The Man Under the Tulip Tree

Every Tuesday afternoon, there’s a man who comes and sits under the tulip tree outside my office window. He always arrives promptly at 2:30, sits on the bench underneath for an hour and a half, and leaves at 4:00. He’s always neatly dressed, but the expression on his face is broken-hearted. Whenever I’ve seen someone walk up, though, the expression becomes far more censorious. He doesn’t take kindly to questions; I can see that.

One Tuesday, though, I had to leave the building for an errand and came back around 3:00. He was sitting there on the bench, dressed neatly as usual, with that same broken air about him. When I walked up, again his expression changed to unfriendliness, but that faded when I simply sat down beside him without speaking. I stayed there for several minutes, listening to the silence broken only by the rustle of wind in the tree. After that I simply got up, nodded politely to him, and went back in to work.

Since then I’ve made it a point to take my afternoon break when he’s there. For the first few weeks, we simply sat in the silence for the ten minutes or so that I can spare. Then, one day, as I was standing up, he turned to look at me and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked. He shook his head, refusing to say any more. I noticed, though, that his expression toward me had become far less impassive. He’d figured out that I am not a threat to whatever is going on every Tuesday.

I surprised myself the next week, when we were sitting underneath the tree once again. There’s a small sign at the base, giving the scientific name of the tree: Liriodendron tulipifera, along with the date it was planted. I read the name out loud and remarked on its similarity to the word philodendron.

“They’re not really related,” he said simply. “The endings are common ones in Latin.”

So he knows something about Latin, I mused. Between that and his dress, he seems to be middle-class, or educated, or something similar. But I said nothing; instead I fell silent again, afraid of shattering the tenuous peace between us.

After that it became common for us to exchange a sentence or two about something impersonal – the weather, the blooms, the traffic. We never even exchanged so much as our names, though he no doubt knew I worked in the building beside the tree. I couldn’t exactly hide my comings and goings during my break. But I didn’t worry; he never seemed a threat and he never seemed to be more than mildly interested in me anyway. It seemed very unlikely that he had any criminal intent – toward me or toward anyone else.

Two weeks ago, when I came outside, he looked up at me. This was the first time he’d ever acknowledged me before I sat down. To my even greater surprise, he greeted me with a “hello,” although we still had only a few impersonal sentences for conversation.

He wasn’t there last week.

I was concerned, but it struck me that I do not even know his name. Besides, he clearly did not want to discuss any personal details about him or his regular presence every Tuesday. I hoped I would see him this week, though.

So this afternoon, I glanced outside again around 2:45. Again, he wasn’t there. But the bench under the tulip tree wasn’t empty. Another man sat there, quietly smoking a cigarette, looking all around him instead of simply sitting and staring into space as had the first man.

I decided to take my break as usual, and walked outside to sit down.

This man was not as reticent as the first. “I’m Alex,” he said as I sat down.

“I’m Heather,” I answered. “I work in the building.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I’ve heard about you.”

I blinked with surprise. “You know the man who sits under the tulip tree.”

“Yes.”

I looked around and heard the wind through the branches. In another few days, the blossoms will reach their peak. Even now, their perfume is rather heady.

After a minute, I spoke up again. “I can’t stay out long, you know. Do you know what happened to the man? Are you allowed to tell me?”

He looked me over slowly before answering. “He’s at the hospital, in the psychiatric unit.”

“The psychiatric unit?” This was becoming more and more mysterious. And disturbing. Had I been keeping company with a dangerous person after all?

“Yes.”

My eyes fell on the sign at the base of the tree again. “He didn’t seem unbalanced to me. Of course, we never had a conversation of more than a few sentences.”

“That’s the most conversation he’s had with anyone in years, since he finally finished his bachelor’s degree.”

The man under the tulip tree had never seemed very young to me; neither did Alex. I was startled. “How long ago was that?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight years?”

Alex nodded. “He was going to be married the day after he graduated. That afternoon, after the graduation ceremony, he and his fiancée took a walk through here. They stopped under this tree to talk, and it was there that she told him she had fallen in love with someone else.”

My eyes narrowed. “If he hasn’t spoken since then, how do you know that?”

An enigmatic look crossed his face. “I’m the ‘someone else.’”

“His ex-fiancée told you,” I said.

“My late wife,” he answered.

Even though I couldn’t condone the behavior of a woman who would break off a wedding the day before the ceremony, I also couldn’t sit in judgment. I didn’t know any of these people, after all. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly.

“She had cancer,” he said. “I never knew who he was until she was in the hospital the last time; I only know that she felt terribly guilty about not telling him as soon as she met me.”

“Who was he?” I asked softly, thinking of the broken-hearted bachelor whose companionship I had shared for several months without knowing just how sad he really had been.

Alex sighed. “My best botany student ever. I’m the assistant professor of biology at the college he attended.” He paused. “He planted this tree with me when he was a freshman, twelve years ago. It was his favorite place to visit.”

My heart began to ache for both of them, tied together by their love for a single woman, now deceased. What a heart-breaking tale.

“Heather,” said Alex, “he’s been asking about you. He wants to know if you can visit.”

“Is he allowed visitors?”

“Yes. The next visiting hours are tonight. Will you come?”

I thought about the man under the tulip tree. I thought about the minutes of silence, the weeks that had passed where we simply sat beside each other, him lost in thought, me consumed by a curiosity I never dared express. “I’ll come visit,” I said. “If you’ll tell me his name.”

“Trevor Whitewood,” he answered. “That was why he liked tulip trees, the Liriodendron family. They’re sometimes called whitewood trees.”

Despite myself, I smiled.

“Tell him I’ll be there.” I reached out my hand to the nearest branch. “I’ll bring him a tulip.”