All I’m saying, all I know and all I want you to hear, is that everybody could be happy with bigger hearts and smaller hands. We have so few responsibilities. Dip a cup into the stream. Everything else is just trouble we get ourselves into. The world so green and sunny grows its own food, scrubs its own air, charts its course without any interference from us. What falls from the trees is ours to enjoy until somebody builds a ladder, then lays it down against a post to make a fence. We’re passengers, or should be, not pilots nor even crew. Collect enough food from the bushes and trees to survive the trip should cover it. If necessary, kill something delicious. Trouble is, he thought—Oh, and stop taking what little I have. Trouble is, from seeing two trees we learn to imagine an orchard. Wild fire sweeping through the branches teaches us appetite. And spending two nights with the girl of my dreams, he imagined all other men murdered. In theory, he was a better lover than in practice, and in practice he was a better carpenter than a husbander of either girls or trees. He built my girl a house in the orchard and planted a fence all round. I couldn’t have taken her back, I suppose, so I clung to what I told myself was the better part of her and went on my way. His fruit trees choked on worms. His beautiful girl closed every window and door and grew more beautiful day by day and more distant. But the fence took root and flourished and fed on the generous earth and overgrew the orchard and the shut down house, the girl so green and sunny and the man who counted one, two, all.
Copyright © February 11, 2007 David Hodges
Very Short Novels 
9 comments
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February 11, 2007 at 9:37 pm
Jo
*applause*
This is a good one, I wish this novelette is longer than 299 words.
Sorry, Jo. No exceptions. But I thank you for your comment.
–David
February 11, 2007 at 9:51 pm
Lori
Again, you start with something rather mundane, and give it a twist that makes it your own.
Sad, though, that the sentiments represented by “We’re passengers, or should be, not pilots nor even crew” are already old…old before the bulk of our populations have been inspired to act on them. Or, old enough that our politicians have already rejected them.
Ah, well. This wasn’t really a political story-ette. Don’t mind me. 🙂
Thank you for your reaction, Lori. I never really expect to change anybody’s mind.
–David
February 12, 2007 at 6:53 pm
Annelisa
So, David… I’m not sure if I’ve got the meaning of this right…
Am I right in thinking this is about man’s greed to always take more than he needs, and about how it affects the daughter of the narrator, because she is cossetted away in this fenced in orchard, where the fences (perhaps metaphorical) have grown so strong she is trapped/ enclosed, whilst all around her the trees (life?) are dying?
Well, that was my interpretation, however you meant it 🙂
By the way, have I ever said to you that I think your stories are more like poems?
I like your reading, Annelisa, and I love the English word cossetted. I apologize for misleading you with “girl;” I should have used “girlfriend” throughout for “girl of my dreams.” And yes, many accuse me of poetry.
–David
February 12, 2007 at 11:52 pm
red dirt girl
mmmmmm…….I see this more as about our appetites…….how they grow more ferocious each time they are fed…….rather than sated……..and longing too, between the lines, the words – a ghostly rhythm……….
For me it’s all about that fence taking root, the earth thwarting our efforts to own anything.
–David
February 13, 2007 at 9:12 am
Lakshmi
My first thoughts- “The Lorax” Dr. Suess. Lady in the Ivory Tower [Girl in the wooden fence].. Human greed is best not dwelt on..
I will gladly claim Dr. Suess as an influence. Clear thinking, playfulness and ridiculous rhymes never go out of style.
–David
February 13, 2007 at 11:43 am
litlove
No, I tell you what this makes me think of and that’s Rousseau, who declaimed long and loud against the problem of property – the first and deepest cut into the generosity of the natural world. But this little piece identifies with Rousseau’s ethics in its first half and then with man’s inability not to become possessive in the second. But possession, whether because of the fecundity of nature, or the stronger instincts of the rival, is an unstable and unreliable force. Water, love, time, the seasons, even the strongest of desires, all slip through our fingers. Ah, David. You always make me wistful and reflective.
You do me more than justice, litlove. Property is hubris and original sin. And death to love. Rousseau had it right. What we own is murder.
–David
February 14, 2007 at 12:12 am
red dirt girl
I believe that’s what I love about this forum, David……..much like a painter………who creates with his own intent………then releases his creation to the world……..for interpretation by whomever………..we each bring our own slate, our stone tablet of experience, wants, desires, fears………..and through its filter, we read your words……….and your words feed us and become part of who we are and think……….so I beg your pardon to differ on interpretation……..you see it your way………and I see it mine……after all, now your words belong to me.
I love that, too, red dirt girl. You’ve reminded me why I express my own opinion so rarely in these comments and why it’s better always to refrain. The stories are yours now. Thank you.
–David
February 14, 2007 at 7:13 pm
annelisa
Ah, here it is…. thought, for some reason, you’d taken this story out… it just had a different name to that I remembered.
Btw – separate from the stories… this ‘mybloglog’ in the sidebar – I joined up, and have got emails saying I’ve got messages… but can’t find them… what am I doing wrong!!!
Another separate issue – Happy Valentine’s Day, David! Hope you and your partner in life have a lovely one!
Thank you Annelisa. I changed the name to disentangle this one from the 1.2.3. Unhappiness series. I’ll help you with mybloglog. And thank you, yes, we’ve just come back from a tango lesson!
–David
February 28, 2007 at 10:49 am
Annelisa
Darn it – I did it again, didn’t I!!!?!
My fault entirely.
–David