Tale 2a: Of Monsters

Here is the start of tale number 2...

Once, there was an old mariner, but he was not always old. Before, he was just a young fisherman, only his aging was extraordinary. On the other hand, you young people may not think his aging was extraordinary, and you would be right. He aged slowly like every man does, yet mark my words: there will come a day when you will stare at your hands, look in the mirror, and you will see wrinkled fingers and heavy eyes. It will come one sudden morning. You will drift to sleep, thinking yourself a fine middle-aged man or woman, awaken the next morning, and the extraordinary work of age will plant the word in your mind for the very first time: old. The revelation will be in an astonishing instant, and suddenly you will wonder how you did not see it before. This is what I mean when I say his aging was extraordinary: it was extraordinary to him alone.

There was a time before our mariner thought of the word old. In his youth the young man fished in a large, peaceful cove near the village where the sea was perfectly clear and his eyes spotted the largest fish without effort. Morning after morning he would toss his nets and stare beyond the mouth of the cove that led out into the sea. One of these days, he thought to himself, I will go out from this dull cove and see everything that rests in this clear water. Yet no matter how many fish he caught the market became poorer, his family grew larger, and work became harder. The fish nets always possessed his hands, but his eyes always belonged to the sea.

One day the waves were higher than usual, but the youth rigged his boat in determination. That evening as the young man reigned in a fine catch much too near the mouth of the cove, his eyes caught sight of the most beautiful maiden swimming beneath his boat. Her black hair tickled her back as her smooth arms and delicate fingers unfolded in joy. Her magnificent blue gown spread far beyond the imprint of her legs, yet the youth could not tell if the dress were made of soft cloth or some dark-blue water. His wide eyes became mesmerized and followed the curve of her neck to her crystal, smiling mouth. As his gaze caught the faintest glimpse of her eyes, his heavy net suddenly tore, and the great host of fish plunged happily back into the water to cover the beautiful maiden. The young fisherman stood in wonder for the longest time, staring upon the dark water and unable to speak. He knew the maiden’s beauty could only come from paradise. What’s more, he knew that she swam towards the open sea upon which his eyes had gazed for so long.

Unfortunately, the fisherman found that his family needed him all the more. Times had grown worse; the sea had become dark, and every fisherman found their job harder than ever. In time, our young man determinedly became just as skillful in the dark waters as he had been when it was clear. The best fish were rarely caught, save by our fisherman, and men from various towns sought his mentoring. His teaching became invaluable, and the young man found that he could not bring himself to leave his cove just yet.

As more time passed his family members either passed on or left to provide for themselves. Thanks to the fisherman’s skill and tutelage the village had grown into a successful fishing town. Soon the man was forced to put fishing behind him as the people appointed him to oversea their settlement’s expansion. The man become lost in business, trading, and numbers but always, before he went to bed, recalled the wondrous eyes of that beautiful maiden staring into his youthful face. At night he would venture upon the rocks to look upon the cove and the open sea. He sighed in remembrance yet trembled as he thought what might lurk in the deep. In the pubs he caught ear of stories of deep shadows creeping below the fishing boats. He had lost count of the number of friends who hastily ventured out to the deep and never returned. He would not say it, but business alone did not hold the man back from sailing out beyond the cove.

    The years passed while the man’s memory of the woman grew. His life became monotonous but needed. Of course there were promises he made to himself: I will just work until the end of the season. Then I will be off. A season would pass: The next year will our biggest market. I will see to it. Then I will be off. A year would pass: I cannot go just yet. A man of such importance cannot be wasted on some silly fairy hunt!

The excuses battled his passions with ease, until that one day arrived: that extraordinary day that he awoke and thought the one word of which I spoke before, old. Excuses ceased. Responsibilities became trifling. Fears were lost in the fire of passion. The only thought in his mind was a recollection on how to rig a boat.

He must see this maiden before he died. He would see this maiden before he died.  

That very day he packed few provisions, bargained for supplies, and made his way to the dock to buy a boat. Before long, his sails were full and the water quickly filled the gap between his boat and the dock. The old man trembled as he passed the mouth of the cove that had seemed to him an impenetrable barrier all his life.

Only once did the old man look back to what was once his humble village. He gazed upon the wondrous buildings and clean sidewalks he had managed. He thought of the numbers, trade contracts, and dissatisfaction that had tainted his years.  All his long hours of tedious work and ambitious schemes seemed to him a cheap substitute for life. No. This is life, he thought as he set himself upon the horizon. This is for what I have been yearning! Alas! How could I have been so uncertain all these years? He closed his eyes for some time, tasted the spray of salt water on his lips, and felt the wind blow through his clean beard. When he opened his eyes he was standing up in the middle of his little boat, arms spread wide in exultation. The passion that he had bottled inside all his years suddenly burst forth from his archaic mouth.

Now a man may cry out for many reasons. Whether it be from pleasure or pain, all cries express something beyond what reason alone can articulate. To some listeners, this cry would have seemed like the last battle cry of an old soldier. To others it would be a shout of passion for a lost love or perhaps a roar of contentment to an unseen deity. Put plainly, it was the cry of a man alive, as if he had just passed from the depths of nothingness to the wonder of life already full-grown.

The now aged mariner went on crying out like this for many minutes (there were many years for which to make up) before he sat down again in a heap of gasps and laughter. His search had finally begun.

But to say that his search was eventful over the next few days would be a lie. In fact, save for a great deal of sitting and blinking, the old mariner could do nothing but sail to the horizon for many days. Every search needs signs and save for the infinite blue of his maiden’s gown, there was nothing by which to find her.

No one encouraged his labors. Passing seafarers laughed him away. Fish refused to bite his lines, and wind blew inconsistently. During the most violent storm of the voyage, even his sails abandoned the poor little boat in favor of a better journey with the winds. Through all disappointments the mariner held his determination, but the horizon was no encouragement. The mariner had been alone since he ventured beyond the cove, yet it was only now that he felt truly lonely. Without sails, he spent much of his time lying upon the hull, trusting the waves and dreaming of the beautiful woman. Not once did he regret leaving his little cove, but he could not prevent the loneliness from flooding his thoughts.  

Now the day that his adventures began just so happened to be the day his loneliness left him, but it was not a relief. Although a visitor had come to see him, it was not friendly, and it was not human. It is hard to explain what it was, but it is enough to say that it was hungry.

Now let me describe to you what happened: on this day, the old mariner was casting his line into the dark sea and wiping the sweat from his brow. He noticed a large, shady spot quickly approaching from the distance, but he saw no clouds to block the sunlight. His frail heart leaped in his chest as he realized the shade wriggled and turned with frightening speed underneath the water. He placed his hand in the cool sea and felt the strong flow of water quicken against the waves. The old sailors’ stories of monstrous shadows battered his mind with pounding memories. Frantically he rushed to the bow and untangled the few harpoons within his supplies. His hands shook uncontrollably as he began tying each roped harpoon to the end of another. The waves grew bigger, and he lost his footing more than once with frantic curses. He stole a glance upward and saw the shadow beneath his boat. The beast tapped it at various times, as if to ensure it was a harmless morsel, and the mariner knew his time was short.  

“You can do this!” he slapped himself as he let slip another knot, “It thinks you’re harmless. You’ll get him. You’ll get him!” For such an encounter he had made four peepholes on each side of the boat large enough to fit a harpoon. Hastily he stuck the points loosely through the bow, port, starboard, and stern and secured the final rope-end to the mast so as not to lose them. The last and fifth harpoon he kept for himself. He knew it would be the deathblow for either him or the monster. He was not about to be eaten alive.

He waited a long while without breathing. The great eel-like serpent did not surface, and the shadow became lost in the dark waves. The mariner eased out a small sigh and made another round to check his harpoons. As he leaned over the stern, he noticed a giant row of teeth break the surface, and he fell back upon the hull violently. A horrific shriek echoed across the waves and the mariner could not tell if it had come from his own lips or the beastly throat that had just engulfed his rudder. He raised up and saw that the end of his stern-harpoon still remained but loose within the hole. Giving the strongest push of his life, the mariner shoved the cold metal through the splintered stern. Blood poured out from the opening and stained his wrinkled hands. As he stole a glance over the side, he caught sight of two pale orbs rolling about in their sockets above a set of jaws, widening into a disturbing grin. The slippery head jerked underneath the surface and the boat’s bow raised up as the creature disappeared with the attached harpoon still impeded in its flesh.

The old mariner wasted no time in cutting away the loose harpoon. He glanced about to take inventory of the damage and gagged as he saw the smears of blood that he had spread about with his hands. A large corner of the stern had been torn, the rudder lost. Four harpoons were left, and the waves were again becoming fierce. “Be calm,” he gasped to himself and blinked away his fear. “He knows. He knows I will not go down without a fight.” Steady, he thought to himself, If you capsize, you will be dead. He gripped his harpoon with both hands and peered over his bow.

A sudden wave poured in from the side, and the mariner nearly lost himself into the ominous sea. The sound of cracking wood reached his ears, and slippery water gushed passed his ankles. He felt the boat skid across the waves without resting and saw the great teeth that had sunk themselves deep into the wood. The creature forced the boat across the bouncing water while the mariner frantically regained his harpoon. It seemed to him that by the jerks of the beast, the teeth were caught within the fragments of his boat. As he dragged himself to find a clear area to thrust, a slippery tongue wriggled between the wedged teeth and attempted to wrap itself about the mariner. The man swiped and bellowed in horror at the disturbing worm. It brushed his arms and beat his chest, wriggling about the hull in frenzy. Just as it wrapped itself around the mariner’s neck, his harpoon jutted itself through the thick body and a roar of agony deafened his ears.

The event that followed was uncertain to the mariner. He felt the worm fall from his neck, lifeless. He saw the great jaws tighten, and the stern disappeared from view. Suddenly he was staring at a calm, blue sky, the sun lazily blinding his vision. I wonder how many men have died on such a peaceful day? he humored madly to himself as he felt the overwhelming water flow over his face. He had not saved much air in his chest.

Dreamily, he closed his eyes and saw only the wondrous, blue eyes of his maiden staring lovingly upon him. He felt her curls drift soothingly over his weary brows. Her soft smile kissed his forehead filling his frantic limbs with peace, as if they had just awoken from a refreshing slumber. Every anxiety drowned. Her smooth arms embraced his. Her beauty seemed to fill every corner of his thoughts and broke free from his boundaries. His mind sank in the sea of her loveliness, and it no longer mattered if he drowned within it. All he could do was think how breathtaking life was.

He opened his eyes once more and saw only a great void with teeth fill his sight. At that moment he might have let loose the rest of his breath in terror. He might have let himself face the pain of the teeth gnawing into his chest. He very well could have filled himself with water in the hopes to drown. Instead, he thrust his harpoon, still gripped tightly within his hand, and felt the tip puncture the maw of the beast. The creature’s head shoved the mariner above the surface, and all that he could see was another boat, filled with armed men, rowing quickly towards him. He felt the water cover his head once more and reached out his arm above the surface. In a great burst of delight, he felt strong hands envelop his, and he was hoisted aboard.