Demetrius took the seed, cupped in his hand, out into the garden Daria had started to work in front of the house. He picked a spot he would be able to see from the window in the kitchen and began to dig. He used an olivewood trowel and worked the soil until it crumbled beneath his bloodied fingers.
The next instructions were easy to follow. As he was told he must, Demetrius shed tears of grief onto the seed. He planted the seed, moistened with his tears and wet with longing for his lost love.
Now came the hard part, the waiting. The old woman had told him that if his love was true, and he followed her instructions, that an olive tree would grow from the seed he planted. If that tree grew, he would have a chance to be with his love, yet again.
Each day Demetrius would check for signs of growth. He would water the soil where he planted the seed every morning. He agonized over all the steps he had taken. Did he follow the instructions exactly? How could he be sure he had found the right olive after it rolled away?
For weeks he waited and watched. One morning a small swelling seemed to be at the spot he watched so intently. By the afternoon a weak stem with two curled leaves could be seen. It reminded him of a newly hatched bird in a nest, gangly and weak with the leaves seemingly too heavy for the fragile stem. In the hottest part of the afternoon, he feared the delicate plant would bake. He shaded it with his hat, his own head burning as he held the hat over the plant.
5.