Resisting the urge to keep the offering for herself, Anna turned her back to the cave. She nudged her cheeks into the folds of her tattered shawl and forced herself to depart. Peering into the sky as she went, she contemplated the one question that, more than any other, would not stop pestering her heart: Why was a dead son worth more than a living daughter?

The branches of the great sycamore tree wove themselves into the stitch of the sky like crooked threads. Lying on her back and gazing up at the maze, Anna could not tell where tree ended and sky began.

Zahra, she recalled, had also loved the sycamore. Anna had often seen her tucked between its rippling roots, asleep. When she was killed, some of the men in the village had suggested cutting down the tree. Anna did not know why. She wondered if it had to do with Zahra having worn its image around her neck. But, after a long debate, it came down to the fact that, whatever their beliefs against the tree, no one was willing to sacrifice its supply of sweet figs.

But had they not once tolerated Zahra in the same way? Because of her ability to heal? Yet on the night of her murder, her value as a healer was forgotten.

Perhaps, one day, it would be the same with the tree?

Anna shuddered to think of it.

Sitting up, she glanced about to make sure no one was watching. She then stood to climb. The tree’s trunk divided early, splitting into a bouquet of branches that scooped low to the ground, making it easy to find a foothold. She lifted herself along a familiar lattice and dropped into her favorite seat, high and hidden, among the heart-shaped leaves.

From her vantage point, she could see the olive groves and the road to Sepphoris. She could also see out to where the mountains gave way to desert. Within the heat waves shivering above the sand, she spotted a wavy band of shepherds. They moved so slowly that they seemed almost not to be moving at all. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of their bad smell and wandering ways.

When the sun slipped from behind a cloud, Anna found herself inside a sphere of illuminated green. The leaves glowed with loud, confident color. Staring into the brilliance, she wondered, briefly, what it would be like to be all green. Imagining this, the leaves began to swirl around her.

Then the insults began.

“Look in the tree. Anna the monkey!”

The boys loomed beneath her, circling the trunk like wolves. “Tell the truth, Anna! Are you a girl monkey or a boy monkey?” They broke into laughter, one of them striking another to the ground in merriment.

Anna felt a burning lump rise in her throat. Ever since watching Zahra fold into ruin, she no longer fled from the rampant energy of milling boys. Instead, she fought.