by Nicoletta Chiodi

About Nicoletta

Figs

At the end of the road leaving the village, there is a fig tree. It is
the only living thing in the rocks, and each year it bursts into
gloriously sweet bloom. Ripe fat figs swell on each branch until
the tree bends with the weight of its fruit and the figs rot and fall off. The deer do not eat them. Bees do not pollinate the flowers.
Wasps do not lay their eggs in its fruit.

When I was a boy, I was told never to eat the figs, never even to
approach the tree. It was said that those who swallowed the juice
of the fruit were changed – but it was never said how. I asked and I asked, but no one knew the answer. Or they wouldn’t tell me.

Sometimes, when I am taking a break from mowing the wheat, I sit and imagine what those figs might do. Do they change your insides or your outsides? Do they make you the opposite of who you are now? Turn you into a monster? And if no one knows, who’s to say that they’re really all that bad?

I have lived in this body for 21 summers now. I will not make it
another. My body is too flat, too boxy. My hair is too short. My
voice is too deep, my movements too clumsy.

In my dreams I eat the figs and I am at peace. In my waking hours
I sometimes think to myself that even going mad would be more
peaceful than I am now.

Yesterday at dawn, while everyone was leaving for the fields, I
crept the other way. To the tree. I grabbed the fattest, juiciest fig,
Ripped into its succulent flesh
Swallowed it in two bites
I ate two more for good measure, smearing the sticky sweet blood
across my chin.

Nothing happened.

But this morning
I can feel my body changing
Shrinking
My shoulders shifting forward
My hair lengthening

My teeth seem longer – I have already bit my tongue twice, lapped up the resulting blood thankfully.
The changes have not stopped since.
I cannot stop smiling.