Once upon a time, Samuel Swerling, a World War II veteran and inventor, decided to build a park. It would be filled with trees trained to grow in such a way that children could easily climb them. He hired Alonso Hannah, a one-armed arborist, and b...
Alonso and Pepita became a couple. She frequently came to the park to watch him prune shrubbery and plant bulbs, and the two of them would wander hand-in-hand up and down the park paths after he had finished the day's work. Since they so often sat together on one of my branches, I was able to observe the evolution of their love affair.
There is no question that both of them changed. The landscaper less noticeably, since a cucumber nose is a cucumber nose. But he intoned the arias from his favorite operas in a louder and more vigorous voice, and occasionally he even switched from tragic opera to lighthearted operetta, bellowing songs with lyrics like "a paradise of kisses" and "forever in your arms."
Alonso had a deeply sonorous voice that must have appealed to the ear of a highly trained musician, for I soon learned that Pepita was second violinist in the City Symphony Orchestra, and that she loved music in much the same way that Alonso Hannah loved the Samuel Swerling Park.
Funny, isn't it, how love can expand the horizons of our hearts?
Long after Alsono met Pepita, I saw another instance of the same thing.
Sam Swerling was still alive then, and very much involved with his family. Every Saturday morning, he would bring his nine-year-old granddaughter, Esther, to the park. Esther was a serious-looking child with large violet-blue eyes and a mouth that, when not moving, seemed less inclined to smile than to pout. Looks, however, can be deceiving, as she was actually friendly, happy, and quick to laugh. During their trips to the park, Esther would sit with her legs crossed Indian-style upon my lowest branch, Mr. Swerling would lean up against that same branch, and they often played a little game he made up called "What are they saying now?"
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It wasn't a game in the sense that anyone won or lost, but it did demand input from both participants, and it required a certain ingenuity.
From where she was perched on my branch, Esther and her grandfather had a panoramic view of the park. They could see most of the flowerbeds and pathways, the bridge, and most of the trees. We climbing trees are not clustered together like stalks of celery, but were artfully planted here and there throughout the park, within talking distance if we want to talk, but with enough space between the tips of our branches so that our knuckles - if we had knuckles - would not knock into each other on a windy day
This is how Mr. Swerling's "What are they saying now?" game worked.
Esther studied the men, women, and children in the park until she found one sufficiently odd or interesting.
She would point to that person and exclaim, "Him!" or "Her!"
Then it was the old gentleman's job to put words into that person's mouth for the sole purpose of amusing his nine-year-old grandchild.
Here are some examples:
Esther pointed at a sloppily dressed man in mechanic's overalls whose tool belt was clenched too tightly around a bulging belly. He had a scowling face, pudgy red cheeks, small angry eyes, and an unpleasant mouth. He had stomped into the park, not to enjoy the trees and flowers, but because he mistakenly believed there was another gate on the opposite side, and that by traversing the park he would save a five-minute walk.
