Mrs. Tree Seh Ar Piece - A Jamaican Tale

Mrs. Tree waan seh are perspective on tings. 

“Wha trouble yuh, my wife?” said Mr. Tree to Mrs. Tree.

She bawl out, cries Mr. Tree and the wind could hear.  “Lawddddd. Oh lawwddd,” she wailed.

“Husband, you nuh see what dem do to me?” she cry and she cry and she cry. “I was so beautiful. Remember when you marry me? I was young and strong and mi smell sweet, eh?”

“Why you tink seh yuh nuh pretty no more, mi wife?” Mr. Tree said to her.

Last evening on the small plantation there was an uprising. Many of the escaped slaves were captured.

“You see wha dem a do to me? In a mi pretty pretty hair dat take one hundred years to grow they go an burn bodies all up and down me. Lawd, mi sorrowful. Mi caan’t tek it. Dem put up some of mi best friend dem and dem mek their blood run all over mi body. All mi roots soak it up like sponge. What a way dem mess me. What a way dem kill me spirit, husband. “

Mr. Tree looked upon his wife, sad that they chose her instead of him. He spent  two hundred years carrying the dead bodies of the fallen. His wife was younger and it was her first time experiencing such a tragedy.

“Rain cyaan wash it off, husband. Storm, cyaan wash it off. Dem haffi burn mi down, mi cyaan live like this,” she screamed.

The wind howled her sorrows. Vultures tried their best to pick off as much as they could. But the taste of God’s chosen, Adam’s descendants, left a sour taste on their tongues.

“No my wife, don’t leave me. Don’t ask for it because surely the lightening will strike you and give you your wish.”

“Wha yuh expect me to do, sah? You see dem break off the branch holding Mrs. Bird’s eggs. Six babies dead. My good, good friend from long time gone. She seh she neva come back here again. Das my good good friend, yuh know dat, husband,” she said.

Mr. Tree began to cry. For many years he stood strong, but this was breaking his heart. The wind blew his tears, leaves and branches into Mrs. Tree, holding her and her sorrow as best he could.

Then a little girl no more than five, whose father was one of those lynched in Mrs. Tree’s once luscious, green crown, came up to Mrs. Tree.

“My Daddy is here now.” She laid herself on the blood-covered soil and roots, curling up into two of the biggest roots. She placed her cheek and chest against the brown bark of Mrs. Tree’s body. She wrapped her hands around Mrs. Tree. “Please don’t burn up, Mrs. Tree. My Daddy is here now.”

“My child, you hear wha mi seh?” Mrs. Tree said.

“I always hear you Mrs. Tree. You tell funny stories to Mrs. Bird. If you cyaan talk to her anymore, you can talk to me.”

“Oh my word. Thank you, baby. Thank you, sweet baby,” she said tearfully. “I am so sorry, my child.”

“Mrs. Tree, please don’t say that. You suffer just like me and just like Daddy.”

The little girl began to cry. The wind blew around them, bounded to this sorrow. Wind said to Mrs. Tree that he would never forget, long after they chopped her up and used her for kindling.

“I will remember your story, Mrs. Tree. And I will make sure to tell everyone,” Wind said.

The rain began to lightly fall and Rain spoke, “Mrs. Tree, I will bring as much water as I can to wash off your pain.”

Moon looked down on all of this and he said, “Mrs. Tree, I watched everything and I too will never forget. I will tell your story.”

Mrs. Tree could not lose her sorrow but she did find her comfort and strength.

Every day the little girl would visit and talk to her. Wind continued to blow away the souls captured in Mrs. Tree’s branches. Rain continued pour and the moon comforted with his soft, white light. And Mr. Tree spoke of Mrs. Tree’s good heart and majestic beauty every single day.

Eventually, she became the Mrs. Tree everybody remembered. But the nightmares continued as the story sailed on the air and coursed through earth by root systems.  Rain and Moon kept their promise. All the elements and all those with a listening ear carried her story generation after generation.

Mrs. Tree’s story was never forgotten.