“And why do you think that is?”
“It came to me when my…accident was undone. And I feel like I have to keep it safe.”
“Nonsense. If you truly cared about safety, you would have stayed in your old life. You certainly would not have agreed to work with me.”
“I guess that’s true, but seriously, what happens if I lose the acorn and suddenly there are bus tires racing to smash my face? That could happen, right? There’s no way to rule it out.”
“No, I do not think that particular fear is merited. That is almost never how time works. The past quickly accretes weight and rigidity. It may start as soft and pliable, a trait the editor of your death likely exploited, but it is like coral. We living organisms scurry about building it, then it becomes as hard as stone.”
Walking in pinewoods was different. Without the dry rustle of fallen leaves, their footfalls were a soft hushing sound as they trod the pine straw.
“Okay, so if the acorn is lost or destroyed, it may just mean my regular death.”
Valentina tilted her head.
“Perhaps.”
“So, what should I do? To keep it safe, I mean. I’ve thought about burying it in concrete or vacuum sealing it in a safety-deposit box somewhere. It can’t just stay in my pocket. It takes too much of my attention. It’s always tugging at me.”
Valentina glowered at Green.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“The answer is obvious to me.”
“Which is?”
“In my mind, there is one highest and best use of an acorn. One thing that definitively sets it apart from other objects.”
She gave Green an expectant look.
Green returned a blank stare.
“Plant it,” she said.
He had a flash of abandoning the acorn under a little mound of soil and walking away. The idea drew his hand to his pocket in a defensive flinch.
“But that’s basically the same as throwing it away. I can’t predict what that would do.”
“It would bring new life into the world. It would become a tree, a fountain of leaves, and a home for countless species. A source of food and shelter. Perhaps the mother of countless more generations of trees. There is no question about the best attribute of an acorn. It may become an oak. What could be better than that? What can boast the same?”
Green was silent for a moment.
“Or it could become a snack for a squirrel.”
“There are ways to protect a seed from such mishaps.”
“What happens when the oak dies?”
Valentina sniffed.
“My apprentice, I am uniquely qualified to say that no one has any business outliving an oak tree.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
The sky above the stable shifted from deep blue to black. A screech owl screamed, imploring the dusk it so loved to linger awhile longer. Green and Valentina found a secluded spot high on the slope above the paddock and settled in to watch.
“You’re awfully practical about death,” Green said. “You aren’t afraid of death?”
