Trees and Souls / Bäume und Seelen

Das Buchprojekt von Jochen Hipp und Mary-Lynne Stadler

The bookproject of Jochen Hipp and Mary-Lynne Stadler

• Ein zweisprachiges illustriertes Geschichts-und Märchenbuch für Erwachsene. 120 Seiten. VK-Pteis: Euro 29,90 UPE

A bilingual illustrated book with short-stories and ferrytales for adults. Euro 29,90 Recommended Retailprice

Mary-Lynne and myself have worked on this project for more than two years. It was in our minds even much longer but we did not know how time-consuming it finally became. Me, in Cyprus- Mary-Lynne in Ibiza. My stories had to be translated by her and to be combined with her illustrations. More that 200 drawings, sketches, paintings etc finally came down to 70 in the book. But the result has become extraordinary.

Printed on 170 grams and 200 grams high quality glossy paper makes it an adventure and brings pure joy to the reader. One can use it as an artbook, a good-night theme-book. As a book for reading at a late summer evening at sunset or with a hot tea in front of a fireplace. One can read it again and again and discover every time something new.

Here is one of my favourite short stories in English. If this is bringing you appetite for more, just contact us and we will be happy to send you a book.

The Matchmaker Tree

Original in German by Jochen Hipp

Translated by Mary-Lynne Stadler

The old olive tree had been part of the landscape for as long as anyone could remember – a part of the field, when there had been a field there; a part of the meadow, when there had been a meadow there.

It had spread its broad crown over farm labourers seeking shelter from the scorching midday sun, and offered cooling shade to grateful sheep and goats. Its discretion had covered lovers, and the backs of the sad had taken in solace from its broad trunk. It had even stretched out its strong branches to carry the ropes of those who could no longer stand life’s burdens.

After a century or so, it began to grow gnarls, then its south-facing side, always and ever facing the sun, hardened to the strength of steel then split open until new bark grew over to cover the wound – a scar as tough and as impenetrable as the old skin had been; an armour to protect the tree’s soft core and make it possible for the tree to live in such an inhospitable place.

Another hundred years passed. Children who had played under the tree’s green canopy had grown into lovers there and later moved on into an old age of longing for an end to life as they sat under its spreading branches, then passed away as generation followed generation.

And still the ancient tree stood, steadfast and loyal. Quite unsuspecting of the plans for construction when they came to begin the work on the field, it continued to stretch green shoots towards the sun and rain as ever before; breathed in the dry air when it was dry and thankfully soaked up every tiny drop of moisture when it was wet.

Still it stood, firm and unmoved in its ancient spot, even as the digger moved closer and closer, passing back and forth, back and forth. And, as he worked the big noisy machine from side to side, the digger driver began to recall the tree from his youth as though it were yesterday. There was that little split in the bark just where the branches forked, where he would wedge those notes for her. Even now he felt his heart pound again as it did back then, as he remembered running to the tree in the evening, after work, to see if she had replied. He recalled, oh so vividly, the bliss of finding her longed-for response in that very same split, and their lovers’ trysts under its branches, and their first ever kiss there. He remembered, too, all the years that had followed, and pictured again the twig that he had taken, laid on her coffin when she’d died. Then he rubbed his cheek as he called to mind the feel of the bark on his cheek when he’d leant, sobbing, after he had buried her.

Was he to just annihilate this tree, this part of his life, without a second thought, as though it were of no consequence at all? It would be like killing a part of himself.

No, it simply could not be done! He could never destroy that tree, and he would do what he could to save it, even if that meant moving heaven and earth! And as he thought the thought he realised what it was he needed to do. If he could not stop the builders, then he would move the tree that was, after all, his alter ego.

It was an undertaking that would become a legendary adventure and the talk of many for years and generations to come.

For 200 years or more the roots had worked themselves deep into the ground and its bedrock, and loosening them without causing any damage called for every last vestige of his experience with the digger. Bit by bit, though, he managed to tease them from the soil, all the time calling and coaxing the tree to yield and help him in his task. Finally, after many days, they had loosened sufficiently to allow him to delicately work his machine to lift the tree out – and the ground heaved a deep sigh as it gave up its old friend and companion.

‘Old trees are like old people,’ the man had thought, ‘neither transplants easily,’ so he had given much thought to the matter of the best place place for its new home. Above all, it needed to be somewhere safe – well, as safe as anywhere could be in this day and age. Then he also need to ensure that there would be someone in the future who would care enough, as he did, to keep the tree from harm.

There was only one place that he could think of – in his garden, behind the  house that had belonged to his family for generations and that would, God willing, remain in the family for many more to come.

It took him many days to dig a whole wide enough and deep enough to take the mass of tangled roots and, even as he dug he prayed to the family saint that the tree would take to its new home.

On the day of the big event the old man became very quiet and inward-looking as he ran through all the plans in his mind. They – he and his friends – would need to be very careful as they lifted the tree from its centuries-long home and move it cautiously onto the back of the truck. They would wrap the roots in wet sacking to keep them from drying out. They would drive the 20 km to the old man’s garden slowly and with especially great care…

And so it was, and all the neighbours and friends came to watch as they moved the tree off the truck and poised it carefully over the hole that would be its new home, and planted it so that its sun-hardened side would, once again, face the sun. And as the tree sank into the wet ground it seemed to heave a deep sigh that echoed the old man’s great sigh of relief. and the ground wrapped itself around the roots in welcome.

The old man stood watching, with his grandson by his side, as the roots were covered with rich earth and compost, and for a long time afterwards they stood, silent.

Pruned hard back, the tree looked bare and skeletal. They had taken off all the branches and twigs before the move to help the tree conserve its energy in its core and send it to the roots to reach out into the new soil.

Finally the old man spoke and told the little boy all his stories about the tree, and how the tree had brought his family into being. Then he took the boy’s hand and laid it on the old tree’s wrinkled bark and together they felt the life force within the tree, and in that instant the child understood, without being told, that one day it would fall to him to care for the tree.

When, in Spring they saw new shoots beginning to appear, and branches that were brown becoming festooned in greenery, the old man knew that his lifelong companion had settled in and taken to its new abode.

Many years later, when the old man’s life came to its end they buried the urn that held his ashes between the roots of his old friend and ever since then it is I, the grandson, who watches over the tree and my grandfather as I hope my own grandchild will one day for us three.

Hören Sie sich die Kurzgeschichte ” Mein Freund der Baum” auf YouTube an!