Princess of Ice Page 13
“What do you think of it?” Trevain asked.
“It is very… stout. The trunk is very intricate.”
They continued to stare at the small potted plant for several more silent minutes. It was evident that Trevain wanted to say something, but he seemed uncertain of how to proceed.
“What type of plant is it?” Aazuria asked, trying to incite conversation without being intrusive. It seemed to her that there were heavy thoughts on her host’s mind, as she was beginning to realize was often the case. She wanted to be involved, but she did not want to cause him discomfort by invading the private space of his mind that she imagined had been sacred for quite some time.
“It’s a baobab tree,” Trevain answered, as he began to pace. Despite his subtle limp, there was something decidedly dignified in his gait as he slowly circled the small tree. “The species is from Madagascar. The tree naturally grows to be massive. They get so large, and the trunk gets so thick that people can live inside of them. There’s actually a pub inside of one of these trees in South Africa—a pub that can accommodate fifty patrons.”
“That’s remarkable,” Aazuria responded with surprise as she eyed the tiny plant. She did not know very much about plants that grew above the surface of the sea. In fact, the only growing species in Adlivun were those that did not require sunlight, such as various mushrooms.
Trevain nodded, and the passion in his voice increased as he spoke. “People find pleasure in using the bonsai technique to domesticate them. It should be impossible to stunt the growth of a living thing to one thousandth of its natural size! There’s something disturbing about it; almost paranormal even.”
“And here I was thinking that it was just a plant.” She squinted at the silhouette of the tree in the soft light, and could not help but think of how alien it looked. It did not resemble anything she had ever seen anywhere in the world—not on dry land or concealed within ocean depths.
“I hate the idea of bonsai,” Trevain said firmly. “I hate the idea of constantly trimming and pruning something to keep it from reaching its full potential.”
“Are there not any benefits to the method?” Aazuria asked.
“It can result in an extended lifespan for the tree—it lives a comfortable life, free from disease and drought, well-taken care of.” Trevain shook his head. “I am just not convinced that living longer and being safe from the elements is worth the sacrifice of becoming what one is supposed to become. It’s just… horrifying. To take a stately tree and inhibit it like this!”
Aazuria looked at Trevain curiously. She held the candle up to his face to better examine his expression. “So what this tree means to you… is hatred?”
“Restriction.”
“And yet you let it live. You let it live while pitying its existence. You come here and tend to it, further restricting it while thinking about how much you despise what it represents?”
“No, not exactly. I think about my life.” When he saw that she did not follow his words, he sighed. “I think about the human obsession with bringing order to anything wild. I think about control and consumption; about the anxiety that everyone has about the world running out of space and resources. I think about how unnatural it is to tell people they can only have one child. To worry that people will run out of room to live, and food to eat.”
Aazuria nodded. “I see. If these trees are allowed to grow and consume everything around them, it is beautiful—a thriving majestic life form, but it is also… uneconomical?”
“Land is limited,” Trevain answered. “There is only so much available for us to use for everything we need to use it for.”
“Yes. Land is limited,” Aazuria repeated slowly. She wished that she could tell him that she had the solution to his problems. A new habitat, an unlimited domain with almost endless opportunity for settlement; but her home did not quite suit everyone.
“I really believe that life will find a way,” Trevain said gently. “The challenges push our creativity. Skyscrapers, sustainable farming; there are so many ways. When we allow anxiety about the future to inhibit our lives now…”
“How is it inhibiting life?” Aazuria asked. “You said that these miniature trees might live longer than their gigantic counterparts in the wild. So perhaps a little control can be a good thing?”
“I suppose,” Trevain answered. “But think of your own life, Aazuria. You said that you have lived under constricting circumstances—would you have chosen to continue living that way if it meant you would be protected?”
Aazuria closed her eyes as she thought of her father. “Of course,” she answered softly. “It was only when Father began to make foolish decisions which placed us all in dire danger that we needed to get away.”
“Danger?” he asked.
“I do not wish to speak of it now,” she said cryptically. Aazuria was quiet for a few moments. Finally, she glanced at Trevain and smiled at his gaudy yellow jacket. She wondered if she could “bonsai” him somehow and take him home with her. She wished that she could tell him the truth about her kingdom and her past—she did not know how to build a friendship with so many secrets between them. “If you could choose to extend your natural lifespan, would you?” she asked.
Trevain considered it before answering. “I would, but not if I had to be confined in a pot in order to do so. It’s not natural for anything to live and die in a pot.”
She walked to the windows. She gestured out at the water whimsically with one hand. “What if you could be even more wild and free?” she asked in a musical voice, feeling a bit homesick.
He smiled sadly, thinking of his drive earlier. “Sometimes I feel that way—but it’s such an evanescent sensation.”
She turned back to him, suddenly serious again. “Trevain, here in Alaska… is it not the only chance of survival for these plants? For the foreign species at least, is it not necessary to be indoors, in your solarium, in a pot?”
“Yes,” he said bitterly, “but they shouldn’t be here in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do I need to own an African tree here in Alaska?” Trevain quickly crossed the room to where she stood and carefully picked up a potted plant that was near to her. This one was even smaller than the baobab, and it had needle-like evergreen leaves.
“This is a Giant Sequoia bonsai. Kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it? A tree of this species is the tallest tree in the world. Yet I keep mine regulated to fifteen inches tall.”
“I do not think the tree minds,” Aazuria suggested. “Records and milestones? Those are human fixations. I do not think that trees themselves want to be the largest of the large.”
“Then what do you think they want?”
“Just to be,” Aazuria said, allowing a genuine smile to possess her lips and eyes. It was all that she wanted too; she was beginning to form a secret hope that he would somehow be part of her existence. “Just to be—alive and healthy, for as long as possible.”
“So the important milestone is the age of the tree, correct? It doesn’t matter if it’s stunted—as long as it lives a long and healthy life. In that case, practicing bonsai on these trees is a good thing, correct?”
“I… I believe so,” she answered.
He gently held up the Giant Sequoia until it was between their faces. “We confine them, we constrict them… they could have been so much that we will never know. Their roots feel out gingerly until they touch the ceramic—then it’s decided. They must follow the concave surface religiously, having no other choice, until they tangle up amongst themselves, suffocating.” Aazuria peered
around the plant at Trevain’s wrinkled brow as he soliloquized. “The heart knows the immensity it wants to achieve, but it is limited…”
She cocked her head to the side curiously. “Trevain, are you saying you feel like you are a potted plant?”
He chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way it makes me sound ludicrous.” He turned around and placed the tree back in its location. “I probably sound outlandish to you—don’t mind me. I’m just… not quite myself right now.”
“No, please tell me what you meant to say!” she insisted.
He gave her a small smile. “Growing up in Alaska, losing my parents and having to take care of Callder—I had no choice in my career. I really wish I could have done something more rewarding with my life than catch a lot of fish.”
“What would you do?”
He hesitated. “I probably couldn’t have done much more anyway. You never know these things.”
“What would you have done?” she asked firmly.
“Maybe Marine Biology—maybe help to preserve sea life instead of massacring it on a daily basis.” He shrugged. He did not know that this answer won him major points with Aazuria since she considered herself to be within the category of sea life. Trevain removed his yellow gloves and tucked them into his pocket. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d have studied Cultural Anthropology and traveled more.”
“Then do it,” she said simply.
“I wish I could,” he said with a sad smile. “It’s too late to make changes of such magnitude. I’m too ol…”
“No! I cannot listen to you calling yourself old one more time,” she interrupted zealously. “You are in the prime of your life! You have accumulated so much knowledge and so much experience—now you are ready to pursue that which you regret not pursuing and be exactly who you wish to be. If you feel stunted or confined, then just break out! Reach out, and explore and grow—you too can be a giant instead of being fifteen inches tall. You are already a giant in my eyes—why should you not be so in your own?”
Trevain stared at her in surprise. In the short time he had known her she had always remained so calm, but she was evidently incensed about this subject. It gave him the impression that she was beginning to care for him, at least in some small degree. Her manner was inspiring, but a few livid words could not undo years of decaying hope.
He reached out and removed the candleholder from her hand. He blew the flame out before placing it down on a table. Reaching out, he gently took both of her hands in his. “I am not young like you, Aazuria. You are a teenager and all the whole world lies before you. I wish that I were standing here a young boy of your age and that we could imagine grand futures together and dream of the glorious years to come; but I stand here a potted plant all twisted up into the prescribed shape of my confinement. Your roots are reaching out in freedom, eager to burrow their own path into the earth for miles around. My job now is to nourish you and help you grow.”
She shook her head adamantly. “You cannot cast your life aside as though it is worthless!”
“I am not,” he spoke softly. He was moved by her concern for him, and he closed the distance between them, wrapping her up in a fatherly hug. “The better part of my life is over but maybe I can help to make the better part of yours the best it could be.”
She was a bit stiff at first and surprised by the proximity, but she took a slow deep breath and relaxed into his embrace. Hesitatingly, she lifted her own hands up to circle his body and return the hug. The fabric of his waterproof clothing was rough to the touch, but the subtle scent of him which filled her nostrils when she inhaled was particularly pleasant.
She could not shake a strong feeling of melancholy at his words; she did not feel comfortable accepting that the better part of Trevain’s life was over. He was younger-looking than her father by a large margin, and her father had been expecting to live for several hundred more years. It did not make sense, or seem fair to her. She almost believed that if he somehow chose to continue living the best years of his life instead of resigning himself to being “over”—then it would suddenly be the best time of his life again.
Aazuria pulled back slightly away from his hug. She scanned his face, searching for contours or shadows of hope. “You should leave your pot,” she whispered with determination. She did not know what to say or do to convince him, but she would have tried anything. She felt like there was a world between them, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were from different worlds. It was all in his mind. “You should break out of your prison and plant yourself beside me—if I am in fact planted. How else can our roots grow interconnected?”
He studied her dark eyes, trying to decipher her meaning. Was there a subtle suggestion in her tone—was it a question or demand? He became confused. Even though he could see the truth of what she felt and wanted, he could not completely believe his eyes. He wanted to believe. He wanted to achieve the intertwined roots that she had described, building a sturdy foundation of networked essences. He wanted to build this bond with her and even more. He wanted to grow close at the core, and close at the trunk, and closer still at the branches.
Yet his honor reared its head to remind him that it was wrong. She was his ward now, and she was under his protection. He should not allow a touch of temptation to turn him into the thing from which she needed protection.
“They can’t,” he answered, pulling away from her abruptly. “I’m sorry I disturbed you at such a late hour and interrupted your reading. Thanks for chatting with me and listening to me rant; I had a rough day. I should probably get some rest.”
With that, Trevain turned and left.
Aazuria watched his retreating yellow back with disappointment. She felt the unfamiliar sting of defeat; she had tried to reach out to him, and had found him unreachable. Would he always be so distant and disciplined, so difficult to get close to? She found herself suddenly smiling; she was sure that he was just trying to be kind and gentlemanly.
She walked over to the centerpiece of the garden. She reached out to carefully trace the patterns on the baobab’s ceramic pot with the fingernail of her index finger. Harder than any pottery or steel was a person’s manner of thinking; if a person chose to be firmly set in his ways he was forever immobile. On the other hand, if that same person decided to seek another way, or several other ways, there was no substance on earth that could stop such ambition.
Aazuria felt like there had been a change in her own manner of thinking. If she could accomplish such a feat after six hundred years, then surely anyone’s mind was pliable. Surely anyone’s heart was elastic enough to be reached.
Chapter 13: American Sign Language