'The Apple Tree' by James Edwards
Posted by sregan | Filed under prose
My nerves roared as the propeller wind blasted back ferns and palms. A big chunky guy waved his arms frantically below us shouting something inaudible. I supposed this must be Miguel, the man I'd arranged to interview. He took my hand as I leapt out, shaking it fiercely while the helicopter took off again and got to a distance that allowed us to actually exchange some words. "Welcome to my home," said Miguel. "You wanna grab a beer? Then I can show you round."
He took me into a concrete bungalow and sat me down in his kitchen. I assumed the woman frying some sort of yellow tuber vegetable on an electric hob was his wife – she smiled and shook my hand in a perfunctory display of friendliness. "She doesn't speak English," Miguel explained.
I realised I was still clutching the letters I'd picked up from the Acosta Hotel reception as I was leaving to get the helicopter to Miguel's place. "What's that, letters from your girl?" asked Miguel.
"Yeah, from England." I put the bundle down on the kitchen table. My head still felt like a bomb had gone off in it from the ride. Sweat blossomed on my forehead.
I'd opened one of the letters walking through Iquitos. In blue script with tear-stains - I didn't have to read it to know what it was about. Phrases like miss you and love you jumped off the page. When are you coming home? I'd stuffed it back in the envelope.
"Hey man, you wanna take that walk now?" Miguel passed me a cold beer and I followed him outside.
I had come to interview Miguel about corruption in the local logging industry, for which he had once worked, and also about the area in general as he'd lived there all his life and was something of an expert on its history and social tensions. I was writing a feature for the Big Issue, with the working title Darkest Peru. I liked the Paddington Bear association. My Travels in Darkest Peru?
We walked along a concrete path and then through a lush patch of grass. "Look out for snakes," said Miguel as he led me into a lightly wooded area of his garden. The air was thick and potent. "I want to show you something before we do the interview."
Beyond the wooded section was an open clearing - a giant apple tree stood in the midst, laden with huge red-green fruit. "This is the only kind of apple tree that grows in the tropics," he said. I picked one of the apples and smelled it.
"Don't bite it man," said Miguel. "You see the hole?"
I noticed a small hole drilled into the apple.
"All these apples have a worm inside - you eat one tiny bit of the worm by mistake, it will kill you."
I scrutinized a few more apples and confirmed that they all had a single hole, slightly larger than the wormholes one might find in a British orchard. Miguel took my apple and sliced a chunk of it cleanly away with a machete. He gently coaxed a worm out, pale pink and wriggling, into the palm of his hand.
- James Edwards
