Stem and Leaf Plots

By Virginia Arthur

Eco-fiction is fiction in which real earth ecology is a major component of the plot such that it goes beyond just the setting. Virginia Arthur.

 

A lovely yet wry collection of eco-fiction short stories, part sheer pleasure, part humor, part grief and pain, part relentless social/political commentary, calls for change.

 

The Stories

 

A Strangler Fig (Ficus macrophylla) Grows in Eden

When a self-absorbed aging woman is pitted against a sprawling fig tree, who wins?

 

It's So Lovely to Live in the Country (A Constantly Repeating True Story)

It's so lovely to live in the country, as long you don't go outside.

 

All Forces Maligned (Driving Nora Home)

Short of a lightening bolt to Nora's head, just about all that is left 'from the universe', can anything bring these two sisters together?

 

Di Voce Quae Loquebatur de Ligno Caudis (The Voice That Spoke From the Stumps)

The cutting down of beloved trees results in epiphany, the grasping for life, in this young man.

 

Doe

An abandoned doe, an abandoned daughter.

 

Restoration Ecology

Fairy slippers do not equal her fairy tale, but she knew this all along.

 

Lame Duck

When a child tells you of suffering, listen.

 

Free the Teacher, Free the Child

Why do we adhere to a 400 year old 'model' of education that forces our growing children, our teachers, into chairs all day? Don't we love our boxes!

 

Bugged

Academia revealed—by a cloud?

 

Winter Girl

When comfort comes not from people, but from the earth.

 

About the title and cover: stem and leaf plots are a type of distribution table (similar to a histogram) used in statistics. The title and cover of the book are a play on this statistical method, pun intended.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Virginia Arthur
• Release date: Nov 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781792355332

Virginia Arthur

Virginia Arthur was born wild. She took to exploring the wilds of her new Ohio suburban jungle by the time she was ten, launching great birding expeditions in between backhoes and bulldozers. Her bird list grew shorter in direct correlation with the number of homes growing larger such that by the time she was 12, she was a raging environmentalist, before the word even existed. This delighted her parents to no end. She continued on this profoundly pointless and frustrating path by earning a B.S. in Field Biology and a M.S. in Botany (Ecology) only to continue the exploring, observing of a country at war with its natural self. She weaves these experiences into her novels but it's not all downerville. She sprinkles some wacky on top. She has published three novels, all “comedic-drama”. Her first novel, Birdbrain, an eco-political fiction novel based on real life experiences, was published in 2014. Phat('s) Chance for Buddha in Houston (Or How I Spent My Summer Vacation), men's coming-of-age short fiction, was published in 2015. In September 2018, she published her latest, Treed, also eco-political fiction.  

Book preview

Stem and Leaf Plots

Ten Eco-fiction Short Stories

by

Virginia Arthur

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A Strangler Fig (Ficus macrophylla) Grows in Eden......................................... 3

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It's So Lovely to Live in the Country

(A Constantly Repeating True Story)................................................................. 17

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All Forces Maligned (Driving Nora Home)....................................................... 21

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Di Voce Quae Loquebatur de Ligno Caudis.

(The Voice That Spoke From the Stumps)........................................................ 31

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Doe........................................................................................................................ 34

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Restoration Ecology............................................................................................ 52

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Lame Duck.......................................................................................................... 57

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Free the Teacher, Free the Child....................................................................... 71

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Bugged................................................................................................................. 74

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Winter Girl......................................................................................................... 82

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About the title and cover: stem and leaf plots are a type of distribution table (similar to a histogram) used in statistics. The title and cover of the book are a play on this statistical method, pun intended.

A Strangler Fig (Ficus macrophylla) Grows In Eden

This is all your fault. You're a terrible person, a terrible real estate agent. You're evil, a witch. In fact, you probably set this whole thing up. Rowena slammed the phone down. Cursing under her breath, she waited for it to ring but it didn't. Not this time.

You son-of-bitch, Hugh. 

She paced. Grabbing the receiver and dialing, she got her real estate agent's voice mail—of course.

"Muriel, I'm sorry (no she wasn't, not at all). You're not really a...but you have to admit, three days before closing, with all I have planned not the least of which is the money? I mean, the trip? MY LIFE? She paused. Not used to being contrite, she had to summon it up. I...I...I would appreciate it if you would call me back and I'm...I'm sorry. You're not a bitch...or a witch. Please. Call me."

15 minutes later, she called again.

Muriel, I am just going to have the tree cut down. I am going to find someone today and have it cut down immediately. This is the only solution. I told you he never asked me, Hugh. He just planted it one day, without talking to me about it...and, well, you see the result. It's Hugh's fault, this whole thing, and if he hadn't left me the money— A call was beeping in.

Are you going to be nice? Muriel asked. Because if you are going to—

What are we going to do?

I will talk to the buyers today and see what we can work out but it may require an allowance from you to fix the sidewalk and—

Fix the sidewalk? Fix the sidewalk? I don't even own the GODDAMNED sidewalk!

Rowena, you HAVE to let me talk.  Uncharacteristically, Rowena got quiet. "This is the point, Rowena. The city can cite you or the buyers for the way the tree has pushed up the sidewalk. The buyers have every right to be concerned—"

Yes, but why NOW? Why didn't you get out in front of this Muriel? For Christ sakes.

"Rowena? STOP. Do you want to take care of this, or insult me some more and Rowena? It is in the disclosure, the sidewalk. The disclosure THEY signed." Any other client, she would have exerted the energy to explain these things happen all the time as it nears closing; it starts to sink in what the buyers are about to do, they actually READ things, get jittery, but she was exhausted already by Mrs. Rowena Favor who would never listen to her anyway, having lived in the same house almost 40 years. She had never held a job, as far as Muriel could tell, or been in the world in any real way. What was truly staggering is that her husband stuck with her, speaking of witches, bitches...

And who called the city? Did you?

Muriel sighed. No I didn't call the city and I don't think they did either. The sidewalk is buckled and they are rightfully concerned. It's just too bad your homeowner's insurance won't cover it.

"The property is ABOUT THE TREE. It's ALL ABOUT THE TREE AS YOU KNOW and NOW they are worried about the sidewalk?" She parted the curtains to look at it, what HE planted, though at the time, she didn't notice, or care; he planted a lot of things in the yard. 

Looking out the window, for a glimmer she saw what other people saw, the ones that would stop to look at the tree, the roots, like massive gray muscular arms, gripping the ground, holding on, bearing down, pushing up the sidewalk. She cocked her head to the side. They really were kind of remarkable, and the crown that had shaded their house from the hot California sun for decades. Somewhere under it was her wedding ring, flung off in a fury when he would not talk to her, on his way to play golf or wherever it was he went. She always meant to look for it.

They are expecting a call from me. Let me call them. I will call you back. Muriel hung up. Muriel's voice wrenched Rowena out of her reluctant reverie back into her easily accessed fury. The asshole. He had NO RIGHT to plant that tree, put her in this situation, $125,000 worth of life insurance or NOT!

They had been married almost 40 years, if marriage means living under the same roof. Community colleges in California were free then and the two sisters signed up together, Rowena's younger sister finishing a certificate in bookkeeping that provided her a steady career while Rowena was courted by a not too extraordinary guy, ordinary enough to induce her to drop out and get married. He went on to get his B.S. and she went home to the house they bought. He never discussed having children and she never felt all that compelled about it either...At about ten years, she started hating him, permanently stationing herself in the guest bedroom. It went into something neither of them could quite figure out—tolerating one another. Why? Why 'tolerate' someone for 30 years? But when he would be on his business trips, she would miss him until he would get home then she would count down to when he would leave again. Why do I hate him so much? she would ask herself. There was nothing awful about him, aside from that he was very boring, at least to her; his walks and gardening, neither of which she wanted to do. Golf. GOLF? God no. After he retired from his insurance firm, she tried the walks, golf, gardening, always unhappy. One day, he just stopped talking. She would get up and he would be gone. No note. Nothing. She would be relieved to see him gone yet if it got too late, worry=her hamster wheel. Sometimes he would go to church on Sunday mornings. She wasn't even sure the church until after he died and a friend of his suggested it for his funeral. He had so many friends! So many she didn't know. She had to work very hard to conceal her surprise. Was she at the right funeral?

Three days. Three days before closing and three days before I leave for Bali. What assholes. If I didn't want the money, I would just pull the hell out, she said to no one. She looked at all the new clothes on the love-seat. She was still sorting. Her Bali pile was striking, all the colors. The lovely mu mu in peaches and pinks. She planned on wearing it with her low slung gold sequined sandals along with her new giant straw hat with the orange flowered sash. How many times she pictured herself wearing this ensemble, strolling down a pristine beach (no doubt attracting so many men). Lord, she was ready.

She made herself a martini and went out on the deck where she could look down on the magnificent fucking tree. Some bird landed in it and sang. This was the first time she had ever really noticed any bird. It was black, white, and orange, matched her mu mu. She didn't realize birds could even look like this.

The fourth martini found her dressed in her Bali ensemble, cussing and stamping on the uphill end of the upended sidewalk, hard to miss. People already drove by to look at the tree but now there was a bonus—a drunk 68 year old woman in a loud outfit (with hat) apparently trying to stomp down the chunk of the sidewalk being claimed by the fig root. Phones clicked.

Oblivious and exhausted, Rowena stumbled off to look for something...What was it again? This resulted in her collapsing at the base of the tree and hanging on to one of it's 'arms' to stop the spinning. Hours later, she was awakened by a cop. Somebody had called.

**********

Staring at the empty martini glass lying next to her, the officer yelled, you're Mrs. Favor? Mrs Favor?  It was around 6:00 p.m. A few neighbors stood with him that even if she didn't know/care about, they knew/cared about her. Paramedics were on the way. One of the neighbors looked at the cop, shook her head and mouthed dead.

Rowena mumbled, cussed. 

She's alive, someone said. 

Mrs. Favor? he yelled at her again.

"WHAT? she barked back, her eyes finally opening. Blinking several times, she asked, Hugh?"

No, Mrs. Favor. I am not Hugh, he yelled. My name is Officer Callen. I'm here because people were worried? Saw you face down here at the tree? This is quite the tree too, Mrs. Favor.

I'm not deaf and fuck the tree, Rowena answered. Just fuck the tree.

Hmm, somebody commented.

Has she had a stroke? someone else asked.

I think she's just drunk, someone answered.

The paramedics arrived. Somewhat sobered up, Rowena was mortified and gripping one of the 'arms' of the tree, announced she was perfectly fine and she wasn't getting into THAT, meaning the ambulance.

After confirming she had a few too many, they walked her into the house. The women put Rowena to bed. They left her a note.

**********

I'm sorry, Rowena, was the first thing out of Muriel's mouth. The sidewalk would have to be dealt with before putting the house up for sale again because every potential buyer would—cutting her off, Rowena declared she was going to Bali anyway and after returning, would have the tree cut down; nothing was going to keep her from walking down a Bali beach in that ensemble plus she had plenty of money for now, her life insurance money, and oh, one more thing—she informed Muriel she was fired. 

She tried to tell herself she had a lovely time in Bali but in truth, she wasn't sure. She never hit her stride, found her niche meaning a group of people to hang around with. She couldn't catch up with them most of the time, what they were saying, the things they would laugh about, sometimes politics. She hadn't heard of any of the people they talked about. Often she would find herself sitting alone at a table, drinking, smiling, checking her watch to make it appear she was waiting for someone. She did walk down the beach in her Bali ensemble, many times, always alone. After a month, when the money was starting to drain out just a bit, she returned to the house, hoping the tree would be dead, everything would be dead, making no arrangements to water anything in the peak of the summer in Southern California but the tree was fine, of course. Her resolve to have the tree removed, cut down, severed, destroyed, was stronger than ever especially since she was down to $80,000. She tried not to think about the $45,000 she had spent in one month, quite honestly she didn't know where it all went aside from some new clothes that were not all that expensive. It was the hotel, too fancy perhaps, and all the drinks. Still, she was getting his retirement soon though the letter she got from his now former company (bought out) was a little confusing.

While she was not having a ball in Bali, someone that had clicked a photo of her stomping down the sidewalk had posted it on the web and it had gone viral, making her famous for all the wrong reasons. Never learning to use 'their' computer, still in Hugh's office, she was entirely dismissive if not ignorant of this world so she had no idea. When she returned, her answering machine was full. There was one message from Muriel, confirming the cancellation of their real estate contract, the rest...

"Hi, is your refrigerator running? You better run and catch it...then stomp the shit out of it."

"I'm covering something up really special with MY fig leaves, baby."

"My name is Phil Rafnel. I am calling for Mrs. Rowena Favor. We're an international news outlet and we would love to see how things are with her sidewalk."

"Hi. Bill O. here. I got a jackhammer lady. 619-XXX-XXXX."

"Hi. You can stomp on me anytime! I'm into you sexy old ladies. Call me. XXX-XXX-XXXX."

"Hi. My name is Marie of Marie and Dave? Does that thing produce figs? We would love to come over and harvest them."

(The figs? It didn't even produce figs anybody could eat!)

A few of the other messages were just downright mean. She gasped and clutched her throat as if to hang on to something. How did they...? What was...?  Where did these messages come from? The paper. The cops came, ambulance. It must have made it into the police blotter part of the local paper=she had been humiliated without her knowledge. All the more reason to cut the damn tree down.

**********

She knew nothing about trees, growing them or cutting them down. This was always Hugh's area. How to find a tree removal service? With no computer, the ability to Google, she was forced to consult an old phone book (2014). Recalling something Hugh said to always get three bids, she started from the A's and worked her way to three companies still in business (this was at least a good sign?). The calls went like this:

You own the house with the giant fig tree? Uh...can I call you back?

Nobody in town wanted to cut it down. It was pretty famous and did she go to the city council or anything like that?. This infuriated Rowena. It's my house and my tree, she said back to them. I can do anything to it I want to. All well and good but not as far as they were concerned. Atrocious!

She would call Muriel who knew everybody. Muriel would think of someone and under the circumstances, certainly understand, even if she had sacked her; but Muriel didn't call back.

She was trying to avoid eye contact with