SAINT JULIE AND THE VISGI
                                       BY ROBERT F. YOUNG

    The woodsman couldn't spare Julie's beloved old tree. Down it had to come. But the religious
tenets of an alien race, such as the Visgi, didn't bother little Julie . . . So she planted another tree
in Visgi soil!

    THE VISGI were conquerors, but they possessed none of the characteristics usually associated
with conquerors. They were not cruel; they were not vindictive; they were not avaricious. They did not
plunder; they did not pillage; they did not exploit. The word "rape" was not even in their vocabulary.
They were conquerors because conquest was their religious raison d'etre.
     The Visgi conquered Earth during the last years of the twentieth century, and the occupational
administrators moved into office immediately. The first thing they did was to issue the traditional Visgi
proclamation—a proclamation which stated in effect, that the moment a planet came under Visgi
dominion the inhabitants of said planet must institute a re-landscaping project for the purpose of altering
all surface features intrinsically different from the surface features of the planet Visge. For according to
the Visgi credo, Visge was the Model, the First-To-Be-Created, and it was the Prime Motivator's wish
that all other planets in the cosmos be patterned after the Model. That was why He had created the
Visgi, and that was why Visgi technology went hand in hand with Visgi religion.
     Fortunately, Visge was not radically different from Earth. It had seas and continents. It had rivers and
plains and lakes and mountains and hills. It had a north and south polar cap and an International Date
Line. On one of its northern continents there was a peninsula that could have passed for Florida. Actually
there was only one intrinsic difference between Visge and Earth.
     On Visge there were no trees.

    JULIE woke to the metallic song of saws and the shouts of men. Looking out of her bedroom
window she saw the movement of denim clad bodies in the green foliage of the big maple, and sawdust
drifting down like yellow snow. She dressed quickly and ran downstairs. Mother was standing on the
back porch, her eyes very strange.
     In the village below the hill on which Julie and her mother lived, maples and oaks and elms were
dying like fine brave soldiers, their limbs dropping one by one in the summer morning sunlight. But Julie
had eyes for her soldier only.
     Her swing still hung from one of the lower branches. High above her head was the special bough
whose foliaged fingertips brushed her window reassuringly on windy nights when she could not sleep, and
just below it was the branch reserved for robins when they came north each spring.
     "Mother," she asked, "what are they doing to my tree?"
     Mother took her hand. "You must be a brave girl, Julie."
     "But Mother, they hurt my tree!"
     "Hush, dear. They're only doing what they have to do."
     The first limb fell with a swishing sound. Sawdust flurried in the morning wind. Julie cried out and
wrenched her hand from Mother's. There was a big man in breeches and high-top shoes standing in the
yard, looking up at the men and shouting at them to hurry. Julie ran toward him, screaming. "You leave
my tree alone!" she cried. "You leave it alone!" She pounded his belt with her small clenched hands.
     He grasped her wrists and pushed her away. His face was gray and there were dark smudges
beneath his bleak blue eyes. "Damn it!" he shouted over Julie's head, "isn't this job tough enough as it is?
Get her out of here. Get her out of here!"
     Julie felt Mother's soft hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry," Mother said. "But she doesn't mean any
harm. You see, she doesn't understand."
     "Why doesn't she?" the big man shouted. "She had it in school, didn't she? The Visgi held
deforestation classes in every school in the world. Kids are supposed to hate trees now."
     "But she doesn't go to school. You see, she's— She's not quite—"
     Mother paused. The big man looked at Julie closely. Something very odd happened to his eyes. They
had been like winter, and now, suddenly, they were like summer—soft and deep and misted. He looked
back at Mother. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know."
     "Of course you didn't," Mother said. "It's all right."
     "I hate to take the tree down. You know that, don't you?"
     "I know," Mother said. Her hand tightened on Julie's. "Come, Julie, we'll go back to the house."
     The big man fumbled in the pockets of his breeches. He handed Julie a quarter. "Here," he said. "You
be a brave girl now, won't you?"
     Julie ignored the quarter. She looked up into the man's eyes. "Please don't hurt my tree," she said.
     The big man stood there helplessly. "Come, Julie," Mother said again. "We have to get out of the way
so the men can work."
     Julie accompanied her reluctantly. "We'll go in and have breakfast," Mother said. "We'll have
scrambled eggs, just the way you like them."
     "No!"
     "Yes, Julie."
     Julie cried, but Mother made her go in the house and sit at the kitchen table. The swishing sounds and
the thuds of falling limbs kept coming through the open window, and the singing of saws. Mother
scrambled eggs and made toast. She poured Julie a glass of milk. Julie listened to the saws. There was
another saw now, a saw that sang in a loud rasping voice. Suddenly someone shouted "Timber!" and
right after that there was a heavy sickening thud. Julie tried to run to the window, but Mother caught her
in her arms and held her very close. "It's all right, darling," she said over and over. "It's all right. Don't cry,
baby, don't cry."
     But Julie cried and cried.

     That night she dreamed of the tree. She dreamed of it the way it had been in winter, dark and forlorn,
its branches charcoal tracings on somber metallic skies. She dreamed of it the way it had been in spring,
with new buds filming its branches with pale green mist. But most of all she dreamed of it the way it had
been in summer, a green cloud above her head as she sat in her swing, a lovely cloud with the wind
sighing through it, with the sky a robin's egg blue all around it.
     A little girl and a cloud of a tree adrift on the top of a hill.

     The next day the landscape men came. Julie woke to the huffing and puffing of a giant crane. Looking
out her window she saw the big claw of the crane sinking into the stump of the tree and the steel cables
tightening. There was a thick ripping sound when the stump pulled loose, and a shower of dark earth.
The stump came out of the ground like a grisly tooth, its roots trailing wildly below it. The crane swung
the stump around and dropped it into a waiting dump truck and the truck thundered down the hill into the
valley. Another dump truck backed up to the dark deep wound where the stump had been and
disgorged its load of reddish Visge soil; then a bulldozer began to chug-chug, creeping back and forth
across the yard like a mechanized triceratops.
     Julie dressed slowly. Mother was in the kitchen, sitting at the white table looking at her hands. She
looked up when Julie came in. "Good morning, darling," she said. "Did you have a nice sleep?"
     "Will they plant a new tree?" Julie asked.
     "No, Julie. They'll plant grass. The kind of grass that grows on Visge."
     "But why, Mother?"
     Mother looked down at her hands again. "Because they must, dear. Because that's the way they are.
. . Shall I scramble you some eggs?"
      "I'm not hungry," Julie said.
      The bulldozer labored all morning. By noon the ground where the tree had stood was level, and after
they ate their lunch the landscape men got long rakes from their pickup truck and began raking the Visge
soil. (Visge soil was restricted to hilltops where the danger of erosion was greatest.) They raked the soil
till it was broken up into fine particles, then they planted Visge grass. They planted it the way the Visgi
had instructed them, thickly so that the long roots would become entangled and lock the soil against the
onslaughts of the rain and the wind. It was late afternoon when they finished, and they got into their truck
and drove down the hill to the village.
      That evening Julie sat on the porch steps, staring at the naked yard. She concentrated on the spot
where the tree had stood, memorizing it with her eyes. She sat there long after the sun had set, watching
the shadows creep up the hill. Mother sat behind her on the rocker. Around them in the coalescing
darkness crickets began their chant, and from the marshes at the end of the valley came the dissonant
singing of frogs. Fireflies began to flicker in the dark blurs of bushes on the borders of the yard.
      Finally Mother said: "It's time for bed, Julie."
      "All right, Mother."
      "Would you like a glass of milk?" "No, Mother."
      "You must be very hungry. You hardly touched your supper."
      "No, Mother. I'm not hungry at all. . . ."

     The house was very still, and damp with night. Julie lay very quietly in her bed, pretending sleep. She
lay there for a long while, till Mother's breathing became even and deep, then she got up and tiptoed
down the stairs. She opened the door carefully and walked softly across the porch and down the steps.
The moon was full and the naked yard was silver now.
     Julie didn't think they could have noticed the little tree. She was sure that she was the only one in the
world who knew about it. She got her diminutive shovel out of her sand pail and went around to the side
of the house. The tree was still there, growing very close to the foundation, hugging the concrete blocks
as though it was afraid. It was as big around as Julie's little finger, it was a foot high, and it had one leaf.
     She dug it up tenderly, then she carried it around the house to the place where the big tree had been.
She planted it carefully, patting the soil around its tendril of a trunk till it stood up straight in the moonlight.
"There," she said when she had finished, "the yard looks much better now."
     She tiptoed back to bed.

    THE LOCAL administrator trudged up the hill early the next morning. Julie was already up and she
was watering the new tree with her red sprinkling can. Mother was still in bed.
     The Visgi didn't trust Terrans. They didn't trust anybody. It was each Visgi administrator's
responsibility to see to it that the inhabitants of the zone which he governed lived up to the letter of the
Visgi edict, and the zones were small enough so that each administrator could personally check the work
of his Terran landscape crew.
     The local administrator was typical of his race, both mentally and physically. His face was flat and he
had flat gray eyes. His ears grew flatly against the sides of his head. He was wearing a flat-topped kepi.
When he saw the little tree he stopped dead on his flat feet.
     He hated trees. He hated any plant that did not grow on Visge. It was a religious conditioned reflex.
In the beginning the Prime Motivator had created Visge; then He had created the rest of the cosmos. He
had intended that all of the planets should be like Visge, but during the hectic days of the Creation He
had become careless and made them any old way. So as soon as the cosmos was completed He had
created the Visgi and given them the Word to go forth in ships and set the other planets right.
     Certainly if He had intended planets to have trees He would have put some on Visge too.
     The local administrator strode indignantly across the newly seeded soil and towered ominously over
the little tree. He reached down with one large self-righteous hand. His fingertips had almost touched the
thin trunk before the Thought —as it was later designated in Visgi scripture—struck him. Then something
else struck him. Julie's sprinkling can bounced off his shoulder, showering his face with water. "You leave
my tree alone!" she said.
      The local administrator hardly noticed the can or the water. He was down on his hands and knees,
his face close to the ground, his eyes scrutinizing the soil. But his eyes only confirmed what his mind had
known in the first place: a quantity of Visge soil was always distributed whenever sizeable trees were
removed from hilltops.
      He got slowly to his feet. His flat gray eyes had acquired a third dimension. He looked down at the
little girl. "You planted this?" he asked, pointing to the tree.
      "Yes," Julie said, "and don't you dare cut it down!"
      The local administrator stared at her, the Thought sinking its fingers deeper and deeper into his Visgi
brain. Abruptly he turned and began to run down the hill to the village. Julie had never seen a Visgi run
before and she watched, enthralled. She was still watching when Mother called from the upstairs window
and asked what was the matter. The local administrator had reached the bottom of the hill by then and
was hurrying up the village street toward his headquarters.

     It was not a matter for a mere local administrator to handle, so the first thing he did when he reached
his headquarters was to call the Visgi resident governor and explain the nature of his insight. The
governor regarded him skeptically at first, his precipitate cliff of a face dark and foreboding on the
telescreen; but finally he agreed to investigate the matter immediately and directed the local administrator
to have everything in readiness for his official appearance.
     The local administrator notified the officer of the guard without delay, and the officer of the guard
assembled a ceremonial detail in dress scarlet. Shortly before noon the detail marched militarily up the
hill, the local administrator in the lead. He was beginning to have misgivings by then, and the governor's
awesome face haunted him. Perhaps he had acted too hastily. Perhaps he had divined a religious motif
where none existed at all. Certainly the Prime Motivator's ways were complex, but did not their very
complexity make them all the more difficult of interpretation? And did local administrators have any
business trying to interpret them at all?
     By the time they reached the top of the hill the local administrator was perspiring, but not from the
exertion of the climb. However, he surveyed the scene with outward calm while the officer of the guard
aligned the detail in two parallel scarlet rows along the edge of the seeded area.
     Julie and her mother were standing together on the porch steps. The little tree was standing all alone
in the middle of the yard, its single leaf fluttering valiantly in the summer wind. Suddenly a shadow drifted
across the hill, and the local administrator looked up. The swallow-shape of the governor's ship showed
brightly in the blue sky and even as he watched it began to descend. "Quickly!" he shouted to the officer
of the guard. "Obtain the Terran child and stand her by the tree so that the governor can see them both
together!"

     At first Julie was frightened, and Mother seemed frightened too. But after the officer of the guard had
explained what was about to take place, Mother said it would be all right for Julie to go with him.
Mother's eyes were very bright, Julie thought; they had not been that bright for a long time—not since
Father had gone away in the silver ship and never returned. Julie liked to see Mother's eyes that way and
she skipped happily along beside the big officer of the guard.
     She stood by the little tree while the big swallow-ship came down, and she watched while the Visgi
with the awesome cliff of a face descended the spiral landing stairs. His entourage followed. There were
so many of them that Julie thought they would never stop emerging from the ship, but finally they did.
They formed in a group behind the governor, talking and waving their arms. They seemed terribly excited
over something.
     The governor talked for awhile with the local administrator. Then he bent down and scooped up a
handful of reddish soil and examined it minutely. He looked over at Julie and the tree, his face still like a
cliff, but a cliff with the first rays of the morning sun just beginning to illuminate it. He walked across the
yard to the tree. The local administrator walked beside him and the governor's entourage followed.
     "See how sturdy it is," the local administrator said. "How green its foliage."
     "As green as the hills of Visge," the governor said.
     "Only on Visge soil could a tree grow like that."
     "Truly the ways of the Prime Motivator are inscrutable!"
     For Visge soil was Visge soil, no matter where it happened to be, and whatever grew on Visge soil
automatically became native to Visge. The Prime Motivator's ways were devious, but they were beyond
questioning by mortals, even Visgi mortals. If He had chosen such an indirect method of bringing trees to
the Model, there was undoubtedly a sound motivation behind his reasoning. Henceforth, trees would be
planted on Visge and be permitted to grow throughout the remainder of the cosmos.
     The governor's entourage could contain themselves no longer. They edged around the governor and
the local administrator, jostling each other in their eagerness to see the first Visge maple. But the governor
did not reprimand them. The governor was staring at Julie. His face was no longer awesome—it was
filled with awe instead. For it had occurred to him that he was standing face to face with the first Visge
saint.