A short story - The Unconceited And The Walking

A Short Story by Joel Toombs

The Unconceited And The Walking


In the corner of the field stands a tree. It's a tall tree; sparse branches; lolling bough; a little lonely perhaps - over there in the corner. All the others are off lining the field's edge, or competing in bunches, populating the nearby woods and copses; leaning over the stream's meandering path. It's perhaps just a bit taller than its nearest neighbour (a birch - what a soppy companion) but this tree makes no excuses; no false pretence; no veiled conceits or hidden aspirations or longing towards being, say, a canadian oak; a biblical cedar or an ancient Boabab. Its just a tree. Branches knarled but leaves of green at least. In the corner of the field. A tree. It sways.

A man walks. His nails hurt. The soreness from where he has bitten them too far down to the tender skin; pulled shoots of flesh from the edge of where the cuticle meets finger tip; the pain is pushing through into his conciousness. He clenches his fist in an effort to quell the little burning, thrusts arms deeper into flimsy cagoule pockets. And walks. Mud spatters his degraded trainers. He skips and hops to avoid puddles and wet spots on the pebbly lane as best he can, wondering why the countryside seems to always have puddles - even when it is high summer... He doesn't yet know it but he is approaching the tree. No matter his choices, his lefts and his rights... his growing disaffection for the worst of the wet bits, we know he will soon end up there. That makes it his destiny. Because we know.

I am the walking man. I walk. I'm dodging the worst of the wet bits. At least most of these puddles have pebbles in them that if I get right on top of them will keep my soles above the plimsoll line. Stop them from letting the wet through. Hmmm. Plimsoll line. That would be funny if I was wearing plimsolls. It's quite funny anyway, I guess. Not funny 'ha-ha' just funny interesting. Argh! What am I thinking about plimsolls for? What the hell am I doing out here anyway? This was a stupid idea. I ought to be getting back. I'm wearing white trainers for crying out loud. Hmm, they're looking a bit old and crappy actually. Anyway..! No, that's it. This is stupid. I'm going back. What the hell am I doing out here? What the hell was I thinking?

Well, the walking man was walking because he had scooched off work early without being noticed, and had fancied a quick detour into the countryside so he could have a sneaky cigarette. Problem was... where to go where no one would see him? Oh, and what was he thinking? Well, we already know that...

He stops at the head of puddle that seemed to block his way. No clear pebbles visible to be stepped on. Good a place as any to turn back. Knock this silly idea on it's head...

He alights the little but very steep grassy verge and skirts his way around the puddle. Continues walking into the countryside. Away from his car.

Must remember to keep looking up, he thought. It's beautiful around here. huhhh. Smells good. SMELLS GOOD? What are you on about?! How can the countryside SMELL good? Anyway, feels great to be out here. Sun is shining ...sometimes. Hills are... alive. With the sound of... no, no. Don't go there. Hey, well that was cool... I think it was the thought of being out here that made me go past that puddle rather than the idea of having a cigarrette. That's a good sign. Hope I can get back past it on the way back. Maybe I should go back now while I can? Nah, no point - carry on. I've come this far. Must remember to keep looking up. It's beautiful out here. Huh. Keep looking up... That's good advice. Kepp looking up. Don't get bogged down. Don't let the b******s grind you down. I wonder who first said that? Anyway. Don't let it get you down. Got to keep your pecker up. PECKER UP?!! Anyway. Damn! Stupid silly bitch! Why'd she do it? IDIOT!! Aghh. I hate her for doing that. Of all the stupid, stupid... no wait, come on. It wasn't really her fault. Is it really her you're angry with? Come on. Be a man. Man up! Grow up a bit. Get over it. Forgive and forget. Huhhh. Smells good out here.

The walking man walks along the path, eyes glued down to the wet and the dry bits, not really noticing much more of the hedgerow on his left than the first foot or so up; the undulating earth on his right that turned into field now and hedge then; gritted driveway occassionally; pitted stone bridge sometimes... he misses seeing the rising greenery that sweeps up behind the hedgerow. It rises up like a mouldy, impending wave intent on engulfing the whole valley floor, with its cobbled bungalows, mottled farms and hoards of anoraked walkers. Most of whom who aren't wearing trainers. He doesn't see the long driveway visible half way up the impending mouldy wave, and doesn't spot its grand gateway badly hidden behind two tall Christmas Trees - and therefore he misses the point at which said driveway then bends out of sight towards its clearly very impressive, and quite possibly fake-Romantic mansion end. And he still doesn't know he's approaching a field.

Keep looking up. Actually WHY is that good advice? He says, looking up. I mean, generally speaking, what's UP? There's nothing much up there really. Why is it a symbolic phrase? Why look UP?? What does it mean? I suppose it's about seeing the bigger picture? Or maybe looking where you are going so you don't bump into things? Oh no - that's literal again, not symbolic... Well, what's DOWN? Pebbles. Wet bits. Hell. I suppose you can focus so much on avoiding all the little obstacles that you miss out on the bigger things; the amazing views. And you get a bit of an aching neck. Man, it's really cool out here. I love the countryside. I ought to come out here more. It really clears my head. I suppose I have been concentrating on the small stuff a bit much. I've just been head down. Charging forward. Not really looking where I'm going... just busy busy... and what FOR? I don't even like my job. I don't even believe in it. Computers? So what?! What about the countryside? I ought to work for ...uh, the countryside.
I've got bigger things to live for surely... Need to look up a bit more. Maybe that's why she did it. Maybe I've been being a pain. Too wrapped up in my own stuff. Look up more. Maybe God's UP. Maybe that's why they say it.

There he stops at a bend in the road. It is the end of the road. Because it leads up to someones house. Well, it's half built; looks like there's a workman up there, but it seems like it will be a house at some point. He spends a few minutes backtracking, starting back the way he came, turning back yet again; searching around for an alternative route past the building site. He settles on the worst choice which is a route straight out into the grassy field from the road; noticing only now that the hedgerow had stopped some way back. He meanders through the long grass, his trainers getting soaked; turns back a few times - each time grunting and then returning to persevere. The field drops down to the stream only about fifty metres away. A couple of trees try to hang their branches down into it. On the other side the field picks up where it left off, climbing slowly up, higher and higher, until it has become the imposing mouldy wave, swelling over the valley floor. Sucked up heavenward by an imaginary moon. Maybe a mouldy green moon that controls the tide of all the rolling hills and calmer plains.

He passes the building site anyway, where he can see the rest of this grassy field. He crosses it diagonally, not seeing a way through the other side. Ugh! This is just typical, he rants, this is just like my life - leading bloody nowhere! Just load of dead ends and only stupid, sopping, wet grass to mess up the way to bloody nowhere! Unghhh! He reaches it's far reaches where there is a barbed wire fence, long grass and a stream in the way of his continuing journey. He follows it round to the corner of the field. There is a wall. And a metal gate. And through the gate the path continues. Damn! It must have continued through the building site! I didn't need to go through the grass! Ughhh! He stands in the corner of the field, near the gate and decides this is the place where he will have his cigarette. He leans against the wall, which isn't very comfortable because it is a dry stone wall and has lots of big, sharp rocks sticking out all over the place, and so stands up again. But aren't you SUPPOSED to lean against walls when you have a cigarette? You NEVER see people in films standing up straight, not leaning on anything in the corner of a field smoking a cigarette. It's just not cool enough. Ugh. If I'm going to have this cigarette I want to at least lean on a bloody wall. But the wall is still uncomfortable, so he walks a few paces to a tree that stands in the corner of the field.

It's a tall tree; sparse branches; lolling bough; a little lonely perhaps - over there in the corner. All the others are off lining the field's edge, or competing in bunches, populating the nearby woods and copses; leaning over the stream's meandering path. It's perhaps just a bit taller than its nearest neighbour (a birch - what a soppy companion) but this tree makes no excuses; no false pretence; no veiled conceits or hidden aspirations; or longing towards being, say, a canadian oak; a biblical cedar or an ancient Boabab. Its just a tree. Branches knarled but leaves of green at least. In the corner of the field. A tree. It sways. His aim is to lean against it, to smoke his cigarette and then to leave back the way he came. Or at least back through the building site and THEN the way he came. But as he stands close to the tree, it creaks.

Woah! What the...? What was THAT?! He stands a few seconds. Waiting. The tree creaks again, and the man scampers back to the uncomfortable wall to have his cigarette, as far away as he guesses from the danger zone of any falling tree.

WAS it creaking? Or was it an animal? He thinks... allowing confusion to reign. Big flipping animal if it was. But then, I guess it could be magnified if it's inside the trunk. Like a big echo or something... At this point a squirrel appears over a big branch where it seperates from the main trunk. Aha! Says the man, feeling good about himself and his apparent insightful judgement. Just then the tree groans again. Woah! He says, stepping back again, even though he is outside of where he judged the danger area of any falling trees to be. Ah. OK. Not to worry. But that tree is DEFINITELY going to fall! And soon! Probably while I'm standing here... Could be any moment... The tree lets out another long, gutteral, throaty creak. Which is good, he thinks, because that trunk IS a bit like a throat. In some ways... He takes a drag on his cigarette. Just a short drag - he doesn't really like smoking, after all that... Doesn't want to get too much of of a headrush - makes him feel a bit nauseous to be honest. His nails hurt. Well, his finger tips hurt to be exact... Nails are just dead skin aren't they?

If it falls. Just if... will it make a big noise? No, no that's stupid. Of course it will. I mean... If I'm NOT HERE... then will it make a noise? If it falls... That's that question isn't it... If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one to hear it, does it still make a noise? The point being that you can never know 'cause if you were there to listen the experiment would be scuppered... Hmmm. I don't think it's going to fall. Maybe it's just creaking in the wind. It didn't sound like that sort of creaking though... I wonder if I'M going to fall? I wonder if MY life is just going to uproot at any moment - at THIS moment? I feel like it is. Like it could. Stupid girl. What did she do that for? What was she talking about? That was such a stupid argument. I know she didn't mean most of it. I know I didn't. It was like it was just expected of me to say the things I said. We were in an argument and so I had an obligation to be angry and say things I didn't mean. I wasn't even that annoyed! It's so stupid. I HOPE she didn't mean it. She'll calm down. She's such an idiot! How did it start anyway? Oh yeah... Anyway. Is my life going to fall down in a big silent pile of rubbish? Probably not I guess. I wonder what kinds of creaks I give out to the people at work; the people in the office... my family - her. My SISTER. Stupid idiot. Why did she tell them all that stuff about me? Hasn't she heard of family loyalty? Bitch! Aghh. Idiot! I can't believe she DID that! At MY birthday party too. Ohhh, I could KILL her! I really hope Becca didn't hear it. That would just be the WORST. Anyway.

The tree groans again. Go ON! Fall! I wonder why people are scared of approaching ME? Do I intimidate people? Anyway... Maybe it's not creaking. Maybe it talking to the other trees like in Lord Of The Rings. I wonder what it's saying.

"Oi lads! I mean, TREES! What IS this guy going on about?! Are you SURE we're not allowed to talk to humans 'cos I REALLY want to tell him to just SHUT UP! I've a good mind to just fall on him after all and have done with it!" "Ha ha!" "Groan" "Creak" [Other laughing/creaking/tree-ish sounds ensue all around]

The sun remains high and hot in the sky; birds wheel overhead. Clouds momentarily pass across, spreading shadow and cold across the valley floor like the council grit spreaders on the tarmac roads when it's about to snow. The man is lost in his thoughts. He finishes his cigarette about half way down and, feeling guilty, stubs it out on the ground and buries it under the dry stone wall. An old couple appraoch from the other side of the wall, negotiate the gate and with a nominal "heyup" pass by on the path through the building site and away back towards the village. He watches them. The lady wears a green fleece. He knows the sort. Zip down the front; probably Karimor or Outside. It is the kind of top he takes distinct aversion to, because of the fashionless middle England cosiness it signifies to him, but secretly he wishes he was fasionless enough himself to be able to wear it without huge bouts of guilt and self-repulsion. He remembers he is wearing his old cagoule. DAMMIT! I HATE this coat... I just WISH It wasn't the only waterproof thing I have. And it's not even bloody raining... People are going to see me and think I LIKE it. Ugh! Anyway... Her husband has a white cricket jumper tied around his shoulders. I'm sure they're nice-enough people, he thinks, I just HATE the way they dress! It's so... practical! So predictable... Don't they want to be individual? Unique - you know different - better? Better. That's it really. Nail on the head. I want to be BETTER than everyone else. In a nice way, of course. Is that wrong?

The tree stands in the corner of the field. It sways. Occasionally it creaks. Alright! Alright! Mr big sodding creaky-tree! He shouts at the tree, Whatever! I've had enough of your stupid creaking already! Just because you get to stand in a pretty field all day long and do nothing... worry about nothing... get stressed by nothing... He stops shouting out loud, not being able to keep up this dramatism without feeling stupid; and continues in his own thoughts, occasionally speaking out one or two words, but still feeling slightly silly each time. Alright, yes! I AM jealous! I would love to stand here all day long and not know about comuters; how they work and what they can do to make me and other fat people money! I hate work, I hate being single and I hate everything else OK? Satisfied now? But actually... you know what Mr Tree? I don't want to be a tree. Alright? Hear that? Creak creak moan moan...? Yeh? Kapiche? Because it might be nice now, but come winter when it's lashing it down with rain, it's cold and miserable... you'll still be here standing out in it all, or maybe a bit fallen down by then... and I'll be at home with my feet up looking at it out of the window. I might just turn the heating up and think of you eh? What do you think of THEM apples??!

Oh my gosh. I'm going crazy. I'm talking to a TREE! For goodness sake I knew this wasn't a good idea... I need to go home. Stupid headrush, I feel sick. I'm so knackered. So fed up of having to work so hard at everything. I'm so frustrated. What am I frustrated with? Ugh. I don't know. This is stupid. Right I'm going. Stupid tree's not going to fall. No point waiting.

The walking man walks off. This time back down the path through the building site. A few seconds later he re-appears on the road he approached by and his skipping trainers continue to dance through the puddles, avoiding the wet bits and standing on the pebbles until his pocketed figure disappears round a bend and for a moment the field is silent.

The wind breezes up the valley; surfs up the mouldy wave and tops out over the crest into the blue yonder. A groan. A creaking sound. No - that was a crack. That was DEFINITELY a cracking sound.

A splitting noise. A falling. A big crash! as the main branch of the unconceited tree falls to the ground. For a moment there is chaos in the grass below; the birds scatter, squawking and the squirrels look at each other and laugh from bending boughs. Amusing. Then silence falls again. Somewhere a car roars over a steep country peak. The man is long gone.

There is another man. He is coming from the other direction. He lives at the fake-Romantic mansion. He is upset. Whether he takes a right or a left he will end up at the tree. We know it. It is going to happen. Therefore it is his destiny. He is wearing wellies. He is walking straight through the puddles.