Nobody remembered how the almond tree got there in the first place.
John, the guardian of the graveyard did not remember he ever planted it. Yet, there it stood in the middle of the graveyard, tall, straight and luminous, with its elongated leaves shimmering in the sun. It was the pride of the guardian, and his wife, Celine.
People came and went to visit their dead. All would stop a few moments in the shade of the almond tree to breathe, collect, reflect. They left relieved, and ready to go about their days.
One day, Celine was sipping black coffee in the veranda of their house, as John changed the water in a few vases.
A tall, bald man came in through the gate, holding the hand of a young girl. He was wearing a brown suit, she had satin white shoes and pink ribbons in her fair hair. She must have been no older than five.
They took the second alley on the left. Celine recognized the tomb they stopped at: it was a woman's who had died a month before. They had come from afar to bury her at the graveyard, and only a small group had seen the work through.
Celine put on her light coat, and went out. All around lavander and gorse bushes trimmed in various, regular shapes formed a geometric frame around the man and the child.
The child left a teddy bear on her mother's grave. Her father said a short prayer.
When they rested under the branches of the almond tree, Celine approached them.
"Welcome," she said giving a handful of candies to the child. "I am the guardian 's wife. My name is Celine Spark."
The child ran off with the candies.
"Good morning, Mrs. Spark," said the man. "Thank you for taking care of our dear ones," he said.
Celine recognized love and sorrow in the man's voice, and invited him to have coffee inside. Her husband would be happy to meet him.
As they had travelled for long hours, the man accepted.
They sat in the veranda together, where you could observe the big almond tree in blossom, in all its majestic grace.
John joined them soon afterwards, while the child played in the shade of the tree.
"This place has changed so much since I was a child," said the man.
"Oh, did you live in town?"
"Not exactly. I came to visit my grandfather here. He is buried there." He pointed towards the almond tree.
"But there are no graves there," said John. "That is our almond tree."
"Exactly there," repeated the man. "This place was a garden back then, and my grandfather was its gardener. He planted the almond tree."
Celine poured more coffee in the porcelain cups. John gaped.
"Well, the garden had belonged to my grandmother. They fell in love and got married young. However, my grandfather had to serve as a soldier in the war... "
"But there is no gravestone there," said John with a tiny bit of resentment. He thought he knew everything about his graveyard, which he had been tending for almost ten years.
"It was my grandfather's wish. He asked that they would bury his ashes in the earth, at the feet of the almond tree he had planted for my grandmother, so that his remains would nourish its life."
When the man and the child left, John and Celine stood gazing at the almond tree. All those years, they had had no clue about that tree and its story.
A longing for something deep, and enduring came over them. Their unquestioning life no longer seemed fitting to them. They had always considered the almond tree as their own, and were disappointed.
They planted new flowers and plants, even a few olive trees and cypresses, but nothing seemed to equal the almond tree in their eyes.
In all those years, they had witnessed how the almond tree had drawn the graveyard visitors to itself out of its beauty and majesty. No need for signs and gravestones. The simple presence of the tree comforted and soothed everyone.
John and Celine realized that the kind of love that had planted the tree in the first place had also fed it over decades, and it still carried on.
They started then taking care of the almond tree with more devotion than before, and enjoyed its loving influence even more.
