FIG tree

FIG tree
We couldn’t be that fig tree. ” said. “We couldn’t be as much as the fig tree that raised my father, me and my daughter.” The two old friends were sitting in the late afternoon of the balcony. Pointing at the fig tree, he continued to speak. “My grandfather planted this tree with his own hands. Of course, it was always field in those times. Here, cattle had grass at the market. There is a big dairy on the land, which is now the park. ”

The listener was going to ask the reason for the saying ‘we couldn’t be as big as a fig tree’; but the narrator was almost not breathing. “As you know, fig is durable like olives, it does not require much maintenance. Even if no one turns and looks at himself, God’s wisdom is. The fig planted by the deceased also lived alone. Neither my uncles, my aunt nor my father were interested. Though everybody in our family went to other sides like every branch of the fig tree. The routine strife among the brides, the accounts of the apartments to stay with my grandfather, and the fact that my uncles remained silent caused the family to break up. Each branch seemed to say that I am now a tree on my own. ”

The narrator was the host. He’s up. The listener had this opportunity. “Why is that?” said. “Couldn’t you be that fig tree?” He brewed the tea, came back. “They were going to cut the fig tree last week.” There was a long silence after this sentence. Silence as fresh as never spoken. Or silence as if you remembered a book you read again after a long time… “The fig tree is at the corner of the sidewalk. The house where he leaned back is old. If I said it is not a slum either. This is a house whose roof is half-sloped and the roof is according to it. Three storey. Two apartments are longer than the length of the fig. Contractor bought this building.

He wants to destroy it as soon as possible. It will be replaced by a multi-apartment apartment with few neighbors. He will give two of them to the owner of the old building and sell the rest for three or four times the price of the present. The building was emptied. The glass frame was removed.

A gigantic grader began to stub his big claws on the empty walls. The street earthmoving truck is full. When we say let me fill it up, our figs became a tie to them. The contractor said cut the tree. We heard so. We saw one of the workers is about to go to work with an ax in his hand. First, the neighbor who had a fight with our top floor objected, and then Uncle Hacı at the top of the street. I am after them. ”

Telling that he got up again to fill the tea. He kept on telling even from the kitchen. “I realized that that day I had not noticed the fig tree’s place in my life.” said. “When you said you would cut, you couldn’t cut, the crowd increased. As the crowd increased, I moved away from the ring gathered around the fig to the shadow. As I walked away, it was as if I was getting closer to myself, not to the shadow. At that moment, it seemed to me that if this tree is cut, our family will never come together again; If the fig continues its life, the hope of our family reuniting will always exist, even if it is far away. The grader stopped, the audience going on with the drivers. ”

The teas have arrived. Their candies were mixed together.

One sip was taken. “At that moment, the days when we played marbles next to the fig came to my mind. I thought about our neighborhood at that time. The days when everyone sweeps in front of their door. The days when our family was together. There was Uncle November, for example. With quince trees in the garden. Whenever our ball ran to his garden, he would scold us. But when the quinces came, he would serve us first. Then there was Aunt Nebahat. They lived alone with their spouse. They had no children. All of you would say you are my child. In one year, this tree gave a lot of fruit. He blessed the whole neighborhood with figs. I remember that I likened myself to ripening the fruit of figs to breastfeeding her baby. You can tear off any leaf or fruit of the fig, but if a white liquid flows through it, you get it sticky, it comes out hard. Here I compared the mother to the breastfeeding of the baby that the tree was nursing its fruit with the liquid similar to that milk and thus maturing. We are the last link in the generation of street children. The last generation to learn life on the street. Once we found a wounded bird and made it a cardboard nest with our children’s mind.

Of course he didn’t. I remember all the children in the neighborhood were present at her funeral. we buried at the bottom of the fig. “

Listening was thrown while the teas were refreshed. “So… Grader stopped, truck drivers watching. Then
what happened?” The narrator left the glasses on the table. “At that time, Hayriye Abla was brought forward. “No one can cut this fig while I’m here.” said. “When I moved to this neighborhood, the fig tree was here, still here. Now he is counted from the neighborhood fixtures. As long as our cars are parked on one side of the streets or even on the sidewalks, this fig is more of them than this one.