Brines
this one was enjoyable to write, but took some time. i hope everyone is having a nice saturday.
in a remote country well hidden from the rest of the world, there was a fishing village. like many others of its kind, it was poor and dreary. terse lines of shabby thatched houses lining a lonely coast made up the bulk of this forsaken settlement. even the shore, the only source of its livelihood, had a hostile appearance: cold, dark waters that raged every season; endless stretches of grey sky framing desolate, stony beaches littered with drift woods and shallow rockpools.
in this landscape, the small wooden boats that fishermen rode out to sea in appeared flimsy and pitiful. spread out in the great blue, they seemed like slips of paper thrown about in a gale storm.
yet against all odds, the fishermen had always made it back home, sometimes even with significant catches. of course, there were years when they had gone hungry, but no one in the village had ever died from hunger. surely enough, their lives were that of quiet miseries and endless toils, but they were alive. the little village had somehow maintained their fragile survival as persistently as those wild vegetations snaking their wispy green on the wind-swept, acrid soil.
unknown to outsiders, their secrets laid in a cave boring into the cliffside. the cave was partially submerged, its mouth connected to the clifftop by a single, narrow path treacherously jutting out from the rocky surface (it was incomprehensible how the villagers had walked this way for decades without once falling victims to the height). immediately upon entering its cavern, a grown man would have to bend his head, for the ceiling hung low. he would have to bring along a source of light, for it was always dim, and whatever sun reflected from the water only served to create ghostly lines on the cave walls - light without illumination. at the far end of the cave, on a rocky outcrop was a shrine. due to the water and the low ceiling, the immediate vicinity around the shrine was inaccessible. no one knew how it came to be, or when, but it had a box-like shape, evidently carved out of driftwood as black as coal. over it hung a tattered cloth, which, over time has taken on a membrane-like liveliness. its threadbare weaves shivered in the invisible flows of air, like spidersilk tendrils feeling every disturbance to its peace.
and it was this ghostly shrine in the dim cave that the villagers' life was utterly tethered to. whatever they did, and when they did it - births, deaths and everything in between - were decided through a ritual. the villagers, young and old alike, would travel down the rocky cliff, like a line of piteous black ants. at nightfall, they would pray solemly, leave an offering of fish in a basket at the mouth of the cave, then with haste return to their homes and bolt their doors tightly till dawn. came morning, they would return and look into the basket - if there were fish-heads, all would be well. but if only fish-tails remained, then nothing would come to pass. such was the way of the village since the days of its very first inhabitants. no one had every dared to go against the will of the shrine.
but just as the sea carried the shore away one grain of sand at a time, eventually, fear wore down to tradition, to habit, then to superstition. there came a day, a bright, blue spring day, a young fisherman wanted to marry a girl. the young couple had known each other all their lives, and was as good a fit as any. and so, as was expected of them, when the time was right they went down the cliff to the cave and made their offerings. that night, they talked of nothing but preparations for the wedding, all the people, the clothes, the merrymaking. in the morning, they rose early and returned to the cave, hand-in-hand. in the basket, there were only fish-tails.
furious, the young fisherman clenched his fists and bade his aghast companion to keep quiet. irreverently, he threw the fish-tails into the sea, and sent her home. he would not have it, he had told her. he would wed her no matter what, and would rather be damned that let a dim old shrine tell him otherwise.
so the girl went home. left alone on the cliff, the young man was pacing back and forth trying to think of what to do when he saw an emaciated gull catching a fish. the bird had almost swallowed the fish whole, but then spit out the tail at last. suddenly, it occured to the fisheman that something in the cave must have been eating the fish, all willy-nilly as dictated by hunger, rather than any sort of divine-intervention at all! convinced of this, he resolved to trap this creature, to settle the matter of his marriage, and perhaps all the foolishness of the villagers for good.
the next day, bright and early he got to work catching a basket full of fish. instead of bringing them to the midday market, or salting them to keep as usual, he brought them down to the cave, and, after finding a hollowed crop nearby, hid himself in wait. his eyes and ears were strained on the mouth of the cave, alert for any sounds or movements.
at times, the loneliness of the cliff, its sand-swept stones and solemn height collapsed on him a chill unlike anything he has ever felt, as if telling him to leave, but the fisherman persisted. however, when night fell and the world around him plunged into darkness saved for the silver moon hanging like a phantom in the sky, something strange happened. everything had gone quiet. the winds stopped their howling. even the crashing of the waves against the rocks were muted - the brutish rhythms of the sea retreated, now sounding as though coming from inside a conch shell. before he knew it, the fisherman was sound asleep.
when he awoke, he found that basket wascompletely empty; and likewise, he could not make heads or tails of what has taken place. yet he did not give up. in the afternoon he returned with another basket of fish, and once more laid in wait.
but the exact same thing happened that night, the night after, and then the one after it. after one week, the fisherman was more despondent than angry. he was quite sure now that there was a creature in the cave, but he had caught no sight nor sounds of it, nor even any fish-bones! he thought of telling the villagers, but who would believe him? he thought of giving up, but his pride did not let him.
for some days, although the fisherman resumed his routines and continued to bring fish to the market, always he looked sad and troubled. the villagers thought he was merely pre-occupied with preparations for the wedding, and paid him no minds, but that could not be further from the truth. no, he was no longer thinking of his bride or any wedding at all: on his mind was the cave, the darkness, the empty baskets in the mornings.
towards the end of the summer, one afternoon, as the market ended and the fisherman was making ready to leave, a haggard vagabond approached him to beg for food, which he gladly shared. as beggar ate, he asked the young man what was troubling him, for though he was young and capable, he clearly was very unhappy.
so the fisherman found himself spilling his sorrows to the vagabond. he told him of everything that had taken place, the cave, the eerie silence, his suspicions. when he finished, the vagabond only nodded, and, after rummaging in his cloth-sack, pulled out a dark green root.
take this, he said, and put it under your tongue. when you find yourself falling asleep, bite down and you shall be awake as long as you wish.
the young man took the roots, but did not immediately trust the stranger. he kept this for some time, but as summer turned to autumn and the dark blue sea hardened, he once more longed to be wedded, and decided to try again.
this time, he was more careful than ever in hiding himself. after making sure he could not be seen from the cave, he placed the root under his tongue and waited. like clock work, when darkness descended and silence took hold, the fisherman once again grew drowsy. but he bit down hard on the root. an incredibly bitter and sour juice flooded his mouth and brought tears to his eyes, but it kept him more alert than ever. he held his breath and stared at the cave.
at first, everything was still, deadly still. but then, something moved. from the darkness of the cave rose an extraordinary figure: a silhouette of a thing appearing like a giant mass of seaweed. when it slithered into the moonlight, he saw the monstrous creature with the upper body resembling that of man, but not quite. it had the glassy, hungry eyes of a sea serpent, webbed, claw-like hands and heaving gills on its torso. the lower body was elongated and tapered towards the end, but the flesh was crawling and throbbing like hundreds of centipedes braided together, gnawing on each other. in one claw, it held the severed head of a woman. in another, twelve pairs of hands tangled in a fishing net, clasped as though in prayers.
the monster stood, then lifed the severed head up levelled with its eyes. the head opened its mouth and began to sing as blood gushes from the eye sockets. the voice that came was sweeter than sugar cane, a melody that could bring one weeping, if one was not petrified from the terrifying sight. the fisherman was trembling in fear. he wanted to run, or to dived into the sea and forget all this horror, but his legs did not let him. as if possessed, he dashed out from his hiding spot and confronted the monster.
he cursed and cursed. he spit out vitriolic insults and vulgar words that he was not even aware he knew. he felt like his body was emptying itself of all the filth it held. and then, as sudden as it started, he ran out of words, and all all quiet. staring into the monster's eyes, fear returned to the fisherman. fear replaced every thing. he was quite sure he would be dead, that the monster would eat him whole, leaving neither heads nor tail. an empty basket in the morning.
but the monster only looked on. it was the severed head that spoke, in a voice sweeter than sugar cane.
you don't love her, it said. you just want a wife. she doesn't love you, it said. she just doesn't have anything better to do. very well, it said. try again in a forthnight. i'm tired of fish anyhow.
and the world crumbled under the fisherman's feet. darkness soft and warm. he woke up in his own bed. two weeks later, after a basket full of fish-heads, he married his girl. a year later, they had a child. then another, and all was well.
in the third year, the eighth month brought with it a violent storm that raged for weeks. the village was not harmed, for they had followed their rituals, and knew when to secure the boats, to stockpile fish, and kept stones to hold down their roofs. but one day, they awoke to see a horrendous sight of a massive vessel thrown mercilessly against the cliffs by the waves. helplessly, they watched as the people on the ship wailed and struggled, only to be swallowed by the sea one by one. when the sea calmed again, they ran to the shore, and found a sole survivor - a woman who had miraculously washed ashore.
the villagers took her in and nursed her back to health. the woman was quite different from them. she did not speak their language, and took some times to get used to their way of life. however, she was gentle and agreeable. she quickly pleased the people, and always showed gratitude to them for saving her life. moreover, she was incredibly beautiful.
the beauty of the strange woman was not lost on the young fisherman. they never spoke, but he was quite sure she had looked at him sometimes, differently from when she looked at others. when he lay in bed at night next to his wife, he thought of her graceful neck, how her hair fell across her back, and the way her lips moved when she spoke in her foreign tongue. he found his heart yearning, and soon realised he was in love.
in this way the months went by. spring came again, and as usual brought with it a drunken hopefulness, even to a place as desolate as the poor fishing village. one night, after a successful catch at sea, the whole village gathered to celebrate. the merry-making lasted well into the night. everyone had been drinking and dancing, including the ship-wrecked woman and the young fisherman. eventually, they broke off from the crowd and walked towards the cliff.
a warm wind was blowing from the sea. all was serene and quiet. in the moonlight they stood, and she looked more beautiful than ever. they did not speak. she looked up at him with her clear, beautiful eyes. he gazed at the nape of her neck, the curtain of her hair over her shoulders. his eyes fell on her lips, and he could not help himself. he leaned in and kissed her.
to his bewilderment, she began to laugh. a weightless laught that shook her whole body. then, her skin and flesh from head to toe shrivelled and flaked off from her bones. stood before him was a mount of rotting fish-tails and fish-heads. her hair had tangled into a mop of seaweed that smelled like the foams on waves.
the big moon blinked. in the distance, he heard a faint melody, one so familiar yet he could not quite place his finger on.
