Mr. Edward James Aldington Climbs A Tree
by Adam Bunch
On the evening of Tuesday, the 16th of June 1881, Mr. Edward James Aldington – a London businessman on his way home from work – stopped at the base of a tree in Hyde Park. He was a tall and lanky gentleman, with wire-rimmed glasses and a black moustache. The night was warm and clear and silver.
The time had come. Mr. Aldington had had enough. He could no longer suffer the absurd routines of his daily life: the afternoons spent slavishly at the office, the nights spent bickering with his wife and tending to her ailing mother. He had had his fill.
And so, Mr. Aldington set his bag down in the moist grass, hung his hat and coat on a low branch and proceeded to strip quite completely naked. Then, following a few precautionary stretches, he hoisted himself up into the arms of the tree. It was a difficult feat – he slipped and bumped and groaned – but, before long, he had climbed his way into the very heart of the broad green leaves, hidden from view. His fingers were raw and his elbows bruised, but he had made it.
Life in the tree was difficult at first; it’s true. There were days that he went hungry, days that it rained, and days when he felt lonely thinking fondly upon all the things he had left behind. With time, however, he grew accustomed to his new life. He became stronger, his skin became calloused and his hair and beard grew long and wild. He learned how to catch squirrels and gather nuts. The tree was still far from paradise, but most days he found he was slightly happier up there than he had been on the ground, and that was good enough for him.
Most of his days were spent in quiet contemplation. Long hours were dedicated to thoughts of Darwin’s Origin of Species and Kant’s theories on the responsibility of the individual. At night, he let his eyes open to the light of the stars as they slipped silver through the leaves. Once asleep, he would dream of the ocean: a kaleidoscope of orange and yellow coral, blue and purple fish and great finned beasts of unfathomable wisdom. He dreamed that he swam with them through those cool blue waters, his body covered with smooth green scales and translucent fins. He dreamed that he was happy and woke with a smile on his face.
With the arrival of autumn and the thinning of the leaves, Mr. Aldington was shocked to find that he was not alone. The trees around him played host to half a dozen others. There was an old man who lived in the oak next-door and a young woman who made her home in a nearby cedar. An entire family had set themselves up in the maples. They kept to themselves mostly, these neighbours, but sometimes someone would nod or wave and Mr. Aldington would return the gesture. Once or twice he and the old man even said good morning.
Unfortunately, bare branches meant they were not only visible to each other; those on the ground could see them as well. At first, this caused quite a commotion. Passers-by gathered at the foot of Mr. Aldington’s tree. “What are you doing in that tree?” they called up to him. “Why don’t you come back down?” But Mr. Aldington said nothing in return.
At one point, even a policeman’s attention was attracted. He peered up in his little hat, waving his baton threateningly. “Come down this instant, sir!” he yelled. “Come down from that tree or I shall have to place you under arrest!” Mr. Aldington simply ignored him as well. In time, the constable – like everyone else – grew bored and went on his way. Things returned to normal.
But then, winter came. The nights grew bitterly cold. Mr. Aldington climbed down for his overcoat, which he now kept wrapped around himself at all times, but it provided little comfort. His fingers stung. His toes went numb. His skin turned pink, purple and white. Each morning, he woke to find his moustache frozen and frost in his hair.
The first to go was the old man. He died during the night in early December. The next morning, he was just there, dangling lifelessly with one leg caught in the fork of a branch. After him, it was one of the children, quietly toppling out of a maple and into the snow bank below. The child’s mother screamed gut-black screams for three days. Within weeks, she and the rest of the family would follow, one after the other like ripe fruit.
By the end of the month, the young woman in the cedar was the only one of Mr. Aldington’s neighbours still alive. She too, however, would not last long. It was just after midnight on New Year’s Eve when she tumbled from her tree to the sound of fireworks and cheers.
The next morning, it was 1862. Mr. Edward James Aldington woke early, climbed to the ground, slipped back into his clothes, grabbed his coat and his hat and his bag and headed home.