The Storyteller's Daughter by Maria Goodin

that is meant to say ‘Oh, please !’, I notice that he in fact looks perfectly serious.
    I raise an eyebrow quizzically.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, look at her,” he says, “she’s not bearing any fruit. All her branches are turning inward like she’s trying to hide away. Her leaves are small and dull in colour, as if she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. She clearly feels ashamed of who she is. She’s the classic example of a shy tree.”
    I study his face, searching for a sign that he’s joking.
    â€œA shy tree?” I repeat, thinking that might be one of the strangest phrases I’ve ever used.
    â€œOne of the most timid trees I’ve met. And it’s a shame, because as I was telling her ,” he says slowly and with emphasis, “she could really blossom if she just let herself go a bit. She’d be quite a beauty, in fact. I was trying to give her a bit of positive encouragement.”
    It takes me a moment to absorb the fact that, firstly, he is obviously completely serious; and secondly, if he is completely serious then that means… “I wasn’t trying to chat you up,” he says, “sorry if you got the wrong end of the stick.”
    Despite the fact that he is trying to sound sincerely sorry for my discomfort, I can see him battling with a smile, and it is clear that, once again, my mistake has provided welcome fodder for his amusement.
    â€œI didn’t think… I just,” I stammer, wondering how I can cover up my mistake. I can’t believe I thought he was saying those things to me! But hang on, why am I the one feeling silly? He’s the one who’s been talking to a tree!
    â€œWho in their right mind talks to trees?” I ask, rather harshly, trying to turn the focus back onto him and divert attention from my embarrassing mistake.
    â€œLots of people,” he says, matter-of-factly. “People always have done. All over the world people believe they can communicate with trees. Tree spirits play a role in all kinds of cultures. Native American, Hindu, Celtic… ”
    â€œThat’s only because those cultures still cling onto primitive ideas,” I tell him, authoritatively, determined that he will be the one who comes out of this feeling silly and not me. “This is twenty-first century Britain. If you want a tree to grow try using chemicals, don’t waste time talking to it.”
    â€œChemicals are nowhere near as effective as a few gentle words of encouragement and some stroking.”
    â€œStroking? You are kidding… ”
    He shakes his head. “Honestly, you can’t beat it.”
    â€œAnd how exactly does that help a tree grow?”
    He shakes his head and looks thoughtful, as if this is a question that has been a source of fascination and confusion to him for a long time. “I don’t know how exactly – ”
    I let out a loud sigh of despair. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s these new-age hippy types, people who go around hugging trees and banging on about vibes and spirits and souls and energy, as if they have any idea what energy – in the true scientific use of the word – actually means. People who claim that ghosts exist and telepathy works without ever being able to back up their argument with any proper data or scientific explanation, and who base their ‘knowledge’ on nothing more than a ‘hunch’ or a ‘feeling’.
    â€œTrees don’t have souls or spirits, and they certainly can’t understand you,” I tell him. “It’s all nonsense.”
    Rather than defending himself, as I would in his position, he just shrugs. Clearly my opinion doesn’t matter much to him either way, and he is happy enough to persist in his unfounded beliefs in spite of me. I have never understood how people can be like that and I find it both confusing and frustrating. Surely if someone