Eva and the Man Tree

by Enoch Daniel

High on a misty mountain, up above the clouds, in a lush, little valley nestled between snowy peaks, there once lived a girl and her mother. They had a cabin made of logs and mud surrounded by woods. The light was soft as worn linen, and the air held a breath of magic.

When she was very young the girl, whom her mother called Eva, tottered around the yard and chased the chickens and goats. When she grew older she ran barefoot in the forest after foxes and squirrels. She caught silvery fish in the spring-fed pool lined with rock and lichen, and in the summers she swam, gasping in the shockingly cold water.

When Eva grew older still her mother taught her how to tend a garden and care for animals. She taught her where to find wild herbs in the forest and how to make teas and potions. She taught her how to survive in their little mountain home.

Eva knew no other children, no other people at all, only her mother and an occasional man from the man tree, and those never lasted that long. Her mother told her that she had known other people once, many of them, back before Eva was born. She said the two of them were better off lonely than with that lot.

Eva wasn’t lonely, not really. She had the chickens, sheep, and goats. She had the pool, and the mountain, and the trees all around. She had her mother.

#

Eva and her mother were carding wool, her mother in her rocking chair, Eva cross-legged on the floor before the fire. Nights were cold in their mountain valley, even in summer, and the fire was high and hot. Eva tugged irritably at stubborn snags in the wool, raking the old cards over each other, her hands moving quickly. She was tired and had expected her mother to finish this while she had worked in the garden today. She tried to ignore the sound of her mother’s breathing, crackles and wheezes threatening to drown out the roaring fire and the night sounds outside.

“Dearie, I’m dying,” said her mother with a huff, setting down her own cards.

Eva thought she might as well set them down as much progress as she had been making. She heard her mother groan and glanced up to see her leaning forward. A large dent marked her thigh where her arm had lain across it. Those legs looked full to bursting. Eva expected to hear them slosh as she rocked in that old chair. She shuddered and looked to the work in her lap.

“Mother, don’t say such things.”

Of course she was dying. Eva could see that. The stones of the mountain could see it if the old woman ever left the cabin. It had been weeks since that had happened.

“That wool won’t card itself, mother.”

“You’re not a fool, dear. So don’t act like one.”

Eva rolled her eyes, taking in the fireplace and mantle with her mother’s old crooked stick mounted there, finally settling her gaze on the fat, old woman gasping in her chair. Eva pulled the smooth fibers from her combs and laid them neatly on the pile at her side. She folded her hands and studied her mother. Her hair, which had once been long and golden like Eva’s, had long since turned a flat white. Even so, since when had she grown so ancient and frail? When had that white hair started to fall out in clumps? Who was this woman who looked so helpless and sad? This wasn’t the same woman who had taught her to reap and sew, fish and trap. This couldn’t be the woman who had hiked up this mountain, alone but for a few animals, that crooked stick slung across her shoulder.

“I’m dying, dear. Not tonight, but it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. I love this valley, and I know you do too. But it’s no place to be alone.”

Eva felt tears burn her eyes. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I think it’s time to pick some fruit from the man tree.”

Eva shuddered and felt the muscles in her neck and jaw tighten. Her cheeks flared as hot as her back facing the fire. The man tree. Eva hated the man tree.

#

Eva had been very small the first time she had seen her mother pick fruit from the man tree. A big storm had come to their valley, boiling, black clouds dashing rain and wind against the mountain as if to scour them from its face. For almost a whole day, she and her mother hunkered in their cabin. Her mother had remained calm despite the leaking roof and rattling walls, but Eva had quivered like a rabbit in her hole.

The next morning, when the sun rose to a bright clear sky, rainbows shone through mist around their little valley, and waterfalls streamed down the face of the mountain. But the storm had left its mark. The roof was damaged, and the goat pen was ruined. The goats roamed around, bleating, and a few were nowhere to be seen.

Eva stared wide-eyed at the damage, but her mother had merely sighed. “We’ve got a fair bit of work ahead of us, dear. We’d best be off to pick some fruit from the man tree.”

When Eva asked what she meant, her mother merely laughed and said, “You’ll see, dear.” She motioned for Eva to come along, and they set off into the woods.

“What good will the man tree do us?” Eva had always thought the tree with its long pods a little ridiculous. They certainly didn’t look good for eating.

Her mother smiled sideways at her, and there was a twinkle in her eye as if she had a secret. Eva liked secrets.

“Fruit trees are good for different things, dear. The man tree is good for getting work done,” said her mother.

Eva was dying of curiosity then, and she pressed for more. Her mother just shushed her and walked on, repeating, “You’ll see.”

According to her mother the man tree was special, unlike any tree anywhere else in the world. For all that, it wasn’t much to look at, squatting on its hill all alone. It was wider than it was tall with heavy, leafy branches stretching horizontally from its thick trunk. And from those branches always hung enormous seedpods, bigger than Eva, some bigger even than her mother. The wind never stopped on the mountain, and the pods would twist and writhe on their stalks. When the weather was dry the ground beneath the tree was covered in dust from where they fell and rotted away.

The ground was clean that day, washed by the storm. The man tree itself seemed untouched, firm as the mountain, although plenty of other trees were down in the forest, countless leaves and needles scattered on the trails.

Eva’s mother tapped a finger to her chin and walked around the tree, inspecting all of the pods, just as she would look for the ripest apple of the bunch. Minutes passed, and Eva’s curiosity was a storm all its own.

Finally, her mother stopped. She grasped a big one in both hands and looked it all around.

It was taller than her mother, wider too, its flesh a deep green with subtle stripes of white. “Ah, yes, this will do nicely,” she said.

When she pulled out her knife, Eva was sure her mother was going to cut the thing down, but she ignored the thick stalk attaching the pod to the branch. With deft hands, she inserted the knife into an almost invisible seam at the top of the pod and with careful, sure movements split it open. Fibrous, white tufts billowed out. Then her mother prized it wide and out stepped something. Eva wasn’t at all sure what it was.

It was naked and covered in those white strands which it quickly brushed away with its hands. It stood on two legs and looked somewhat like her mother, except also very different. It had no breasts, and its chest was covered in hair as was its face, its legs, and the space between its legs. That was different too with something hanging where an empty space should have been. Here was a mystery in the flesh.

Eva’s jaw was on her chest. “What is it, mother?”

“That,” said her mother with a flourish, “is a man.”

A man. Of course. Apple trees produced apples. Pear trees pears. A man tree produced

mans.

Her mother turned and began walking back to the cabin, motioning the man to follow.

Eva had to run to catch up. “But what are mans?”

“Men, dear. They’re called men.” Her mother gave a sideways smile. “A man is a thing that can be useful, but is usually more trouble than he’s worth. They’re good for strong labor, or if you need to fight, or for…” Her mother paused. “A few other things.”

“But why would we need to fight?”

“We don’t. That’s why we live here in our valley. And that’s why we only need men for a few inconsequential things.”

When they got back to the cabin, her mother pointed and gave a few simple instructions. Then Eva and her mother went off to find their missing goats while the man mended the fence. By that evening he was done. His strong arms were covered in sweat, and he looked very tired. He did seem a useful thing to have around.

Her mother was cooking their dinner, potatoes and rabbit stew with herbs, and it smelled delicious. Eva wanted to invite the man to share the meal with them after all of his hard work, but she was afraid to speak to him.

“Mother, what’s his name?”

Eva’s mother dropped the spoon and had to fish it out of the stew, cursing as she scalded her fingers. She pointed the spoon at Eva, dripping with broth. “He doesn’t have one, and don’t you go giving him one.”

Eva was stunned. “I’m sorry—“

Her mother waved the spoon at her again, cutting her off. “Dinner’s ready to eat. Go tell him to lie down and rest. There’s more work for him tomorrow.”

When Eva walked out into the yard, the man was just standing there, staring off into the dusk light. He looked up at her as she approached. His eyes were brown and soft, not like a goat’s eye at all.

Eva found her voice. “Mother says you can rest now. There’s more work to do tomorrow.”

The man nodded and lay down right there in the dirt. Eva stiffened, her eyes wide. She turned to go and heard a muffled “thank you” at her back. She gasped but didn’t look back. She hadn’t realized he could talk.

Over dinner, Eva’s mother told her about the man and how the tree worked. If the seedpods were left to fall, they would quickly rot and fade to dust. But if opened before they touched the ground, men could be found. As long as they weren’t given a name, the men would quickly rot themselves. Without a name, in three days time the man outside would turn to dust just like the pods.

“But what is a man?”

Her mother studied her. “A man is like… well, a man is like a rooster is to our hens. Or like the billy goat to our nannies, the ram to our ewes. Understand?”

Eva didn’t. She bit her lip and squinted her eyes, thinking hard.

“You don’t know, because you know nothing of the world outside. Out there are lots of men, but they don’t grow on trees, and they can cause no end of trouble. It’s different here and better for it.”

“But if he is like us, isn’t it cruel to let him die?”

“Cruel? If you want to see cruel, you should go see what men do to women like us outside of this valley. You should see what they do to each other! Believe me, our way is better.”

Eva believed her, but still she felt bad. And she didn’t understand, not really. “Aren’t you going to finish your stew, dear?”

Eva realized she’d been stirring absently at the stew and hadn’t eaten a bite. “I’m sorry, mother. I’m just not very hungry.”

“Worn out, I imagine. It was a long night followed by a long day. Why don’t you turn in? I’ll clean this up.”

Eva was tired. Feeling dazed, she climbed up to the small loft that was her bed. She curled up in her furs, but sleep didn’t come. She lay awake a long time, thinking about the man outside in the dirt.

#

Eva’s mother groaned as she adjusted her bulk. Bits of wool and her forgotten cards fell to the floor as she leaned forward conspiratorially.

“It’s time you had a daughter of your own, dear. And for that you need a man.”

Eva wanted to fold up under that gaze, her thin shoulders turning inwards until they nearly met in the middle of her chest.

“I don’t know how,” said Eva.

Eva’s mother didn’t reply. She narrowed her eyes, then picked her cards and wool back up with a groan and a grunt. She started carding again, teasing out the tangles of rough wool into wispy strands.

“Mother, what?”

Her mother stopped carding, exasperation clear on her face. “I’ve told you before, dear. If you want a baby, and unless you wish to be all alone you do, then you must lie with a man.”

“But I don’t know how.”

Her mother laughed at her. “You grew up on a farm, girl.”

Eva felt her cheeks flush all over again.

“Am I to be a goat, mother? Or a hen?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be quite like that, dear, but, yes, that’s the general idea.”

Her mother rolled her eyes at the fireplace. “Look, if you’d have listened to me years ago, I’d have a beautiful little granddaughter running around right now, and there wouldn’t be such a rush. But there you have it.”

Beautiful. Eva had once thought her mother beautiful. Not now. Not this bent, swollen, ugly thing. Eva herself had never been beautiful.

“Too skinny,” her mother had told her, laughing. “Too many freckles on that pinched, little face. But who’s to care, dear? Who’s to see you but me?”

It was silly really. But years later it still stung.

#

Years had passed after that first visit to the man tree, years marked by harvests and winters and very occasional men picked from the tree. Back when her mother had been young and healthy there had been little need for the man tree’s fruit.

In those years Eva grew tall and strong. Her hips filled out, and her breasts swelled. She took over more and more tasks on their little farm. She still liked to run in the woods and swim in her little pool, but the games of childhood slowly faded away like dreams upon waking.

One evening in late fall, while Eva stirred a stew and her mother poked at the fire, her mother had said, “It’ll be a hard winter, and we don’t have near enough firewood. Let’s pick some fruit from the man tree tomorrow.”

“Oh, we can manage, mother.” Eva kept stirring.

“Fah. I tell you we’re short on time, dear. Snows will start soon, and I can’t swing an axe like I used to.” Her mother grinned in a way Eva didn’t understand, then nodded to herself. “Yes, tomorrow it is.”

The next day the man tree stood there as always, squat and ugly. Her mother took her time and selected a pod, splitting it open and releasing the man. He was broad-shouldered with thick black hair and looked about as squat as the tree itself. The air was chill, and her mother gave him some rough woolen clothing. Then she set him to work cutting and splitting firewood for the winter.

After two hard days, the man looked exhausted. Even so, he didn’t look as if he were about to die in another day. They never did that Eva could tell. Her mother gave him water but refused to waste food on him.

Well after dark, Eva was changing into sleeping clothes when her mother walked into the cabin with the man. He said nothing, but the way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. She quickly pulled a shift over her head, covering her nakedness. The man continued to watch her, and she thought she saw movement down between his legs.

Eva felt inexplicably alarmed. “Mother?”

“Eva, you’re a young woman now. It’s time you learned of the other use a man might have.” She paused.  “Wouldn’t you like a daughter of your own?”

Eva was confused. She felt her heartbeat thum up into her neck. “I don’t understand.”

Her mother sighed, the picture of infinite patience. “I’ve told you that men are like a ram to our ewe. You know where lambs come from. This is the other thing that a man is good for.”

Eva remained silent, watching her mother and the man. No one moved.

“Well, I’m not getting any younger. Unless you want to be all alone up here, someday you will need to have a daughter of your own. For that you will have to lie with a man. Would you like to lie with this one?”

Eva looked at the man. He was watching her. He looked like an animal, some great predator, eyes hungry. The whole thing was too much. Her mother’s practical tone was infuriating.

Finally Eva stammered, “I don’t know. I…” She swallowed hard with a dry mouth. “No, mother, no.” She fled up the ladder to their bed loft, not looking back, not understanding her own embarrassment and tears.

The man spent another long day cutting and splitting wood for them. Eva stayed in the farmyard and barn the entire day, avoiding the man and his hungry eyes. She kept pushing him out of her mind, but then the sound of the axe would make her flinch, and she would feel her cheeks flushing all over again.

Her mother sent him away that evening, just as she would any other man, ordering him to march into the woods and not return. When Eva moved towards the cabin door after dinner, her mother cocked her head from where she was scouring their cooking pot.

“I think there may be some late blackberries in the east wood,” said Eva. “I want to see if any are ripe.”

“Okay, dear, just don’t be long.”

“Of course.” Eva smiled, letting out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

Eva knew her forest like she knew her own body, and she could track the very wind if she wanted. The man wasn’t hard to find.

He was lying in the pine straw, not even very far from the cabin. He looked bad. His breath was shallow and rapid. His thick, black hair was starting to fall out in clumps. Her mother had taken back the clothing he’d worn, and his naked skin was cracking and weeping. There was no more hunger in those sunken, desperate eyes. He reached out a hand to Eva when he saw her, his mouth forming words without a sound. Then his arm fell limp at his side, and his eyes closed for the last time.

The sky shifted from purple dusk to full dark. She squatted in the straw and watched until his breathing finally stopped with a gasp and shudder. She kept watching while his skin crumbled, coming off in gray, flaking layers, exposing even more flakes beneath. Eventually his body folded into itself, settling into clumps of gray dust in the straw.

Eva felt bile rise in her throat, and she fought the urge to retch. It was the worst thing she’d ever seen. She hated the man then and the tree he came from. For the first time she could ever remember, a small part of her hated her mother too.

#

“Put another log on the fire, dear.” “Yes, mother.”

Eva poked at the embers, a little harder than she needed, getting them good and hot. She tossed a fresh log on the glowing coals, and a satisfying flare of heat washed over her as sparks flew. Her mother sighed behind her.

“You know men built this cabin, dear.” Eva knew but didn’t answer. “Men from the tree.

I would have died that first winter here without the man tree.” Her mother stared into the fire now, rocking with her hands folded in her lap, her wool long forgotten. “For all my running away, tramping up this mountain with a few animals and seeds, running away from the world…”

Her mother glanced at the crooked stick, then sighed once again as her eyes settled on Eva. “Oh dear, I do love this place,” said her mother. “But without the man tree this place would have killed me. Without the tree I never would have had you.”

“I know that mother.”

“Maybe it would be better for you out there.”

Eva gasped, a hand going to her throat. Her mother never spoke of “out there.” “Maybe the world has changed while we’ve hid up here.”

“Don’t say that, mother. This is my home.”

“Well, sure it is.” Her mother looked her up and down, smiling sadly. “But I do worry for you.” Another sigh. “Oh, the ways we fail our daughters…”

Eva bit her lip, tears suddenly burning her eyes. “I’ll do it, mother.”

Her mother smiled then, a smile far too sly. “Only if that’s what you really want.”

“Mother…” Eva caught herself, biting back words. She took a deep breath. “I’m going to bed now. Tomorrow I’ll pick a man from the tree.”

Eva tossed and turned in her furs. She could hear her mother snoring and gasping in her chair below, the ladder to the sleeping loft having long since become too much for her. When sleep came it was troubled by dark dreams: babies that grew on trees but looked like lambs that crumbled to gray dust when she tried to hold them.

#

“Pick a good one,” her mother called to Eva as she left. It would have been easier to sympathize with the dying woman if she hadn’t looked so pleased with herself.

The man tree stood there as always, looking older than the mountain behind it. The air was still crisp, and Eva wrapped her woolen shawl about her shoulders as she took her time in

the choosing. A good one. She needed a good one. But how would she know? What did she know of men, tree-grown or otherwise?

In the end she found a ripe pod, big but not too big, its flesh a lush green. She found the seam easily with her little knife and laid the pod open in one sure motion.

The man, naked as always, stepped out into the bright sunlight, wiping the fibrous, white tufts off his skin wordlessly. He was a big one, strong and broad of shoulder. His hair was brown, his face bare. His chest was hairy, but not as much as some. His jaw was strong, almost severe.

“Hello there,” Eva said, nervously trying for a smile.

The man just looked at her, his eyes as deep and gray as the mountainside. She thought she saw kindness there. At least he didn’t look ready to would devour her on the spot.

Eva took a deep breath. “Well, alright then. Let’s go.” Was her voice shaking?

They said nothing on the way back to the cabin. The man walked by her side, studying everything around them. Eva found herself studying him just as intently. What made a man good anyway?

When they stepped in from the spring sunshine, Eva stood twisting her hands nervously, tugging at her plain, woolen dress, the man at her side. Her mother, still in her chair by the fire, a blanket over her lap, looked the man up and down appreciatively and gave Eva a questioning tilt of her head.

Eva swallowed her irritation, pointedly not looking towards the naked man at her side. “What now?”

“Well, that’s up to you, dear.” Her mother nodded her head toward the loft, lifting her eyebrows.

Eva turned to the man, keeping her eyes on his face. He was watching her, but she had no idea what he could be thinking. She tried again for a smile, but it felt like a grimace.

“Man, let’s go for a walk.”

“Didn’t you just walk here?”

Eva ignored her mother. She found an old wool tunic and pants for the man to wear; his nakedness was distracting. He submitted to the clothing without argument, and off they went, her mother with a wry look from her place by the fire.

The walked through the forest together, but she had no idea what to say to the man. The only sounds were birds, the endless wind in the trees, and their bare feet slapping on well-worn paths. The silence rang in Eva’s skull. Was he a good man? What did that even mean? Was he any more than an animal? This all seemed a terrible idea. To her relief, he started asking questions.

“What’s that?”

“Hmm?” She saw he was pointing at a tree. “Oh, that’s a birch. That whole stand is birch trees.”

“What’s that?”

“A pine. Loblolly actually. And that’s a longleaf. See the needles?”

The man nodded, and Eva began to warm to the topic. This was her forest after all. “And this,” she said, “is a pear tree.”

She grabbed a low branch and, swinging up, plucked a ripe pear, presenting it to him as a gift. He took it tentatively, his face wary. She motioned for him to bite it, even rubbing her tummy for effect.

The man took a small bite as she watched. His gray eyes lit up as the meat of the fruit hit his tongue. It was a ripe one, and juice ran down his chin. A broad smile split his face.

“Thank you,” he said, chewing.

“You’re welcome.” Eva felt heat in her cheeks.

They walked that way for hours, he asking questions, she pointing out things she knew.

She showed him the mountain face and the granite looked like a reflection of his eyes. Who knew gray stone could look so warm?

Eva talked about her life. She told him what it was like growing up, just her and her mother. She showed him her favorite spots in the valley. He listened mostly, occasionally asking questions.

They ended up in a clearing not far from the crack in the rocks that led out of the valley. She told him the story of how her mother had found this place before Eva was born. How, half frozen, she had squeezed through that crack and found a little piece of heaven and made it home.

They could see for miles and miles. Low hills stretched out far below the mountain, little villages nestled in valleys like babes in arms. The walls of a city could be seen, made tiny by the distance.

“What’s that?” He asked, motioning outward into the void.

“It’s…” Eva didn’t have a word for it. For the first time, he had stumped her. “It’s… the whole wide world, I guess.”

“The Whole Wide World,” he said, wonder in his voice. Eva studied him as he looked out at the horizon, feeling a bit of wonder herself.

Suddenly a jaybird lit on bush nearby and gave its shrill cry. The man laughed out loud at the little bird and tried to recreate the sound. Head cocked, the bird looked at them with sharp, black eyes.

“What’s that?” The man asked. “Just a jay.”

“Jay.”

He smiled as he uttered the name, and those eyes of stone lit up with mirth. “So fierce for such a little fellow.” He tried once again to recreate the bird’s shriek, laughed at his own failure.

Eva laughed too, and in her secret heart she began to call him Jay. “Just to myself”, she thought, never out loud.

That night Eva insisted he join them for their evening meal. Her mother protested and was far from civil, scoffing as Eva chatted with the man, refusing to pass him the potatoes. By the end, Eva was furious. After dinner, Eva gave him a blanket.

“I’m sorry, but would you mind sleeping outside?”

He smiled. “Of course not. I’m excited to see these stars you spoke of.”

When he left, Eva’s mother guffawed. “What are you waiting for girl? They don’t last that long.”

Eva bit her tongue and continued cleaning the pots and bowls. She scrubbed until her fingers ached.

“Oh, dear,” her mother said. “You have so much to learn of the world and of men. Just another way I’ve failed you, I suppose.”

Eva gave her mother a cold look. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

But she didn’t sleep. She lay awake for hours, once again thinking of a man lying outside on the ground.

#

In the morning, after an awkward, silent breakfast with her mother, the man helped Eva with her chores. They weeded the garden, stealing glances at each other across rows of crops. They fed the chickens, and he laughed at the birds’ frantic pecking and scratching. They hauled water from the spring. The work went quickly with him to help, and Eva decided they should have a picnic for their lunch.

“What is a picnic?” He asked.

“You’ll see,” she said, enjoying a secret of her own.

Later, they sat in the clearing again overlooking the Whole Wide World. A blanket lay on the ground and they ate cheese and fruit and dry bread. It was fun to watch him eat. Surprise sprang to his face with every bite. He chewed slowly, savoring it. A piece of old cheese made him moan softly to himself. She laughed out loud at that.

He opened his eyes, finishing a particularly large bite, swallowing it down. “What is it?” “Oh, nothing. You I guess. I like spending time with you. You’re not like the other men and nothing like my mother.”

“What other men?” He blinked those beautiful, gray eyes.

“Oh, other men from the tree.” Eva suddenly realized what she was saying. “Other men, we, I mean, my mother has picked.”

“Where are these other men?” No suspicion, just curious.

“They, uh, went away.” Eva stuffed a piece of bread into her suddenly dry mouth.

“Oh, I couldn’t see going away. The Whole Wide World does look interesting, but I like it here. I like it here with you.”

Eva sighed to herself, a dull ache in her chest. She lay back on the blanket, her mind made up.

“Would you like to lie with me?”

His eyes widened in almost comical surprise as she pulled off her dress. Then she saw what she expected. There was the desire written on his face, the hunger for her. She pulled him down to her on the blanket, small rocks biting into her back. His mouth was on hers, and an ache in her chest spread until it filled her, painful but pleasantly so.

But then his weight was on her. The breeze was cool on her flank but his skin was hot, hot and scratchy. And he was so heavy. She felt suffocated and almost pushed him away, almost slapped at him with her hands. Then there was pain that made her gasp and she grabbed his shoulders with both hands, squeezing until her knuckles whitened, untrimmed nails digging into his skin.

The weight came off of her chest as he leaned back and looked down on her. She sucked in a breath of cool air. The blue sky framed his dark hair and his granite eyes, his face a mixture of desire and concern. And the girl who was never lonely realized that she had been all along. It was like finding an itch in a limb you didn’t even know you had.

Still in pain, she pulled his head back to hers, fingers wrapped in his hair, and gasping she kissed him on the soft skin behind his ear. Then quietly, with just a whisper of breath, she spoke a name. He shuddered and through the ache a shiver of fear ran down her spine, fear of something that couldn’t be taken back.

Jay pulled back and they lay still, looking into each other’s eyes. There was nothing but sunshine, and warmth, and animal smells, and him. She smiled then, and he laughed like ringing bells and covered her with kisses.

That night, she asked Jay to stay with her. They made love in her sleeping loft, wrapped in furs, heedless of her mother’s labored breathing down below, then again upon wakening in the predawn hours. They lay tangled together in the soft light, a sweaty, panting pile, furs tickling their naked skin, his brown hair tangled in her blonde.

“What do you want to do today?” Jay asked.

It was such a simple question, but Eva felt her breath catch in her throat. Today was the third day. Jay was supposed to die today. But he was no longer just a man; he was Jay. He was her Jay. He had a name. He wasn’t going to die.

She stroked his face, tracing his strong jawline. “We, uh, we need to talk.”

They quickly dressed and stole out of the cabin. Her mother snorted and tossed in her chair but didn’t waken.

Jay wondered at the blanket and foodstuffs she packed up as they went, but he didn’t press her. She waited until they got to their little spot overlooking the Whole Wide World, and then she told him everything. Most everything.

She told him about the man tree and how he would have died by the end of the day if she hadn’t named him. But that now he was Jay, and he would live. They could live together.

“But what about the other men?” He looked at her, confusion and concern furrowing his brow. “The ones who went away?”

“They, uh, didn’t go away so much as they, uh, died.”

Jay didn’t say anything. His face was stony, creases deepening around his beautiful eyes.

Eva reached out her hands to him.

“But you aren’t going to die. I saved you from that. I named you, you see? You are going to live. You are Jay. My Jay.”

“Your Jay,” he said, his voice and expression unreadable.

Eva felt a clawing desperation. “We can make this work. I can make it work, but my mother can not know you still live.” She saw his face darken and waved her hands, resisted the urge to grab hold of him. “At least not right now. I will be back, but you must stay away from the cabin, okay?”

“Stay away.”

Eva squeezed his hand, backing slowly away from him. “Yes, just stay away, only for a little while. I will work things out with my mother.”

Eva ran, skirts lifted, her bare feet slapping the ground. Turning once, she saw Jay staring after her, wind tousling his brown hair, looking small and lost.

When she got back to the cabin, she slowed, trying to catch her breath and look unhurried. Her mother was awake and stirring the small cook fire to life. The air in the cabin was stifling after her run.

“He’s gone then?” Taking Eva’s silence as assent, her mother went on with a grin. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Eva made a small sound in reply and started mixing some meal for a breakfast porridge. They ate in silence, her mother watching her with a shrewd eye, prattling on about babies and childbirth.

Finally the old woman said, “Are you alright, dear?”

Eva started like a deer. “Fine, mother, I’m fine. I, uh, I need to get started on my chores.” She fled without another word.

After she made a cursory round of the farmyard, Eva filled a skin with water and packed some apples and pears in a sack, looking over her shoulder for her mother the whole time. When she arrived at the clearing, there were two more men standing with Jay. She dropped the sack, and fruit scattered across the rocky soil.

Jay smiled broadly and raised a hand to the men, a child proudly showing off his accomplishment. “Eva, this is Robin and Squirrel.”

“Jay, what have you done?”

Jay looked confused. “I’m sorry. Are those not good names? You named me after the bird, so I thought—“

“No, no, no, no. You named them too?” Eva felt a sense of doom. She realized she was screaming at him. “Why, Jay, why did you pick them?”

The two new men exchanged a look. Jay swallowed. “Well, after we talked, I went to see the man tree. I stayed away from the cabin like you said, but I wanted to see the tree. These two’s pods were almost on the ground. Eva, they were going to die. They are my brothers. I couldn’t just let them die, could I?”

“Oh, my dear, sweet, Jay. Look, we’ll figure something out. Just… don’t pick anymore,

okay?”

“Okay, Eva. It will all be alright.” He smiled.

Eva stayed out of the cabin all day, working in the garden and the farmyard, avoiding her mother, avoiding Jay and the new men. She finally went inside as the sun was setting, smelling of earth, sweat, and goat. She felt jumpy all through dinner, still not at all sure what she would do.

“It’s a bit early to be getting queasy, dear.”

Eva realized she’d been stirring absently at her stew and hadn’t eaten a bite. “C’mon now, eat up. You need your strength to grow a baby.”

Her mother’s smile was a knife twisting into her. She excused herself and went to bed.

#

The next morning, Eva rushed back to Jay, her breath steaming in the cool air. There were four more men with him. Seven of them sat around a campfire. They fell silent as she approached. Seven sets of eyes watched her.

Jay rose and introduced the newcomers. They all had silly names, animals and plants. It made Jay’s name sound ridiculous too. Eva felt stupid, and that made her angry. She was furious with Jay, but she was frightened too. The men looked menacing all together in a group.

“Jay, can I speak with you alone?” “Of course,” he said, voice flat.

They walked a distance into the trees, and she rounded on him, gripping his arms. “Jay, what are we going to do with all of those men?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we could send them away?” His smile was twisted in a way she hadn’t seen before. “You know, like the other men?”

Eva felt a shock of fear. Her voice shook. “Jay, that’s not fair. You’re being cruel.”

“Cruel?” He barked a joyless laugh. “Fair? Eva, they were my brothers, and they were going to die. What was fair about that?”

“I… Jay, my mother… I…” Eva trailed off, backing away. “I have to go. Just please don’t pick anymore men, okay?”

Jay didn’t answer. Eva fled, bolting through the forest like a fox on the run. He did not call after her.

#

As the blood drained from her mother’s face, Eva was shocked that the sickly old woman could grow any paler. “You silly, little fool.”

“Mother, what are we going to do?” Eva was a teary-eyed mess.

Her mother nodded to herself, her wrinkled mouth a tight line. “First things first, we cut all the ripe pods off the tree. Won’t let them pick anymore. Then we deal with the men we’ve got.”

“Mother, these men are different. Names change them. They’re not tame creatures to be ordered about. They’re frightening.”

Her mother looked sad. “Men can be that way, dear. Yet annother thing I’ve done a poor job teaching you.”

The old woman heaved herself out of her chair, wincing as her swollen feet settled on the floor. She waddled to the fireplace, and reaching up, pulled down her old crooked stick. As Eva watched, she manipulated it the thing, twisting parts of it. It folded in the middle and Eva could see half of it was hollow.

“Mother, what are you doing? What is that?”

“This, my dear, is a gun.” She sighed, already breathing hard. “So many ways I’ve failed you. Let’s hope it still fires, hmm?”

With that, she shuffled out the door, grunting with each step, the gun lying across her shoulder.

The walk to the tree was endless. Eva felt eyes in the forest. She wanted to hurry her mother, but the old woman was struggling as it was. By the time they reached the man tree it was afternoon. Her mother was gasping for breath and had to lean against the tree, rubbing her swollen legs.

“Now,” her mother rasped out, “take the pruning knife and start cutting down those

pods.”

“Me?”

“Do I,” her mother had to pause for a breath, “look like I’m in any shape to do it? Go. Start with the biggest one there.”

Hands shaking, eyes darting, Eva reached up over her head with the knife and sawed away at the pod’s thick stalk. It wasn’t easy work, and soon she was breathing hard herself. Every noise from the forest froze her, and she would pause, waiting with clenched shoulders and jaw. Finally the stalk gave and it fell, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. Something writhed inside then stilled. It immediately began to gray, cracks appearing in its skin.

When Eva settled down off of her toes, there were seven men ringing the tree. Naked they stood, faces grim. She gasped and edged backwards, stumbling over roots, towards the trunk and her mother.

“So we find you here,” said Jay.

Eva’s mother stepped out to meet the men, looking stronger than she had in years. She unbent and brought the gun to her shoulder, meeting their glares with a straight back.

“You men be gone from this place. You’re not welcome here.”

One of the men, not Jay, stepped forward. “And why should we leave, murderer?”

“Murderer? Fah! You leave because this is my place, man, and I command it.”

“My name is Hawk.” The man stepped forward menacingly, fists clenched at his side. Her mother did something with her hand, and the air cracked with a noise like thunder.

Eva felt her teeth rattle in her skull, and fire and smoke belched from the end of the gun. The man, Hawk, stumbled backwards clutching at his chest. He fell hard on his rump, dark blood welling out between his fingers. His eyes stared dumbly with animal pain.

Two other men rushed her mother as she franticly worked with the gun. One snatched it away, stealing her balance. She tottered for a moment before he smashed the gun across her jaw with a sickening crack. She spun on one leg, almost graceful, before crumpling like an empty sack. And like a sack, she lay on the roots of the man tree, her neck at an odd angle, not moving a muscle.

Eva cried out. It turned into a whimper, and she fell back against the tree, shaking. No one said anything. The men all looked at each other.

Finally, Jay stepped forward, looking at Eva’s mother on the ground. “You’ve killed her.”

The man still holding the gun was defiant. “And what of it? She’s killed enough of us. Both of them have.”

All eyes turned to Eva. She whimpered again, and no one moved for a long moment. Her eyes darted from one hard face to another. They still surrounded her. Fear and horror froze her feet in place. Wind rustled the leaves overhead, and she felt lost in the shadows dancing around them.

From somewhere a rough hand grabbed her by the wrist, and she flinched. Jay said, “Come. We must run!”

Voices called out behind them, but they ran on. When they got to their little clearing with the world opening up below them, Eva fell in a heap and gasped where she lay, her sides burning. Jay stood over her, his face a stony mask. The tenderness was gone, the desire but a memory.

“You must leave this place,” he told her.

“Leave?” Eva looked around for an answer. The jaybird lit on a nearby bush again, screeching into the silence. “I can’t leave.”

“You must,” Jay repeated. “By nightfall, this valley will be full of men, men who bear you no goodwill. I can not protect you from them all.”

Eva started to cry again and got up onto her knees. “Come with me.”

“Is that a command?” His eyes were now as cold as the mountain behind him. Eva felt a chill despite the bright sunshine.

“Jay,” she said.

“Eva, don’t. You lied to me. You have killed my brothers.” He trailed off, looking away.

Just then another of the men came into the clearing and cried out. Jay turned to meet him and shouted, “Go!”

Eva fled, running like a hunted animal, running until her heart felt it would burst, tears streaming back in the wind.

She found the gap in the rocks that she had never passed through before. She navigated the bare slope that led down and away from her valley, sharp rocks cutting her bare feet. That night she curled up in the lee of a boulder, huddled against the cold mountain wind, and sobbed until sleep took her. She could smell smoke in the air. In the morning, the sky was filled with it as if her whole valley was burning. She fled down the mountain and out into the Whole Wide World.

#

Far away from the misty mountain, down below the clouds, out in the Whole Wide World, lived a mother and her little girl. They lived in many different places, and home was anywhere they could find a warm meal and a soft bed. The light was often harsh down there, and the air held little in the way of magic.

The mother had not grown up in the Whole Wide World, but she taught her daughter as best she could. They were different lessons than the ones she had learned from her own mother in their little valley, but in many ways much the same. How to gather herbs. What plants to pick when. But also when and when not to trust people. How to deal with men. As her mother learned before her, some lessons are harder to teach than others.

#

Once, years later on a city street, Eva saw Jay again. She was tending a market stall, selling wild herbs, potions, poultices, and teas. Her daughter, a dark-headed wisp of a thing with eyes as gray as the cobblestones, stood by her side in a dress dirty but well made, keeping an eye out for thieves while she played with a doll.

The crowd wasn’t buying that morning, and they flowed by like a river. Eva had long since gotten used to the press of people and merely watched them pass, indifferent, occasionally calling out. She wrinkled her nose as the breeze shifted; city smells she would never get used to.

It had been a good week, and they had eaten well. Her belly was full, but her face felt drawn and stretched. She rolled her shoulders, feeling tightly wound. Life was hard out in the Whole Wide World, and she often missed her little valley up on the mountain. She missed her mother.

And just then one of the faces stood out in the crowd like the first star of evening. Eva gasped and had to hold the table to keep from falling. He looked good, healthy and strong. He was walking along chatting with someone; Eva couldn’t even see whom. They were laughing at some private joke, and he didn’t look her way. Even so she could never miss that strong jaw and those lovely, granite eyes.

After they passed, Eva slowly eased her grip on the table, her knuckles aching. She looked down at the ground and let out a slow, shuddering breath. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful or disappointed he had passed by without noticing her. A small hand slid into her palm and pressed.

“Mother, who was that?”

She straightened up where she’d been leaning. “Oh, just a man, dear.” The lie barely even hurt. She smiled down at her daughter, felt a sting of tears she had thought dry long ago. “Just a man.”

Enoch Daniel is a surgeon who would usually rather be writing than cutting. His short fiction has been published in Teleport Magazine & Fiction on the Web. He also recently had an article published in Elephant Journal. He has a podcast and a blog where he explores how to be a better man. He lives in suburban Texas with his wife, 3 children, 1 dog, 1 cat, 1 hedgehog, and a rapidly shrinking flock of chickens.