THE FIG TREE
- Oliver Selau
- há 5 dias
- 5 min de leitura
In the South, far in the South, on the banks of the Rio Grande, stood an enormous and beautiful fig tree. Majestic and imposing, with its strong roots and long branches, it seemed to embrace and protect anyone who approached it. No one could say for certain how many summers it had shared its beauty and grace among mortals. Some experts estimated that its sturdy trunk held at least a millennium of history. Christopher Columbus had not yet been born in Genoa, and it was already shading the Americas for a long time.
Over the years, the great tree witnessed bloody territorial disputes—Indians against Indians, Indians against farmers, farmers against farmers—but it also sheltered many hidden loves in its beautiful, long branches. Many lovers lingered there for hours, with their promises and vows of love. Over time, it met so many species of animals that it would be impossible to describe them all, some of which no longer exist. Yet, of all the stories it lived through, two the fig tree never forgot: the life of young Bartholomew and that of a swift, beautiful leopard that once lived among us.
The year was 1778. Bartholomew was a cultured young man, handsome and from a noble family. The son of a respected lawyer, he had lived in Paris to complete his studies. Upon his return, he reencountered Dora, with whom he had shared much joy in childhood, though their innocence had not yet allowed any deeper feelings to blossom. The lovely young woman with red hair and a sweet smile was the daughter of his neighbor’s maid. A simple and reserved girl, sometimes extremely shy. But childhood loves are clouds that sometimes linger in memory, and Bartho, as he was known, try as he might, could no longer erase from his mind that long, straight hair. The young man didn’t know exactly why he was so enchanted. Perhaps it was his old father’s disapproval, expecting him to meet a more suitable match—perhaps the daughter of Count Theodor or some other noble family. Or maybe it wasn’t his father at all; perhaps it was simply the girl’s simplicity or the sparkle in her eyes that had captured his impulsive heart. Yet, that young woman now brought him a joy that his friends and high society no longer could. Though it felt like a sin, the truth was that he was falling more in love each day. And although it was very dangerous—his father was a powerful man—it was impossible to deny or ignore that overwhelming passion. Fleeing became the best option. Bartho had never felt so much love in his heart.
On a Sunday morning, the entire town was in an uproar: the red-haired girl had left her fiancé at the altar, and now there was no turning back. The meeting was set, the boat prepared by Bartho. It would be at dawn, under the fig tree, by the river’s edge—the two witnesses to how that great love had begun. However, they needed to be very cautious; extra care was necessary, for abandoning her fiancé had left the young man distraught.
Around the year 1244, everyone would have been terrified, but in the South of the country, on the banks of a great river, lived a beautiful Leopard. Native to Asia and Africa, no one knew exactly how it ended up there. A skilled hunter, the panther could spend hours waiting for its next meal. And Leo, as it was called, rarely failed when on a mission. With piercing eyes, a keen sense of smell, and crouching low, when it pounced, it was deadly—swift and lethal. It was an ordinary late afternoon when a boat approached, and everyone could clearly hear what seemed to be the desperate screams of a woman. It was a terrified mother; her daughter had fallen into the water and was about to drown, too young and too frightened to swim. Two or three people jumped into the water to help, but Leo, agile as ever, leaped into the river and reached her first. Everyone watched in astonishment as he gently bit the girl’s collar and swam slowly toward the riverbank. When they finally emerged from the water, the girl was safe, breathing heavily and still somewhat scared—after all, she had nearly drowned.
The parents, still stunned, held their daughter tightly in their arms; Leo had rescued her. Meanwhile, in the nearby forest, Juvenal was hunting. Born and raised in the wilderness, he had learned to respect and fear all kinds of animals. The screams, which could be heard from afar, drew the cunning hunter to the scene by the river. Seeing the girl in her parents’ arms, he recalled the desperate cries that would never leave his mind. From a distance, the girl seemed lifeless, and in front of the family stood that aggressive animal. In an instant, Juvenal’s instincts kicked in, and a loud shot rang out. With a single bullet, the beautiful and heroic leopard was gone. Leo had saved the day, but Juvenal’s reaction had spoken louder than the leopard’s brave act in the end. In gratitude, the girl’s parents held an emotional funeral right there, under the fig tree. The fig tree’s shade was the last sight Leo saw in his final moments.
On the appointed day and time, when the boat arrived, the tension grew. The danger was real: the jilted fiancé was furious and had sworn to take revenge on the young man who had taken advantage of his love’s innocence. When the moment finally came, Dora and Bartho held hands and embraced the trunk of the dear fig tree in a gesture of gratitude. It had been the true witness and invisible protector of their ardent passion. The lovely couple boarded the boat and, waving, set off. Since then, the fig tree never saw them again—not under its branches, not from afar, not even by the river’s edge. Yet, the old fig tree, which had seen so much, never forgot that overwhelming and fiery love that blossomed beneath its long branches—the most intense and true love it had ever known in its many years.
Two stories, one fig tree. Two different perspectives on the same place. The same shade can represent the end of a life or the beginning of a love. Could it be that the place reflects who I am? In Leo’s tragedy or Bartho’s love, the fig tree was merely the stage. No matter how beautiful it is, the tree did not direct the play. In the drama of your life, you are both the actor and the author. Live wisely and don’t blame others for what you don’t have and wish for. It’s no use complaining about the tree; the same shade that cools and protects also casts shadows. You are the one who writes your story—the fig tree is the same for everyone.
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