The Tree and the Lion

He looked at the cod soup and then fixed his eyes on the monks. He felt like an outlander - and in a way - he was. Prior Antonino hurried him to finish the dish before it got cold. He swallowed a spoonful and discovered, surprisingly, that it wasn’t that bad. “Now you can eat the mushroom omelet. It is our best option - we cannot consume meat.” Friar Calixto pointed at the big round Spanish omelet sitting next to him, waiting to be eaten. “I keep telling Prior Antonino he should be careful with the fungi he collects though, they grow strangely in this lands - and give us nightmares”. Nightmares, he thought. That is what it felt like. Jorge was an ordinary historian, driving his ordinary car on the road to Burgos, where he had a lecture to give. He kept wondering why unusual things kept happening to him - being stranded in the middle of nowhere with a group of monks was not part of his plans. The fact that he had deviated from the road to save a deer was also somewhat magical. The car destroyed in the edge of the woods, his head aching - and no villages for miles - he had decided to wander around and wait for someone to save him. “Lad, thank God I found you in the forest” said Prior Antonino. “If it wasn’t for this mushrooms you are eating, you could’ve been devoured by a wolf!” He let out a deep and musical laugh and everyone joined him. “I started to believe in greater beings right when I saw you.” Jorge smiled at them. The monks were few now, barely twelve lived in the enormous monastery that reigned over the landscape. “My night strolls always bring good things to the table.” Antonino fell silent for a moment, contemplative. “Come on, finish your food, we will show you our home.” The magnificence of the gothic monastery eclipsed all the wonders in the world. The claustrum was surrounded by six giant columns, and the stone roof had the sky and stars painted on it. The building was so well-preserved it looked like brand new, and the stained glass windows shined in the moonlight like time had not gone through them. They climbed up the stairs to the Northern Tower, the chamber that had the most beautiful of views. “This is Friar Calixto ́s new work” Prior Antonino pointed to a fresco painting that took Jorge's breath away. On the wall, a winged rampant lion stood powerful against a golden tree. The textures came to life once the historian looked at them up close. “It ́s sad that not many people visit us anymore. What will happen when we all die and the house of God is left unattended forever?” Calixto ran his fingers through the painting - his gaze seemed distant as if remembering past times. It was when Jorge faced the lion that it smiled ferociously at him, and the plums began to shine, ready to fall from the tree - it was like a dream. While the monks retired to their late-night prayers, Jorge reached to the painted pomegranates - they looked so real. A weight came from the wall, and when he withdrew his hand, it carried the most astonishing object: the fruit. “Eat it.” Something was pushing him to do it, so he started savoring it, his head spinning with every seed he swallowed. “Jorge.” A deep voice came from the darkness - the torches were fading out. “It is time to go.” It happened in the blink of an eye. As he was turning to leave, the pomegranate he was still holding fell off his hand, and he sensed an unsettling pain in his stomach. He perceived no sound around him. Was he alone now? He felt his body hit the ground, and falling into a deep slumber, he thought: “The monks have poisoned me. This pomegranate is the fruit of the devil.” Then he heard no more.

The first thing Jorge picked up when he came back was the birds ́ song echoing in the monastery. The cold inside his bones was unbearable. He could not imagine the friars leaving him out in the open after he fainted. But he had not been out. He looked around the room that was supposed to be the Northern Tower - it was gone. The sunlight dazzled over the debris - over the wall that had been there at night. Not knowing what to do, he stood up and called for his friends, shouting to the winds with no answer. He eventually accepted the truth: The monastery was abandoned! He searched the place and only discovered the mushrooms he had consumed the evening before, now realizing he had been alone in the tower. His stomach still hurt, but he was no longer surprised: his dinner had probably been poisonous. Had all just been an apparition? Hadn’t he had dinner with a dozen monks? He ran towards the stairs and tripped over a small bulk - a rotten pomegranate. He looked over the wall, terrified. The fresco was still there, but it now looked old - worn out. As he made his way through the monastery, he noticed that everything had aged five hundred years overnight. Only two of the pillars stood tall in the middle of an extensive garden full of wilderness. Nature had invaded the construction. He resolved to get away from that cursed place as soon as possible. There had been no Prior Antonino, and Friar Calixto had probably been dead for years! He felt the spirit of the men he knew following him as he crossed the doors for the last time. Jorge ran across the forest, the monks ́ memory still following his steps. “It was all just fantasy. I ate poisonous mushrooms (the pomegranate) and imagined everything. They can’t hurt me anymore (he is watching you).” He did not stop until he reached his car, not daring to look at the figure of Prior Antonino, observing him from the distance.