaped locket. It
glistened merrily in the afternoon sun. On the front of the heart was a
simple inscription: S
/ J
“Open it,
darling” She gasped as she did so. Three weeks earlier, John had
pleaded with her to draw a tiny picture of the two of them, stood arm in
arm under the Monkey Puzzle tree, in coloured inks. She had done so with
pleasure and puzzlement and the final result was incredible – she was
an extremely accomplished artist. Inside the locket,
neatly trimmed to fit perfectly, was the picture. A happy, loving couple
stood under the shade of a magnificent old tree. Mixed emotions
swept over her; joy, love, fear. She sank to her knees, clasping the
jewellery to her chest and started sobbing uncontrollably. John put his
arms around her shoulders protectively. “It’ll all be over in a few
weeks Sally, I’m sure of it. The Germans will get what they deserve
and I will be home before you know it” Her eyes flashed
indignantly in his direction. “Then give me this when you return!” She buried her
face in her arms and her crying became even more despondent. “I want you to
wear it now.” “I WON’T!
Not until you are home safe and sound” He smiled at her
again. His love for her stronger than any feeling her had ever known. Taking the locket
from its box, he started towards the tree. Looking back at her he began
to climb, his athletic body moving effortlessly through the branches.
Just over half way up, with Sally watching in wonder, John put his foot
against a huge branch that was lying on top of another. Surprisingly,
the branch slid a few feet to the left and Sally could just make out a
small knothole that had become exposed. John dropped the silver chain
and locket into the hole and carefully allowed the branch to spring back
into its original position, hiding the treasure. Lowering himself
to the ground, John walked back to his love with his arms outstretched,
urging her into his embrace. As they cuddled he stroked a lock of hair
from her face and stared deep into her eyes. In the faint reflection of
himself in her pupils he saw something that warmed his heart. It was not
actually his own face he saw there, but that of his two unborn children,
one staring back at him from each of her eyes. A little boy, and a
pretty young girl. He turned Sally to
face the tree, fighting back the urge to break down in tears himself. “The leaves on
this tree are quite unique Sally, they do not shed every year like most
trees, but they fall after about twenty years. Its as though the leaves
cannot bear to be parted from their branches. All things, it seems, have
to be separated at some point.” …for the
rest of that summer, I sat beneath that tree alone. On March 2nd,
1915, I learned that John had been killed in the trenches on the Western
front in Amiens.” “Mr Bartram!!”
The prissy looking woman was staring at Harry with her hands on her
hips, “Dr Ampworth will see you now!” Watched by the other
patients in the small room, Harry placed the magazine back on the table
and followed the receptionist out towards the surgery. -oOo- |
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