The fig tree grows its flowers strangely inside out, concealed within the soft interior of the fruit. Erszébet imagines the fig's hidden fairy weight of seeds, grown in sweetness that is also a darkness. Like treasure in a cave.

Faith is a sacred fruit.

Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground? / And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: / And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.

This is an invalid ordinance. Everything is fruit of the poisonous tree.

Why harvest before the fruits gets ripe?