fiction
Killing the
Thorn
By Susie Finkbeiner
The man looked out at his garden. The fruit of his labor blossomed with juice and seed and brilliant colors. Reds and oranges. Greens and yellows. He took great delight in the growth, the promise of harvest.
Each morning he would go outside to walk around his garden. To sprinkle water over it. To pull weeds out. The early sunshine would warm his face, delight him in his work.
It is good work, he thought, feeling the soil in his hands. The smell of the planting. The taste of the produce. The sound of the birds. Yes. This is good work.
One day he noticed a new kind of plant. A plant he had not sown. It had a
Artwork by Ryan Hanberry sinister look. A dark, twisting appearance. He didn’ t know what it was. He ignored it, walking away, hoping it would grow, benign. That it would do no harm.
But the sinister plant continued to grow. Each day it grew larger, spreading out over more and more of the garden. The man was frustrated, afraid for his garden. But he didn’ t know what to do. So he did nothing. Simply allowed the fruitless plant to move further and further throughout his garden.
“ You know what you got there,” a friend said one day.“ You got yourself a thorn bush.”“ Yeah. I wondered,” the man said.“ What are you going to do about it?”“ I don’ t know. There doesn’ t seem to be much I can do.”“ Well, that thing’ s going to kill off your garden.” He squatted down, inspecting the garden.“ Looks like it already took over some. Your squash is just about squeezed out.”“ But there’ s nothing I can do.”“ Alright,” his friend shook his head.
“ I guess that’ s your choice.” His friend walked away, leaving the man to witness the destruction of his own garden.
By the end of the season, right at harvest, the man realized that his friend had been right. His garden had been destroyed.
He left it all in the ground. Turned his back on it and despaired. He believed there was nothing to be done.
Years later he sold the land. A family wanted to take it over. The family made it their home. They loved it there. Only one thing did they hate. The thorny wasteland.
“ We should have a garden,” the mother said.“ Right there, where the thorns are.”
“ You think it could be a good garden?” the father asked.“ Yes. But only if we can get rid of the thorns.” And so the family went to the field. They bore axes and shovels. They broke off the branches, protective gloves on their hands. Putting the thorn branches into a pile, they realized how large the problem was.
“ Is the job done now, father?” one of the children asked.“ Can we plant our vegetables?”
“ Not yet,” the father said.“ The threat is not gone.”“ Where is the threat?” another child asked.“ Under the ground. Where you cannot see.” The father got a shovel. He
3