Beneath the Olive Tree by Trevor Jodoin
In the small valley of Haven there was a café that sat at the edge of town. The café was small and had no seating inside. Instead they offered patio seating that surrounded the café. On the west side the patio faced out towards the hills, dry and barren, with a yellow hue cast by the rising sun. On the hills only one thing grew, a small olive tree that barely made enough shade for itself.
At the far end of the patio two men sat drinking and talking. The younger one sat with both feet firmly planted, shoulder width apart. Both elbows rested on the table hands clasped together as if he was praying, his glass between his elbows. The other man, who was much older judging by his graying beard, sat back in his chair with a walker at his side, squinting with deep blue eyes out at the hills.
“How long do you plan on being gone for?” said the young man.
“Haven’t given it much thought,” said the old man bringing his glass of whiskey to his lips and setting it back down. “I have some family in North Dakota I thought about visiting. Haven’t seen ‘em in years.”
“North Dakota? What is there to do in North Dakota?” said the young man.
The older man glanced at him, sneering. “We would spend a lot of time catching up of course. Talking about what we have been up to and reminisce about the past.”
As the young man struggled to conceal a smile he said, “You’re gonna talk about what’s been going on with you?” he laughed. “Sure you will.”
The old man turned and gave him a serious look. He said, “And why wouldn’t I?”
“You know exactly why not. You won’t even tell your kids.”
“That’s not true. I told you.”
“It’s not the same, I’m your grandson. You know I won’t judge you.”
The old man repositioned himself in his chair and stared back out at the hills. “It’s not that I am worried about their judgments,” he said. “I just don’t want them changing their lives to make time for me.”
A rabbit scurried across the hilltop, and headed down into his hole beneath the olive tree. “I don’t want them to feel like they need to spend more time with me because of it. I know they’d only be doing it to make themselves feel better after I leave.”
The younger man furrowed his brow. “Why do you think I spend time with you?” he said.
“Because you enjoy my company, and I enjoy yours,” the old man said grinning and raising his glass to the young man.
The young man gave a soft laugh and looked down at the table. In front of him papers spilled from a manila folder. He held up a paper with illegible writing on the back, as if it had been written by a doctor.
“Are you going to do anything about this or just let things run their course?” said the young man.
“You know I always do,” said the old man.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
The rabbit was back from his hole and heading down the hill towards the interstate. “I haven’t been afraid for a long time,” said the older gentleman.
“Is that why you’re doing that?” said the young man pointing to the glass in the old man’s hands. “Aren’t you worried that it could make it worse?”
“I think I’ve already past the point where doing less of it will make a huge difference.”
“Well it couldn’t hurt.”
“It might.”
A coyote came up over the hill and stopped to rest a moment under the small shade of the olive tree. The wind blew through its coat, refreshing it. As it stepped out into the sun, it squinted to survey the hillside. It began to move down the slope when it spotted the lonely rabbit hopping along unaware it was being watched. The young man picked up another paper and flipped his hand over to read the back. “This paper says they can prescribe you pills that help,” he said pausing as he read to himself, “but it does say that the pills might cause severe nausea or pain.”
“Well, that’s what the drinking is for,” said the old man. “Now put those papers back and finish your drink with me.”
The coyote trotted back up the hillside carrying something in his mouth. The sun had now reached its pinnacle and had descended on the interstate. The rabbit had disappeared.
“So,” said the young man putting down the papers, “North Dakota?”
“North Dakota,” said the old man.
