HAPPY LITTLE TREES

by Katrina Relf

The crowds had long since left. His paintings, which had so pleased his adoring audience, together with his easel and paints, were being driven back to the TV studio to await his next show. It suddenly dawned on Bob just how long he had been in the park. It was one of his favourite places, although unfortunately he was only able to visit once a year to give his annual tutorial to his very appreciative fans.

His life was full – filled with the thing that he loved the most – his art – and, perhaps because he was an artist, he saw beauty everywhere. It seemed only a few moments ago that he had been admiring the red and gold of the setting sun, and now the sky was almost black. It was definitely time to head back to his hotel, ready for the flight back to Florida tomorrow.

He knew he was heading in the right direction. He was approaching the drainage tunnel he had passed earlier – the strange tunnel that was lit from inside. He heard a movement and stopped suddenly, stepping back, just as a tall, cloaked figure emerged, but it was too late. The figure stopped, turned towards him, a low growl starting deep within his throat. Bob knew that it was no good panicking, no good running. His military training had taught him to face the enemy. He said, “I’m sorry if I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. I’m just on my way to try to find a cab.”

Vincent’s unique senses assured him that this was not a man to be feared. He realized at once that the stranger meant him no harm. His eyes were kind and gentle. He had a mass of curly hair and more facial hair than Vincent himself. Vincent spoke softly. “Please forgive me if I frightened you.”

“You haven’t frightened me,” the stranger replied. “Surprised me – yes – but not frightened me. I was in the Air Force. You’d be surprised at the sights I’ve seen. I’m sorry if I’m trespassing. It’s just that the light made me curious. What the heck. I’m always nosing around, looking for new pictures to paint.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Some people call me that. May I ask your name?”

“Vincent. And yours?”

“Bob. Vincent, as you didn’t seem too keen on my seeing you, I imagine that you don’t venture too far afield.”

“I walk the alleyways and back streets late at night when normally they are deserted. Do you travel far?”

“Here and there. There and here. Wherever there are trees and mountains for me to paint. And snow – I love snow. I was born in Florida, so naturally I had never seen snow until the Air Force stationed me in Alaska. And I love animals. That’s why I am wandering around the park so late at night. I found a baby squirrel on my lawn a few weeks ago. He seemed all alone, and so I’ve been feeding him and looking after him until he’s old enough to fend for himself. I call him ‘Pea Pod’. I did the same for a racoon a while back, but he’s been let loose now. He was becoming a handful.”

“One of my friends Below has a pet racoon. His name is Arthur.”

“Who? Your friend or the racoon?”

“The racoon. My friend’s name is Mouse.”

“To me that sounds the wrong way round. But what the heck? You mentioned ‘Below’. Is that where you live? Below the tunnel?”

“Yes. There is a network of tunnels and chambers, but it is a secret place, a safe place, a place of healing and peace. Can I trust you to keep our secret?”

“Of course, you can. It sounds like the ideal place.”

“We look out for each other and try to live as well as we can.”

“Pity our world isn’t more like that. Do you have a special friend, Vincent? Is there a lady in your life?”

“Yes, her name is Catherine. She lives Above. I am on my way to see her now.”

“From the love in your voice when you spoke her name, I would say that she is more than a special friend.”

“She is the woman I love. She is my life. But we can never be together. Truly together.”

“Why?”

“Because of who I am. Because of what I am.”

“I have no idea who you are, or what you are. Perhaps if you lowered that hood I would have a better idea.”

To his surprise the hood was pushed back. Vincent waited for his reaction, but there was none.

“Vincent, you are a beautiful human being, and the artist within me sees nothing but beauty on the outside as well.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Believe it, Vincent. I’m sure your Catherine does. Now go to her, take her in your arms and tell her how you feel.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“It is, Vincent. Believe in yourself.”

“It is just that I wish –” He paused.

“You wish what?”

“I wish I could be as others.”

“Vincent. We are all individuals. I doubt if anybody would wish to be my double. Look at the trees – you have tall ones, short ones, some downright ugly ones, but they don’t worry. They accept whatever life throws at them – be it rain, snow, or sun. And they are happy.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nature is a happy thing. It is a blessing in an otherwise troubled world.”

“I have always dreamed of seeing the mountains.”

“I can bring you the mountains, happy little clouds, rippling streams, a beautiful sunset and – let’s go crazy – lots of snow. What do you think of that, Vincent?”

“Yes, Bob. Let’s go crazy.”

The artist’s hand took the clawed hand in his – and a friendship was born.