In memory of my dear friend, Willie. He wrote this and never sent it for publication. Willie and I never met, but we shared emails and phone calls. He was a Texan who was proud of his heritage. Sadly, he passed away ten years ago. With the permission of his widow, I post this wonderful story. Here is part two.
Death of a Tree
By William R. Walker
Gnarl’s senses were stretched to the limit, as he worked overtime in a valiant effort to absorb all that was happening. Never in his long life had there been so much information to perceive, to feel, and to record. He felt the thin layer of life sustaining cambium under his thick outer bark swell and expand with the overpowering flood of raw data as he distributed these strange new impressions throughout his vast network of memory cells.
Gnarl absorbed every nuance of pain and terror the Mexicans experienced. He absorbed every detail of the insane killing rage that held the attacking Texans in an iron grip as they waded through a terrified and confused enemy that was more than twice their number. Before long, the sharp report of musket fire dwindled to an occasional pop as the Texans switched to clubbing and stabbing, not taking the time to reload their single-shot weapons.
Eighteen short minutes later, the fighting ended. Around Gnarls trunk, blood from almost one thousand slain Mexican soldiers was trampled and churned into the red and sticky morass. He was quick to note that among the many mounds of dead, lay the twisted and broken bodies of only two Texans.
Mounted Texans, driving dozens of frightened prisoners before them, then began to arrive in small groups. Gnarl sensed the Mexicans’ fear as they were corralled nearby. Next, the victorious Texans began stacking captured ordinance under his drooping branches. There were countless kegs of black powder, wooden crates of primer, and explosive canister rounds for the cannon. As perceptive as Gnarl was, he did not sense the danger of having so much destructive material near at hand.
Later, as the blood red sun dipped below the distant horizon, the victorious Texas commander interviewed the captured Mexican dictator. It was at that moment that a large campfire built near Gnarl ignited a corner of the canvas that covered the ordinance.
Within seconds, the leaping and crackling flames reached his lower boughs, setting them ablaze. Gnarl felt no pain as the flames climbed higher and higher, consuming branch after branch of his evergreen leaves. Although there was no pain, he did experience a sense of loss because when he tried to whisper this new and unusual experience to the other oak trees, the message came out all garbled and unintelligible. Seconds later, his entire frame, from top to bottom, was ablaze.
The crackling and popping flames quickly consumed every leaf on Gnarls broad and mighty frame then died out. Only in a few places did the fire still flicker and burn, usually where a dead branch or gray streamer of Spanish moss had hung on through the winter. The damage was serious, but not fatal. Gnarl knew it would take the entire spring and summer to partially regenerate his foliage; his growth ring for this year would indeed be a thin one.
What Gnarl really missed, even after only a few brief moments, was the ability to communicate these strange new sensations and impressions to his fellow live oaks. Without a thick coat of leaves, he had no way of impregnating the warm gulf breeze with his whispered tales. He gave his loss a brief thought then dismissed it. After all, he could still perceive and record his impressions for later telling, and he could listen to the other live oak trees tell their tales. With his usual sense of duty, he resumed his job of gathering and storing information.
