8.28.07The Gingko Tree
By Tyler C. Gore
Does it represent One living creature
Which has divided itself?
Or are these Two which have decided,
That they should be as One?— GOETHE, “Ginkgo Biloba”
He met her that summer, just outside of his building, staring up into the leafy expanse of the tree by the curb. A strand of glossy hair had escaped her long plait and pressed against her face like a black feather.
“Gingko Biloba,” he said. She was confused. “The tree,” he explained. “Also known as the Maidenhair. Native to China. The last of its evolutionary branch. Sacred to Buddhists. The leaves are used medicinally.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling. “But I was looking at the bird. Columba livia. Rock dove. Better known as the common pigeon.”
The arborist and the ornithologist fell in love. She moved in. She brought back pretty things she’d found, and turned his barren apartment into a home. He worked for the Parks Commission; she worked for the zoo. They attended lectures, took long walks along the Hudson, went to nightclubs in Brooklyn. In the evenings, she nestled into the thick branches of his arms as they drifted into sleep.
But by winter, she had grown weary of the city, its confined spaces, its small grey patches of sky. She was restless. She mentioned Africa, South America, warm places populated with exotic birds.
He didn’t want to leave. His life was rooted in the city. His friends, his colleagues, his small daily pleasures.
They fought. They cried.
When the day came, he helped her load her bags into the taxi, and then stood on the curb, leaning on the tree for support. Before the cab pulled away, she rolled down the window to kiss him, but refused to say goodbye. “Who knows?” she said. “I may return in another season.”
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