my friend, who, judging from the number of times he stopped to point out plants and animals, should work as a naturalist and not a computer programmer, introduced me to the moruša tree. As we stopped to sample its berries, I realized that I was no stranger to the moruša. In fact, surprisingly enough, this ordinary tree played a major role in my moral development.As a child, I spent most summer evenings running around the neighborhood with the kids who lived nearby. For a while, my best friend NIkki and I fell in with the wrong crowd. A girl who lived a block or so away, whose name for the life of me I can´t remember at this moment, led us into a life of crime. Next to this girl-with-a-forgotten-name´s house lived a crabby old lady who, as chance would have it, had a moruša (otherwise known as mulberry) tree in her backyard. Giving in to peer pressure (and because we liked the taste of the berries), Nikki and I were often convinced to sneak through the fence and help ourselves to the tree´s bounty. All went well until the day that aforementioned crabby old lady poked her head out of her screen door and in no uncertain terms yelled that the next time she found us in her yard eating her berries, our parents would hear about it. She lived up to her word, and soon, my parents sat me down and explained that no matter how tempting those berries were and no matter how strong the peer pressure was, the crabby lady´s tree bore forbidden fruit.
I heard, but did not listen to, my parents´ lecture. The next night, it was back to the tree. The only problem was, that night happened to be bath night, and I was no smooth criminal. As my mom helped me to get ready for my bath, she couldn´t help but notice that the soles of my feet were stained deep purple, the telling purple of a mulberry.
It was then that I told the first lie of my life, at least the first that I can remember. When she asked if I had been in crabby´s yard again, I looked straight in her eyes and told her no. She didn´t say a word, but I knew she knew.
I had almost forgotten about this episode until it all came rushing back as I bit into the mulberry the other night. While the memory may have escaped me, what hasn´t gone away is my complete inability to lie. The untrue words may come out of my mouth, but the color that my face turns when attempting to lie, strangely similar to that of a mulberry stain, inevitably gives me away.
Stay tuned: Môj brat
No comments:
Post a Comment