Summary

Barbara, while trying to distance herself from the distressing sound of a chainsaw felling a walnut tree, is overwhelmed by a shared emotional experience with the oak tree she leans against.

Abstract

The narrative describes Barbara's struggle to ignore the violent sounds of a chainsaw as her father prunes a walnut tree. She seeks refuge by an oak tree, attempting to focus on her book, but the sensory experience of the tree's "bloodless bleeding" and the sound of the chainsaw prove too much. Despite her efforts to dissociate, she feels a visceral connection to the oak tree, which seems to share the walnut tree's pain, leading her to confront her father and plead for him to stop the pruning.

Opinions

The author suggests a deep, empathetic connection between Barbara and nature, particularly the oak tree.
The use of onomatopoeia "Yie-ieh-ieh-iergh" emphasizes the disturbing impact of the chainsaw's sound on Barbara.
The concept of "bloodless bleeding" of the tree implies an anthropomorphic view of nature, where trees are given human-like attributes.
Barbara's internal conflict is evident as she tries to reconcile her understanding of nature's cycle ("Pruning is growing") with the emotional toll it takes on her.
The oak tree serves as a symbol of resilience and interconnectedness in nature, as it seems to absorb and transmit the distress of the felled walnut tree to Barbara.
The narrative conveys a subtle critique of human intervention in nature, highlighting the unseen emotional cost beyond the practical aspects of tree pruning.

Fiction

The Chainsaw and Bloodless Bleeding

An intimate connection to nature. Is it fiction? Or is her soul speaking?

The chainsaw howls like a wolf before she dismembers her prey. Yie-ieh-iergh, a small branch that emerged low on the stem bounces on the grass. Yie-ieh-ieh-iergh, a weighty branch from the crown crashes down. Yie-ieh-ieh-ieh-iergh.

The crown is empty now. Give it a day or so and the stem will bleed. Bloodless bleeding. Plasters won’t help.

Barbara sits with her back against an oak further down the garden and she hears the howling. She doesn’t dare to watch.

Afraid that the teeth will grab her father’s leg. Afraid that the crying of the walnut tree will tear through her soul. Afraid, just afraid. She concentrates on the words in her book, but they dance.

“Pruning is growing.”

She hears her father’s voice speak these words. But it doesn’t mean that she has to be a witness, stand alongside, face the agony of the walnut tree.

Isn’t she a witness then? Why does she associate this word only with eyes? Her ears hear, her skin feels and her stomach flinches.

The stem of the oak pushes against her back and she closes her eyes. Stones grow out of the earth and shape a semicircular wall behind which she can shelter. Slowly her ears hear again. The wind strokes her right cheek.

A bird sings. The sound is close. She opens one eye and sees a robin between the willows. Hi, Robin! He always surrounds her when she turns the soil in her vegetable garden.

The soil is so beautiful when it has just been weeded. Pristine, an empty page with unprecedented opportunities. Although, empty? She knows that soil life crawls down there, micro-organisms, worms, fungi.

She knows that she has to tame her longing for clean and weed-free soil and leave the earth alone. No digging, tough challenge…

She closes her eyes again and feels. Still behind the stone wall, though. She cannot help the walnut tree. His pain is not hers. Consoling is no option.

Barbara feels the rough oak bark through her t-shirt. Does she feel his moisture flow? Or is it his energy? Does it flow up or down?

She can’t feel it clearly. The rope in her stomach tightens. The texture of the knot changes. It becomes denser, tighter, the air pushes itself out of the fibers. Her leg trembles.

She allows the sensation to enter her body. Is this emotion hers? Is it anger? Fear? An immense wave overwhelms her brain, she has to let go of the book and as it touches the ground she knows.

She feels there is space between her body and the emotion. A thin membrane of light and color. It can’t be hers. It can’t be!

Suddenly the membrane is pierced and like a flash the emotion enters her brain. Yie-ieh-ieh-ieh-iergh, the savage teeth screech in her ears.

Blood spatters her skin. Bright yellow flashes pierce her sight. The oak’s fear is everywhere, embraces her, fills her up. How does he know? How can the oak feel the walnut tree’s pain?

Shrieking and hot, no escape possible. Fear, anxiety, angst. Barbara tears her back loose from the oak’s stem and rises. Her trembling legs move slowly through the grass. The stone wall gives way.

“Dad, stop it now!”

The sound of the chainsaw dies away.

“I’m ready, darling. What is it? You look pale.”