The Walnut Tree

The sounds of a phone dialling… “Hello Mum?”

It was a difficult conversation.
I was trying to come to terms with the death of someone far away. Trying to find comfort from someone only slightly less far away. In the same country, but still not within arms length.

The house was empty and my voice, quiet and small as it was, still echoed.

There was a knock at the door. The shadow of a man.
“Mum, there’s a man at the door”.
A man I had never seen before. Tall, old, dressed uncomfortably in a suit. I figured he was here to talk to me about changing the light bulbs again, they always came at the wrong time.
“Stay on the line, I’ll get rid of him.”
I opened the door, the man shuffled nervously. He must have been new to this whole door-knocking thing.
I felt sorry for him. Not sorry enough to be polite. I was grieving!

“Yes?”

He paused. Knowing what was about to come out of his mouth was going to sound odd. I clocked the ute in the street. His obviously. I felt a sense of panic – and in the 4 and a half seconds before he answered I thought of all the possible ways this could go horribly wrong. I'd seen enough movies to know that a young woman at home by herself, shouldn't open the door to strange men. I tilted the phone outward so my mum could overhear the exchange.

“I was born in this house." He said.
"Would you mind if I came in? Took a look around?”

“Ummmm…”

He took a step back. He knew it was a no. And in this shift of weight, in his willingness to retreat I found a safety. “Sure”, I said. “Just give me a minute.” I closed the door on him, and walked out of earshot to tell my mum the scenario and ask her to ring back in five minutes. “If I don’t answer, call the police.”

I hung up, but kept the phone in my hand. As protection, I thought. What kind of protection I thought it would provide, I don't know. I returned to the door. The man was waiting there patiently. Awkwardly.

“Come on in.” I opened the door wider. He stepped inside.

He looked in each of the rooms. He didn’t say too much. And I didn’t ask.
He stopped outside the room opposite mine. He paused.
“Have you ever felt anything…”
“Like what?”
“Spirits, I suppose, you ever felt spirits around here.”

“I thought I saw a little girl once. But I have an overactive imagination.”

“Probably my sister. She died when she was 6, but she wouldn’t do you any harm. She just liked a little bit of mischief.”

He left me staring into the room, as he strode through to the doors that opened out to the back yard. “Do you mind?” He didn't wait for an answer, he flung open the doors and the giant walnut tree came into view. It towered over the house.

“They planted that when I was born.”
“You don’t look old enough.” I said. He did.

We stared at it for a moment. Its huge branches spanned the width of the yard. Now in winter they were just a skeleton of what they would be in a few months.
It was a long time we stared at it. My mind drifted to my friend. The one who had died.
We had sat beneath that walnut tree just a year ago. We had cracked open the nuts with large saucepans and pulled out the little brain shaped treasures inside. I wondered where her spirit was, I wished it would come and visit me.

“Well…” I made to wrap things up, but then he spoke.

“I just came from my wife’s funeral.”

“You did?”

He nodded. My phone burst into life, and I quickly moved to silence it.

“I’m sorry.” I said.

“We’d been married for 37 years.” His eyes returned to the walnut tree. But now they were full of tears. I reached for his hand. “I lost someone I loved today too.”

“I’m sorry” he said and he squeezed my hand. “Me too.”

And we stood there staring at the walnut tree in silence.
Until the police arrived.