A short story by Anna Brown, Regent Street, Treorchy.

Olea europaea, or Ollie, as the subtropical evergreen tree was known to its neighbours, had stood at the centre of the olive grove for more than thirty years. It’s leathery, lance shaped leaves; dark green on the top and silvery below fluttered in the morning breeze.  All the other olive trees had tiny buds bursting from the axis of their leaves but Ollie’s leaves were barren.

     “Ho!  Ho!  I see there’s no chance of you baring fruit again this year,” the tree opposite sniggered. 

Ollie was used to being ridiculed so he took no notice.

     “Look at him,” the tree continued, “He’s gone into another of his day dreams.  What is it today Ollie? Are you dreaming of going down in history as a carved throne for Pharaoh?  Or perhaps, a chariot for a Gladiator.” 

The olive grove erupted with laughter.  

Ollie sighed; he couldn’t help being a dreamer.  From the first moment he’d popped out into the daylight his mother had filled him with ideas of grandeur. 

     “You Ollie, are going to be the most famous olive tree that ever lived,” she said. 

     “Don’t fill him with rubbish or he’ll grow up as vain as you,” a neighbouring tree spat. 

For twenty-five years, the confrontation between Ollie’s mother and the other trees in the grove continued until one morning when two woodcutters came to cut her down. 

     “She’s going at last,” the grove buzzed with excitement. 

Heart broken, Ollie reached out to his mother and entwined his branches with hers.  His sap flowed like tear drops as the woodcutter’s axes flashed in the sunlight and cut deep into her side.  

     “Don’t cry son; you must be brave.  Remember, you were born to be famous and famous trees don’t cry.” 

     “I can’t help it.  I love you.”

      “I love you too Ollie...........”  Then, almost tearing off Ollie’s branches she lurched and went crashing to the ground. 

Ollie was devastated.  For weeks his roots refused to take nutrients and water from the soil; he stared at the stump where his mother had stood, and grieved.

One morning when Ollie’s branches sagged to an all time low and his leaves had lost their lustre; a white dove flew down and perched on his branch. 

     “What’s up with you?” the dove cooed. “Why are you so sad?”

     “I’ve lost my mother and everyone here hates me.”

     “I don’t hate you,” the dove said side stepping along Ollie’s branch. 

     “You don’t.”    

     “No, of course I don’t.  I could be your friend, if you like?”

     “You mean you would really like to be my friend.”           

     “Yes, but you’ll have to start looking after yourself.  Look at you; you’re all dried up.  If you don’t feed properly, you’ll die.  Your mother wouldn’t want that, would she?”

Dove was right.  His mother had believed he’d be famous, so just for her sake he must at least try.  He fluttered his leaves, stretched out his branches, wiggled his roots and started feeding again. In no time, he was back to his former self, except he never again produced blossoms.   

Dove kept her word; she visited Ollie daily bringing interesting bits of news and snippets of gossip that she’d picked up during her daily flights.  When Ollie felt depressed Dove would sing to him and promise one day she’d find a way to help make him famous. 

     “Hey!  Hey!” The tree opposite shouted, bringing Ollie out of his daydreaming.  “Did you hear what I said?  Some famous olive tree you are; can’t even bare fruit.” 

     “Oh!  Shut up.” Ollie muttered and went back to sleep. 

     By the time Dove arrived, that afternoon, Ollie was in a deep slumber. 

     “Have I got news for you. ” Dove grasped Ollie’s branch and almost toppled off with excitement.

     “Oh!  It’s you Dove.  You startled me.” 

     “Sorry,” Dove said taking a few deep breaths, “I’ve so much to tell you.”

     “Good news.”  Ollie yawned.

     “Yes Ollie, very good news.  It’s that Jewish revolutionary; you know the one I told you about.  He wanders around Galilee and the surrounding countryside preaching the message of religious reform and divine love.”

     “Ollie nodded.”

     “Apparently he teaches that everyone’s sins can be forgiven, and everyone can be saved.  Not only that, he is said to have healing powers.  He can perform miracles.”

Ollie perked up.

     “I heard that he turned water into wine at a wedding feast at Cana and he fed a crowd of 5,000 with five loaves and two fishes.”

     “Really.” Ollie was enthralled.

     “Now, I was thinking, seeing that he can perform miracles; if I get him to come here, he could perform a miracle on you.  You would bare fruit again and then you really would be famous.”

The whole Olive Grove had suddenly become deathly quiet.  The trees were all bending forward to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Ollie’s girth expanded, “You’ll do that for me, Dove?” 

     “Of course I will, in fact I’ll go now.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Dove sprang from Ollie’s branch and soared high into the air.

     “Good luck,” Ollie called after her.

The weeks passed.  Dove failed to return and Ollie became increasingly concerned for her safety. 

     “Your friend is never coming back.  She’s probably in some stewing pot by now,” a large olive taunted. 

Ollie fretted, why hadn’t he stopped her going.  He didn’t care about being famous.  He just wanted his friend back safe and well.

Early the following morning, the sound of voices awoke Ollie.  Two men were walking up the path examining the trees.  Ollie stared at them, they were older now but he would have recognised then anywhere.    

     “We only need one more, Abe.  What about this one?  There are no blossoms on this one.”  Abe nodded and Ollie’s bark was marked with a cross.

The hatred Ollie had felt for the men when they felled his mother subsided.  Now he saw the men as his means of escape.  “Once I’ve been detached from these,” he wiggled his roots about in the earth, “I’ll be free to go off and live a life of luxury.  Then, a pang of sadness hit him at the thought of never seeing Dove again. “When I get away from this place maybe I’ll be able to find out what happened to her,” he thought.                                

Ollie willingly endured the pain of the woodcutter’s axe and waved goodbye to his tormentors when they chorused, “Goodbye, O Famous One and Good Riddance.”

After being stripped of his branches and bark Ollie was dragged into a clearing, loaded with other trees, onto a cart and driven away by two oxen. 

The journey, along a narrow winding road, was an uncomfortable one. He was relieved when he was tipped off outside a workshop. He had expected a clever carver with soft hands to arrive and mould him into something magnificent.    Instead, Jacob and Isaac, swarthy men with course hands came and set to work.  Each tree was sawn into planks of wood.  Ollie winced as enormous, crude nails were driven into his timbers.  

     “We’ll load these two crosses onto the cart,” said Jacob, “This heavy one,” he pointed to Ollie, “We’ll keep this one here for the political rebel.  We’ll see how clever he is tomorrow when he has to lug it all the way to Golgotha.”

     “A cross?”  Ollie cried, “After all the years of torment and ridicule I’ve endured.  I’m going to end up as a cross for a common criminal.”     

     “Ollie, Ollie,” a voice called from above.  It was dove flapping about overhead.  “Thank goodness I’ve found you.”

     “Oh! Dove my faithful friend, I’m so glad you’re safe.  Where have you been?”             

     “I’m sorry I’ve taken so long Ollie.” 

     “It’s alright Dove.  Even if you found the man, he couldn’t help me now.  No one can.  My mother was wrong.  I’m not going to be famous after all.  Please Dove, go away and remember me as I was.”

     “But Ollie, you don’t understand.  I did find the man.  He promised to come to you but the soldiers took him away.  This morning after days of searching, I found him again.  He was in chains, Ollie, but he told me to give you this message.  ‘Have faith in the Lord,’ he said and he will make you fa.............” Dove’s sentence was cut short by a stone from Isaac’s sling.

     “Damned birds,” Isaac spat into the dust. Dove dropped like a stone onto the roadway.  

Ollie stared at her body.  Dove who had only ever given friendship and love was dead. Anger surged through him.  If only he were human, he would strangle Isaac with his bare hands.  But he could do nothing; he was just a worthless lump of  ‘Wood’ and after tomorrow no one would know that he’d existed.                     

..........................................................................The end