In Uncle Nino’s garden there grew a large fig tree, with a crooked trunk and leaves as wide as open hands.
By day it gave shade to the children, the chairs, the cat, and the crates of tomatoes. By evening it stayed awake longer than the other trees. It watched the Moon rise above the little wall and made room for her among its branches.
Luca, who slept in the room with the window facing the garden, often watched it.
“Uncle, why does the fig tree never close its leaves?”
“Perhaps it is a guardian.”
One night Luca could not sleep. The Moon was full and lit everything: the bed, the floor, even the shoes beside the door. It seemed too bright.
Luca went out into the garden.
“Moon, you are giving me too much light.”
The Moon seemed to lower herself a little, sorry.
Then the fig tree moved its leaves. A long branch bent in front of Luca’s window and drew a soft shadow on the wall, shaped like a hand.
The room became quieter.
“Thank you,” said Luca.
The Moon spoke in a thin voice. “Sometimes I too need to rest from my own light.”
The fig tree rustled. “Then come beneath my leaves.”
Luca looked in amazement. A small part of the moonlight settled among the branches, as if the Moon had rested her head on the fig tree’s shade.
The garden became silver and green.
From that night Luca discovered the fig tree’s secret: it did not give shade only by day. At night it gave shade to the Moon, to tired eyes, to dreams that were too bright.
It did not tell anyone. It made no noise. It simply offered its leaves.
One evening a warm wind came and some leaves fell. Luca was worried.
“If you lose your leaves, how will you protect the Moon?”
The fig tree answered softly: “Care changes shape. When I have no leaves, I offer branches. When I have no young branches, I offer presence.”
Luca did not understand everything, but he felt that it was true.
In autumn he picked up a large fallen leaf and placed it between the pages of a notebook. Above it he wrote: “Gentle shade.”
When someone at home was tired, Luca learned to do as the fig tree did: lower his voice, close a door softly, bring a glass of water, leave a free place on the sofa.
Small good shadows.
And whenever the Moon was too full, the fig tree moved its leaves before the window. Not to put her out. To help her shine without tiring anyone.