‘Shalom, Yitzchak,’ the priest says, gripping the old man’s hand. ‘How are you, my friend? Your dear wife Rachel is still very much in my prayers.’
‘I am well, Father, even now, during these troubling times,’ Yitzchak replies.
‘Can we go now, Grandfather? It’s my turn to climb the tree and shake the branches,’ Livi pleads.
‘Patience, Livi. Remember your manners. Say hello to the Father first,’ Yitzchak chastises.
‘I’m sorry, Father. How are you?’
‘I am very well, young Livi. And you?’
‘I’m fine. It’s my turn to climb the tree, you know.’
‘I do. And we will leave very soon.’ The priest turns to Magda, who is shivering. ‘Are you sick?’ he asks her.
‘She’s fine, Father,’ Cibi says. ‘She just feels the cold. We’re all well.’
‘Well, then, let’s go and find that tree you seek. Which one is it again, Livi? The large oak out the back?’ he teases.
‘No, Father! It’s the linden tree. We’re to fetch flowers from the linden tree,’ an exasperated Livi fires back.
‘Of course. To the linden then. Follow me.’
But the girls run ahead and the priest and Yitzchak walk slowly behind, knowing that their young charges will wait by the gates to the priest’s home. He will open it and release the girls into the yard, in the centre of which stands the great linden tree.
He pretends to fumble with the keys, prolonging the girls’ excitement, but finally the gate is open and they stream through. The old man and the holy man watch the sisters shriek and chase each other onto the manicured lawn. They are twelve, fourteen and sixteen years of age, but they might as well be toddlers.
The magical tree dominates the garden. It is shelter on a summer’s day, a peaceful place any time of year, its soothing presence guaranteed to ease the worst of moods. The eldest of Vranov’s parishioners don’t remember a time when the tree wasn’t there, making it easily over one hundred years old. The tree, straight and very tall, looms above the town, the highest point for miles.
The girls dance around the tree, kicking up the early fall of flowers. They are there to shake the remaining flowers off its branches.
‘It’s been a good summer,’ Yitzchak observes, taking in the prolific flower growth: delicate pale yellow petals snuggled amongst the emerald green leaves.
‘It has indeed,’ says the priest. ‘There should be enough to keep the neighbourhood in tea for many months.’
‘Come on, Grandfather,’ yells Livi. ‘Spread the sheet. I want to start climbing.’
Yitzchak and the priest unfold the sheet and spread it on the ground.
Cibi reaches up and grabs a branch, shaking it gently. A veil of flowers tumble down.
‘No, Cibi! Let me get up there. You know it’s my turn to shake the branches first,’ Livi yells at her sister.
Cibi giggles. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Give me a hand, then. Help me up.’ Livi lifts her arms to grab the lowest branch and her sisters hoist her up. She climbs and climbs.
Then: ‘Here I go,’ she yells. Slowly, rhythmically, she starts bouncing on a thick limb, holding on to others above for balance. Cibi and Magda below twirl around as thousands of the delicate flowers float down, landing on the white sheet.
Livi moves around the tree, shaking and bouncing. She has flowers in her hair, covering her clothes. She squeals with delight. ‘I’m going to climb up higher,’ she calls.
‘Livia Meller!’ commands her grandfather. ‘You are not to climb any higher.’
‘But, Grandfather, I can do it. Don’t worry! And there are so many flowers up here.’
‘It’s time to come down, my dear. Look at the sheet. We have more than enough for our needs. You must learn to always leave plenty for others.’
With one last strong bounce, Livi reluctantly begins to climb down until she is back on the ground. The sheet is indeed densely laden with the fresh flowers which, once dried, will provide the tea – the elixir, as her mother calls it – to not only warm their bodies, but also to ward off and even cure any ailments that may befall them in the coming winter months.
The girls each take hold of a corner of the sheet. Yitzchak reaches for the fourth corner, his arthritic joints making bending difficult, but he manages.
‘One, two, three!’ Livi shouts, and the four of them take a few steps towards the centre of the sheet, pulling up the sides. The flowers gather in a large pile in the middle. Livi hands her corner to Cibi while Magda hands hers to her grandfather. The sheet is then pulled closed and with goodbyes and thank yous to the priest, they walk out of the gate, onto the footpath and towards home.