Black Leaves

Dana Goldblatt

Black leaves falling, all around; last autumn we had gold, orange, brown, all bright or mottled with green and insect-tasted; now we have black, a shiny brown-black like eyeliner, on whole and perfect leaves, which refuse even to decay. They rule in dark splendor over every lawn with trees.

And the deciduous do not darken alone. The evergreens too feel the blight, if it is a blight. Whole pine forests are dropping black needles in the places pines grow; Christmas tree wholesalers are desperate. The science section of the newspaper had a long article on the problem, the point of which was that no one understood what the problem was. No one even knew about it before last year; and few believed it to be serious before this September.

We shall all suffocate slowly, my husband says. He is referring to the common belief that it is the world's forests which supply our oxygen. I do not trust this. There are too many other plants for the trees to be so vital, I think.

We are going to the woods, he and I, and our daughter, to see something which may be going out of the world.

Packing the supplies we need in several boxes and putting those into the trunk on top of the tent, I am able to stop thinking over and over that this is the last camping trip I shall take. I am able to trust my mind while my hands are occupied.

Tricia helped me pack for a while but tired quickly and went to take a nap. Now she will be awake for the ride, which means whining and silly games. If I am lucky, Allen will be in a cheerful mood and keep her occupied; otherwise I will have to do it. When we return, the leaves will cover the lawn, and we will not be able to see the grass.

Allen read an article from the December issue of `Geo Science' on the train this afternoon. Photosynthesis has been replaced by a different but closely related process in trees, which releases ammonia in small quantities, as well as oxygen and carbon dioxide. It creates some kind of long chainlike molecules in the leaves. Allen says it's like the leaves are a plastic factory instead of a food factory.

I told him that was impossible, it would kill the trees. It is killing them, he said. I still didn't believe it, but I stopped arguing. He'd read the article, not me.

Soon we are on our way to the campgrounds. Tricia plays window Bingo with Allen while I drive. The colorful billboards are a contrast to the black trees.

We put our tent up yesterday evening at twilight. When we arrived, there were at least thirty tents and motor homes; by the time we got our tent assembled nearly ten had left.

This morning there were fifteen still here. Allen and I dressed ourselves and Tricia and set out on a nature hike. Spotting a small yellow flower with dark green leaves, I asked Allen its name, was surprised that he didn't know. Tricia picked some dandelions. Except for the lack of brilliant foliage, the woods seemed the same as on any late October weekend.

We returned to our tent, Tricia clutching a fistful of dandelions with a black-eyed susan reigning over the bouquet. Allen had picked a handful of leaves off a maple tree which seemed especially afflicted. Its bark was much darker than it should have been, according to Allen. Having scattered the dandelions on the ground and placed the black- eyed susan on her sleeping bag, Tricia wandered over to where Allen and I sat talking. She wanted one of his black leaves; they were shinier and more attractive to her than the ones on the ground outside. Allen gave her one.

I went to check on her and found her chewing on the leaf. Snatching it out of her hand wasn't enough; she'd swallowed some. Did she feel sick, Allen asked. No, she was fine. I'd taken her leaf away, Tricia said, even though she always chewed on leaves and grass blades at home.

I tried to get Allen to take her to a hospital. You're being hysterical, he said. It was just a leaf. But these aren't just leaves, I said. They have ammonia, and plastic, and all that awful stuff in them. She'll be fine, he said. Do you want to upset her? he asked. But she did get sick. She got a terrible stomach ache and vomited until she was exhausted; we left the campground and arrived home early this evening. She seems to be completely recovered. I hope I will sleep well tonight; I should, since I will be in my own bed.

I slept badly last night. I dreamed Tricia had died; her corpse was black and shiny. We laid her out in her coffin, covered her with black flowers and took her to the cemetery. Our minister, our friends, my parents all stood around the grave as Allen talked about long chainlike molecules. In the cemetery, there was grass as far as I could see: not one blade was green.

Dana Goldblatt never has admitted to preferring science fiction over other forms of fiction, except when it was cheaper at used bookstores. She started writing stories for fun in high school, but didn't finish any until after she graduated. When she was an editor of Brandeis University's literary magazine, _Kether_, she started writing a lot more often. Dana is currently a graduate student in computer science, and is still attending Brandeis.

dana@chaos.cs.brandeis.edu

Quanta is Copyright(c)1994 Daniel K. Appelquist.
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