A modern tale
The Little Talk
778 words
On Jimmy’s seventh birthday I sat him down for the Little talk. Jimmy’s a smart kid; he knows money doesn’t grow on trees—his mother and I have told him often enough—but the news is full of The Money Tree, and I think he’s old enough to know the truth. The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and even Father Christmas didn’t seem to trouble him, and he understands the need to keep a piggy bank.
In the whole of this fine country of ours, I began, nothing—nothing—is as important as the Money Tree. The trusted Experts keep a close eye on it. Your mother and I watch the news because we need to know that all is well, that the Money Tree is progressing and growing. Throughout the day, every day, the Experts are counting its leaves. Why? To see how fast the tree is growing, how many more leaves have appeared. There are always more. Well, nearly. Sometimes, unfortunately, not quite so many. No, nobody can tell why the number changes, don’t let anyone tell you differently. Many claim they can. Lately, one or two nutcases say that the whole method of counting is wrong. But it must be right: this is how it’s always been done.
Where is the Money Tree located? I can’t really say exactly ... Now listen, son: these Experts, they’re all deeply respected men. Every day, except weekends, their job is to announce the final leaf count and, most important, to predict how many leaves will grow tomorrow. If the day’s count is up, all is well, so people will know to be happy and go out and buy things, and study what further things to buy in the future.
So at five o’clock the Experts ring a loud bell and announce the final count. If there are more leaves than the day before, everyone there cheers and high-fives each other, then they head off for dinner and drink too much. There will be even more tomorrow, they shout, and raise their glasses to the ever-growing Money Tree.
But sometimes, Jimmy, sometimes there are not as many leaves as the day before. No new ones grew, and, worse, others fell off, and lie around the tree’s base. No, there’s no way to stick them back on. They’re dead. This is called a downturn, or a slowing, or a falling off. It causes long faces—except among the people who have been betting that the count would be down. No, that’s not the Stick Market. This betting is huge and world-wide, and it is called the Stock Market, for some reason. Lately some people bet every day that the number of leaves will be up and also that the number of leaves will be down. So they cannot lose...Right, yes. Unless the number stays the same.
But it rarely does. Why? Because teams of even higher-level Experts, government ministers, are grooming the tree, every day, all day long, and every night too. The tree never rests. Its roots are constantly fed rich nutrients, chemical stimulants and manure. In an emergency—if, say, it has not grown fast enough for a week—they may give it a “shock” or a “boost.”
No, nobody I know has ever seen the Tree, and some religious mystics claim that there is no tree at all, it’s only a story. But we all know how big it is. Once it was just a small bush, but now it has grown so huge, taller than the tallest building or even the highest mountain, that its shadow can be seen everywhere. You have seen it. When a black cloud goes over the sun, you are seeing the tree’s shadow. Before you were born, the sky was all blue. Can you imagine that, Jimmy? Pale blue. But you are used to a more greyish sky. That is now normal. That is the Tree.
Everyone worships our Money Tree because it brings life to us and everyone else in the world. Well, nearly everyone. But at night, waking up, we all worry that one day the tree will fall down. We know it must fall. Nobody knows why the tree would ever fall, but in the past, smaller trees have. They’ve dropped their leaves, then twigs and branches, and then, as the government Experts battled to prop them up and glue the fallen branches and leaves back on, have toppled over. This is called a Crash.
When you are older you, too, will worry about how the tree is doing, but not now. Happy Birthday, son and off you go to bed. Sleep well.
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