The Secret of the Fig Tree

Great. It was my first Saturday on summer vacation and I had nothing to do. Just great.

Okay, I wasn't exactly innocent, but Mom's vase was just sitting there. Someone was bound to break it anyway. So now, thanks to my clumsy hands, I was grounded for the next three days.

I stared out my filthy bedroom window and through the rain at our old, gnarly fig tree. The figs were still small and green, but the tree made them seem old and withered with its crooked old branches.

I remembered that tree. My great grandma, Esther, imported it from India. She built the house, in fact, for that dumb tree. You see, Esther was a devoted Buddhist. According to her, some dude named Siddhartha was enlightened under that tree, so she bought it as a historical site for our town. I think that's a bunch of hooey, though Esther went a little loony in her later years.

Anyway, it was a useless except for the fact that it was great for climbing -- and, according to Jocelyn, 'letting your thoughts flow freely.' Jocelyn is my little sister. She's a year younger than I am, thirteen, and gets really emotional and poetic sometimes. What a dork!

Finally, the sun came out. I raced outside to my squishy spot under the fig tree, jumping over the potato patch. Those potatoes were famous in the Idaho county fair. Just as I started poking some dopey beetle, I heard a rustling above me. A fig dropped on my heard.

"Ow! Jocelyn-go away! I thought you were writing some dumb poem!" I cried.

Then I looked down at the fig. Whoa! Weird! Most figs were still green...but this one was purple. I bit into it.

Suddenly, a strange sensation came over me. The pit, I then noticed, was glowing. Just then, Jocelyn flounced out the screen door.

"Ronnie! You're in my spot. You'll get your nasty little hairs all over it!" She stuck her nose in the air. I realized, with a start, that she couldn't have been in the tree...

I peered through the leaves at the shadow of a boy. A piece of white cloth fluttered down and a small cry came from above. After another rustling sound, a boy my age fell out of the tree. He was wearing -- of all things -- an airy toga!

"Dipavali ramzan id-al-fit rakhi dasehrz!!" he yelled, obviously frightened.

"Who in the world are you?" my sister gasped.

A look of relief washed over him. "Ah," he said triumphantly with a strong accent. "You speak the Celtic from the North. I learning words of your lands. I Siddhartha Gautama." He bowed deeply.

"Uh-huh...and what exactly are you doing here?" I asked, examining his toga. He looked like some young Greek or Indian...from a thousand years ago! Siddhartha noticed Jocelyn's jeans and must have felt out of place, because he clutched some clay bowl tightly to his chest.

"I…I not knowing what I doing here for! I leave palace, climb tree to think..." Siddhartha pointed excitedly at our fig tree. "That tree! Then I eat strange fig. Now I be here, in strange land! Who are you?"

Jocelyn shoved me forward. "This is the nerd of the world, Ronnie. I'm Jocelyn." She bowed quickly for his amusement.

"So-uh-Sid...you don't mind if I call you that, do you? Your name sounds familiar…hang on..." I pulled Jocelyn aside. "We need to talk." When she saw the look on my face she gasped.

"Oh my gosh, Ronnie! I think you're right! Siddhartha Gautama was the Buddha! I know I must sound crazy, but I believe that fig is ome sort of traveling device! And he…must be young Siddhartha from around 577 BC!!

We turned to gape at the boy. He twitched nervously. Jocelyn snatched his arm and dragged him to my bedroom. I followed.

"Look, Sid," I said sternly as he glanced about in wonder. "You came from a time long ago. Did you bite this fig?" I pulled the glowing pit out of my pocket. He nodded. "Well, so did I. We -- Jocelyn and I -- think it moved you forward in time through the fig tree. You...you're going to be kinda’ famous."

Jocelyn cut me off. "Look, a lot of things have happened since your time. A lot of creations I mean. We can't have anyone getting suspicious, so until we figure out how to get you home, we'll have to make you fit in."

Siddhartha understood and nodded. "Where be I now?"

"Twin Falls, Idaho...and you're from...uh, let's say...Costa Rica," I informed him.

Siddhartha Gautama cocked his hear and frowned. "No, I not!"

Jocelyn sighed. "It's just an expression, Sid. If anyone asks, you say Costa Rica. Now, Mom can't find out. She's wild enough about you as a dead guy. You'll have to stay in the tree fort."

"Another thing" I put in. "You can't wear that!" I rummaged through my drawers. "Here. Wear these. We'll show you around later."

Siddhartha studied the jeans, tee-shirt, and vest. Then he examined us. He began to rub off strange marks on his hands, looking embarrassed. "What about my gem?" He felt his jeweled forehead.

"Put a baseball cap over it." Jocelyn tossed him my Yankees cap.

After he was dressed and looked like a fairly, normal kid, we took him downstairs.

"Who's that?" Mom asked us as she wiped the dishes and adjusted her rollers. Oops. I hadn't thought of that!

"Our new friend, Corey Brett. He's from Costa Rica," Jocelyn replied calmly. Whew! Close call, Jocelyn!

"Well, have fun, kids. I trust you can entertain yourselves for a while. I have to go down to the office in half an hour." Mom was a respected pediatrician and was at her office a lot. "Oh, Jocelyn. I thought you were enjoying yourself with your work. I guess I can take that book back to the library then, huh?"

Jocelyn's eyes widened. "Ooops! I completely forgot! Farewell, boys. I have an encyclopedia to copy!" She marched off. I rolled my eyes at Siddhartha.

"Well, Sid, I guess I'll start with the TV. Come into the family room." He squinted at me quizzically, but I led him to the family room. "This is a television."

"Te-le-vee-sion," he repeated. I clicked it onto channel seven. Siddhartha jumped back, surprised. He edged closer to it and hesitated. Then he quickly tapped it and jumped back, as if it electrocuted him. As I plopped onto the couch, Siddhartha circled the television, peering at every detail. After he was satisfied, he sat next to me, his mouth flopping open like a guppy. It was as if he wanted to speak but couldn't.

"Here. Look."

I turned on Jeopardy. I was not interested in the show; I only stared at his expression. He was completely amazed. Siddhartha's mouth was hanging open, his eyes were wide, and he was leaning toward the screen at a dangerous tilt. After a while the host asked some Mary lady a question.

"All right, Mary! For two hundred points: What type of tree did Siddhartha Gautama enlighten himself under? A: rock B: willow C: fig D: walnut or E: white pine?"

"Siddhartha Gautama!! That be me! ME! I on te-le-vee-sion! Mary, answer is fig!" Siddhartha was jumping around giddily.

"I know, Sid. Told you you were famous!"

After the show was over, I showed him the back door. In the sunshine, his hair was still tousled from hopping about.

"That fun, seeing the te-le-vee-sion! What now?"

"Well, Sid...I guess I'll show you my razor scooter. Come with me." As he followed me to the garage, he began to ask questions.

"So...how did people get in the te-le-vee-sion?'

"They didn't. Those are just pictures. Now this is a razor scooter," I explained, showing him my blue scooter.

"Scoo-ter," Siddhartha repeated, saying it correctly. "It some new chariot?" he inquired, seeing the wheels.

"Sid, watch." I demonstrated how to use the scooter. "You want to try?"

"Um, alright, Ron-nee." He actually rode the scooter well. Though Siddhartha was wobbly at first, he straightened out quickly. "Hey, me like these scooters!" A look of pure happiness was glued on his face.

After the scooter was put away, I showed Siddhartha my Nintendo 64. I inserted my Mario game.

"Cool, huh?" I asked, explaining how to play the game.

"Uh-huh...um, Ron, what mean cool?"

"It means fun and popular -- it’s used a lot."

"Oh. Can I play?"

"Sure." He played for a while losing lots of lives. Afterwards, he seemed very excited.

"I like it here, Ron-nee. I like it better than palace at home," he joyfully declared.

All that month, Siddhartha lived in our tree house, learned about new creations, and enjoyed himself. He slowly learned our alphabet and seemed to get a better idea of our lives.

At the beginning of July, Jocelyn pulled out the camera. "So, Sid. Now that you know about a telephone and a coffee machine, it's time to learn about a camera."

"Cool. What does it do?" Siddhartha asked. His grammar had improved greatly.

"It takes pictures of you which last a long time. Here, I'll show you." She opened the lens. As Siddhartha curiously glanced at me, Jocelyn snapped the picture.

"Oh!" Siddhartha jumped at the flash. As I leaned against that nifty old fig tree, she snapped four more pictures of us.

During July, we had a few close calls. Jocelyn's friend, Glenn, was another Buddhist and grew really curious about "Corey Brett". Lily Kay, another friend of Jocelyn's almost saw him one evening in our tree house. Besides that, July was fun. Siddhartha Gautama was taught about plumbing, electricity, and our writing. He became more and more like us.

As August began, Siddhartha helped harvest the potatoes. "Corey Brett" had become our close friend...and as the Idaho county fair neared, we had decided to let him come with us.

"All right, Sid. Do you know my rabbit, Hot Tamale?" Jocelyn asked Siddhartha, her glasses glinting in the hot morning sunshine. He nodded, plucking blueberries off the bushes and eating them.

"Oh, sure. I fed him a few times. What do you want me to do with him?"

"Well, the Idaho county fair is soon. Since you're coming, Ron thought it would be a nice experience to enter Hot Tamale. Want to?" As Jocelyn went on about the festival, I grinned. I was pretty proud of our old "Corey Brett"!

It was decided. On August twelfth we loaded into the rusty blue pick-up truck, Hot Tamale's bunny cage in Siddhartha's lap.

The fair grounds were loaded: quilts hung by booths, vegetable contests were held in the single building, and animal competitions were in the penned field. Before the rabbit judges arrived, Siddhartha and I bought a few crafts and played a couple of games. Then it was time for the contests.

"Good luck!" I cried after Siddhartha as he hurried to Hot Tamale. I wandered around the festival until spectators were allowed in the caged area.

"Ladies and gentlemen! You may now enter the Hare Competition, boomed a voice. I squeezed through the crowd to the bustling field area and noticed Siddhartha, standing next to Hot Tamale's cage, beaming. "The judges have taken great care in deciding on our champion. It was a close contest, but after great consideration, they have chosen. The winner of the twenty-sixth annual Idaho County Fair Hare Competition is....Corey Brett with Hot Tamale!"

"Sid-uh-Corey, you won!" I raced over to Siddhartha as the judges handed him a trophy cup.

"Wow! This is so cool!" he beamed, an immensely excited expression on his face. I slapped his back.

"Good going, Corey!"

"Thanks. Thanks a lot Ron."

As soon as we got home, Siddhartha placed the cup by his souvenirs from the fair. Gradually, the month passed. School days were coming closer. Jocelyn and I began to worry; what about Siddhartha? As we wondered, Siddhartha brought up an interesting topic.

"Jocelyn...Ron? I've come to believe that this time -- this world -- could be my Nirvana. Answer me -- have I died and gone there?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! First, what is Nirvana?" Jocelyn asked. Wow! Even Jocelyn doesn't know some things!

In a matter-of-fact voice, Siddhartha replied, "It's a world of purity, bliss and happiness."

"Sounds like heaven to me," I stated.

"Sid...you think this is Nirvana? Really?" Jocelyn inquired.

"Sure...everything is so incredible."

As the month passed, Siddhartha learned about computers, clocks, and blenders. One week away from the beginning of school, it happened. On a cloudy day, the three of us trooped out into the backyard to pick the ripened figs. Now, they were all brownish-purple. As we plucked them off the tree, I gasped.

"Jocelyn, Sid! Look!" A strange glow issued from inside one fig. Slowly, as though unsure of himself, Siddhartha stepped forth and glanced back at us unapologetically. We knew what was coming.

As he bit into the fig, his toga and bowl returned to his body. Waving and smiling, his form faded away. He had gone home. I stood there in shock for a moment before thunder sounded.

"Come inside, Ron," Jocelyn whispered. As I followed her inside, away from the storm, I pondered what Siddhartha had said before he left -- "Is this Nirvana?" It was at that moment that I began to appreciate life.

The next day, in our dark room, we developed the photographs. Siddhartha had completely vanished from all the pictures.

In school, Mr. Daroff, my new eighth grade teacher, began to pull out his social studies book.

"Yes, yes, I know it's only the second day of school, Leroy. But I want to get right to business. Get our your social studies books. We're studying Buddhism."

As we got out our books and turned to page fifty-eight, a picture of Siddhartha seemed to glow out of the book. The teacher droned on about the Buddha. I whispered to myself. "He wasn't that fat!"

"Go to the front of the room for talking out of turn, Mr. Sampson! Now, something interesting. The day Siddhartha began to enlighten himself, he disappeared for that entire summer. Strangely, he returned with a unique understanding of the future world. Most of his predictions came true!"

I glanced at Jocelyn. She winked.

The End