herself as she added, âWe thought that there was still time.â She shrugged and pulled herself together, letting out a little sigh â the sort of sigh she gave when she was forced to admit that I was growing up faster than she wanted. She gestured to my bed. âSit, weâre going to be here for a bit.â
âBut my homework!â I cried. âMy projects!â
âTheyâll wait,â mom said, grabbing a chair and pulling it to sit opposite me. She let out a long sigh. âYour father should be the one to tell you but I think itâs time you knew.â
âKnow what?â I asked. Was my dad some sort of Japanese elf or a wood spirit? And then I knew. âSheâs a wood spirit, isnât she? That tree, dadâs tree, she lives in it.â
Mom looked amazed and then smiled, reaching forward to ruffle my hair. âVery good! Very, very good! Youâre as smart as your dad, little one!â She shook her head ruefully. âI suppose Iâll have to stop calling you little one, wonât I?â
I shook my head. Mothers say silly things â itâs okay.
âBut youâre only part right,â she said when she brought herself back from her reverie. âYour fatherâs tree died long before he came to the Moon.â
âIt died? How?â
And my mother told me. Now my mom has always been the smartest, most logical, scientific person that Iâve known â and Iâve got lots of other people who agree with me on that. So the story she told me was so far from what Iâd expected that my eyebrows rose to the top of my forehead and stayed there pretty much the whole time.
âMom,â I said slowly when sheâd finished, âare you sure that dad wasnât just pulling your leg?â
âItâs how he won my heart, honey,â Cheri Ki told me with a shake of her head and bright spots
in her eyes. âIâm a botanist first and I know my craft.â She shook her head. âI not only
examined the wood but I went to the other plantings ââ
âPlantings?â
âThere were six seeds,â mom told me. âYour father planted five on them on Earth and the sixth one here.â She nodded toward the forest. She smiled at me. âYou know, weâre always learning and weâre always discovering that we donât know everything. It was your father showing me those saplings that showed me how much more there was to know and learn.â She paused for a moment. âSo when he asked if Iâd like to live with him on the Moon and make a new garden, I could only say yes.â
âBut youâre a nutritionist!â
âI grow things,â mom reminded me. âI grow things that help us breathe, that let us eat, that let us grow and survive.â She gestured with one arm in a wide arc, taking in all of the Moon. âWeâve made life where there was none, built a promise for the future.â She smiled as she met my eyes. âBuilt a home for your children.â
âYou said that dadâs tree died,â I said, remembering her story.
My mother is a very smart, very empathic person: she caught my unasked question with a twist of her lips. âThe tree he planted here in the forest, thatâs your tree sweetie.â
âWhat happened to the other trees?â I asked in a very small voice.
My mother heaved a deep sigh. âYour father is trying to find out.â
âBut what happened?â
âWe donât know,â mom said. âAll we know is that theyâre all dead.â
âSo mine is the last tree.â
Wordlessly, Mom nodded.
âWell then, that makes things simple,â I said, rising from the bed and moving toward my diagnostic unit.
âWhat are you going to do?â
âIâm going to save my tree.â My eyes went to the model rocket ships on my shelves and suddenly I realized that Iâd
Learning to Kill: Stories