Broken Country (Reese’s Book Club)

37. Before

Before

The oak tree is pronounced dead in early June, first by David, then by Frank, then by a tree surgeon friend who can take it down for us, but it’s a big job and will have to wait until he’s free later in the summer.

“You can’t cut it down,” Bobby says. “It has to stay forever.”

He is bereft at the thought of losing the oak, we all are, it has always been the most magical spot on the farm.

David says: “But, Bobby, it’s too dangerous to leave it. If one of its branches came down in a gale it could kill you.”

“I won’t go near it in a gale, Grandpa.”

David stoops to put his face closer to Bobby’s. “Maybe the tree wants to be taken down. It’s old and sick and exhausted. It’s given us, and so many people before us, the best years of its life.”

Bobby nods at him. “All right, Grandpa,” he says.

The tree felling is planned for Saturday, the men will take care of it themselves.

When Saturday comes, Bobby is excited. While David and Frank and Jimmy make plans and read over the instructions left by the tree surgeon, he slides around the kitchen asking questions.

“Will it be noisy when it comes down?”

“Very,” David says. “It will make a crack like thunder.”

“Wow. Do you think it will make a huge gash in the earth?”

“I reckon so,” Frank says, looking up from the instructions to smile at his son.

“But, Bobby,” I say, “I don’t think you should go and watch. Because I’m not going to be there and the men will be too busy to keep an eye on you.”

I try to hug Bobby, but he pushes me off. “Why are you so mean?”

I see the look that passes between David and his sons: weariness, impatience. My fretting around safety irritates them.

“It will be fine,” David says, curtly.

“Frank? Have you forgotten I’m meeting Helen this morning?”

“For goodness’ sake, one of us will watch him.”

“Maybe I should cancel Helen,” I say.

“Don’t be silly,” Frank says. He crosses the room and takes me into his arms.

“What a worrywart you’re turning into in your old age.”

“Promise you won’t let him out of your sight? You know how he runs off.”

“Yes, woman. Go and have fun with your friend. Leave these noble foresters to get on with their work.”

Bobby whoops in delight.

Later, when I return to the farm, I go up to the field to visit our poor old oak, which I’m expecting to see lying on its side. I’m surprised to see the tree is still standing. It must have been a much harder job than they thought. The crown has already come down, and it saddens me to see it, this beautiful tree that has been such a big part of my life, of all our lives, now a vast trunk with butchered stumps. No wonder Bobby felt so upset.

I watch as David, Frank, and Jimmy step back from the tree to inspect their work. I can’t see Bobby anywhere—he must have got bored waiting and wandered off to see his sheep. I think about going to find him, then realize there’s no time.

There’s a great crack, just as David predicted, and the trunk begins to tip, almost in slow motion, it seems to me.

And now I do see Bobby, running right in front of its path, screaming first in joy, then in fear. A long, long, anguished scream, his, mine, me running toward him like a wild woman, as the film speeds up, just a flash of red shorts, pale legs, dark hair, before the oak crashes to the ground, turning everything black.

Frank and David and Jimmy start running. They’ve heard Bobby’s scream, seen the shrieking demon hurling herself toward her child but there’s no sign of Bobby. The trunk is so vast it has swallowed him whole.

I will never forget Frank’s face when he looks at me, the terror on it. He is frightened—of me. But I am not looking at Frank. Or David. Or Jimmy. My eyes are on the tree, slain like a vast mammal on its side.

“I am here, Bobby, I am here.” I scream it over and over again. Ten times. Twenty. It’s the only thing I can think of, if he can hear me, and please, God, may that be true, he needs to know I am here.

Frank is roaring, “Get it off him,” and trying, hopelessly, to raise it with his bare hands before his father stops him.

“I’ll get the towropes, son,” he says. “Call an ambulance.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I hear Frank’s exhaustive apology but I can’t connect to it, my mind is whirring with invented science and medical trivia as I try to hold on to hope. People survive the strangest things, they say that. We can’t hear him but that’s because he’s been knocked unconscious, a good thing. Perhaps he’ll have some broken limbs, we can cope with that.

“We told him to stay in the tractor,” Frank says. “He promised.”

“He was nine.”

Was. I said was.

I start to scream and Frank comes toward me but I hold up both hands to stop him. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

I just say it, I don’t even know why. Perhaps that I can’t bear to be held, I’m far too tense. Perhaps that, even now, before we know the outcome, I blame my husband for this needless accident.

He promised me he would watch Bobby. He promised he’d keep him safe.

And so we are apart when David drives the tractor forward, winching its colossal load, the dead tree rising inch by painful inch.

When the tree is a foot in the air, I see the first flash of red cotton and the sound that comes from me has no human in it, spirit shriek, ancient, guttural cry.

An ambulance has come through the gate and two paramedics are racing across the field with a stretcher, but I get to him first. My boy, my lovely boy, skull smashed, limbs broken and bloodied, but still him. Still mine. I lie down next to him as close as I can. He was right, the tree did make a huge gash in the earth.

I am here . I say it silently now. A pledge that has come too late, but I hope my words will find a way to reach him.

Bobby, I am here.