‘Yes, yes, Donkey,’ said the dachshund. ‘There are many, many colours in the world. We get it. Let’s not exhaust our new friend’s patience.’
‘You’re not hiding any pastries, by any chance?’ asked the donkey.
‘What’s so special about the tree anyway?’ asked Noah, ignoring the hungry donkey’s question and turning back to look at the tree. ‘I mean, there must be millions upon millions of trees in the world.’
‘Oh no,’ said the dachshund, shaking his head. ‘No, that’s a common mistake. There is in fact only one. They share a universal root, you see, at the very centre of the world, and they all spring from there, so strictly speaking, there’s just the one.’
Noah considered this for a moment before shaking his head. ‘That’s not true,’ he said, laughing a little at the absurdity of this statement, which led to the dachshund emitting a series of loud and prolonged barks, drooling and teeth-baring, which took several minutes to come to an end. The donkey merely looked away and sighed, investigating the grass beneath his nose for anything that might serve as a delicious snack.
‘I do apologize,’ said the dachshund, looking a little embarrassed when he had gained control of himself once again. ‘It’s just my nature, that’s all. I don’t like to be contradicted.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Noah. ‘Anyway, it seems like a very special tree, wherever it comes from.’
‘It is. And I don’t mind admitting it’s the only tree in the village that I’ve never …’ The dachshund blushed a little and looked around, as if he was nervous of being overheard. ‘I mean, there are certain things a dog is encouraged to do outdoors that a boy is encouraged to do indoors.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Noah, giggling, not letting on that he himself had done it outdoors that very morning. ‘So you’ve never … ?’
‘Not once. Not in fifty-six years.’
‘You’re fifty-six years old?’ asked the boy, opening his mouth wide in delight. ‘Why, then we’re the same age.’
‘Really? You don’t look a day over eight.’
‘Well, that’s because I am eight,’ he replied. ‘But in dog years … I would be fifty-six.’
The dachshund snorted loudly and the smile left his face. ‘I call that a very rude remark,’ he said after a moment. ‘Why do you want to say such a thing? I’ve been friendly, haven’t I? I haven’t made any offensive remarks about your height. Or lack thereof,’ he added dramatically.
Noah stared at him, immediately regretting what he had said. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, surprised by how personally the dachshund had taken his words. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘WOOF!’ barked the dachshund, and then offered him a wide smile. ‘Well, it’s all forgotten now,’ he said. ‘And we are great friends again. But we were talking about the tree … Well, the interesting thing, of course, isn’t really the tree at all.’
‘It’s the shop that stands behind it,’ said the donkey.
Noah glanced beyond the trunk and looked at the misshapen building once again, which was now mostly hidden by the branches, as if they’d spread out in the intervening minutes to protect it from his inquisitive eyes.
‘What’s so interesting about that?’ asked Noah. ‘It looks just like a little run-down shop to me. Although I have to say I don’t think the builders did a very good job on it. It’s thrown together at sixes and sevens. I’m surprised a strong wind doesn’t blow it over.’
‘But that’s only because you’re not looking at it correctly,’ said the dachshund. ‘Look again.’
Noah stared across the road and breathed heavily through his nose, hoping that whatever his companion could see, he would see too.
‘That shop’s been here longer than I’ve been alive,’ said the dachshund, sounding deeply impressed by what he was looking at. ‘The elderly gentleman who lived there – he’s dead now, of course – but he planted the tree by the door many years ago, just to brighten the place up a bit, you know. But the shop itself is much older than that.’
‘Was he a friend of yours? The man who owned it, I mean.’
‘A great friend,’ replied the dachshund. ‘He always threw me a bone whenever I was passing and I never forget such kindnesses.’
‘You don’t still have it, by any chance, do you?’ asked the donkey.
‘Afraid not,’ said the dachshund. ‘It was decades ago.’
‘There can be good eating on bones,’ said the donkey with conviction, staring at Noah and sounding almost animated now. ‘Yes, some very good eating indeed.’
‘The old man’s son is also a friend, of course,’ continued the dachshund. ‘An excellent fellow too. He lived here as a boy, then disappeared out of all our lives for a very long time. But he came back in the end and he lives there still. WOOF! But my own father told me how the old man planted a seed and it turned into a sapling, and the sapling soon developed into a trunk that sprouted branches, and the branches sprung leaves, and before anyone on the town council had a chance to vote on it, this tremendous tree stood in the centre of our village.’
‘It looks like it’s been there for centuries,’ said Noah.
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ said the dachshund. ‘But it’s not quite as old as that.’
‘Still, that’s not such an unusual story,’ said Noah. ‘That’s just nature. I mean, I learned all about nature at school, and there’s nothing very strange about how well it has grown. The soil might just be very rich. Or they might have been fast-growing seeds. Or someone might have been pouring Miracle-Gro on them once a week. My mum does that, and once she found me pouring it on my head so I could grow taller, and she made me take all my clothes off and hosed me down in the back garden where anyone could see me. Although I was much younger then,’ he added, ‘and I didn’t have much sense.’
‘What a charming story,’ said the donkey with a sniff that suggested he had no interest in it at all.
‘And who said there was anything unusual about my story anyway?’ asked the dachshund, offended again.
‘Well, you did,’ said Noah. ‘You said there was something special about it.’
‘Ah, but you haven’t heard the best of it,’ he replied, trotting in a circle around Noah now in his excitement. ‘It’s the most curious thing. Every few days something very strange occurs around that tree. The entire village goes to sleep and it looks exactly as it does now. And the next morning when we wake up, some of the branches have been stripped from it in the night, but there’s no sign of any fallen wood. And a day or two later, they’ve all grown back! It’s astonishing. I mean, it’s the type of thing that happens in —’ Here he named the second village Noah had passed through earlier that morning, before shivering a little, as if even the name of that terrible place left a sour taste on his tongue. ‘But it’s not the sort of thing we go in for here at all.’
‘How extraordinary!’ said the boy.