The Waste (VI)

Paris slept poorly, and woke many times. Though, when he woke, he knew not whether it was hours that had passed, or minutes.  Adjusting to sleeping during the day, when his normal routine would have him awake, and walking, not sitting for many miles, was challenging.

After many hours of sleeplessness, Paris had finally sunk into an extended period of deep slumber, and had stayed so for several hours. While he did, outside the darkness of the tent, the sun had begun to set, and his fellow travelers had begun to stir from the deep sleep with which they had become accustomed due to daytime rest, and years of journey overnight.

He was roused from a pleasant dream by a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Hmmmmmm,” Paris muttered.

“Traveler, we should be on our way.”

“So soon?”

“The sun begins its descent, and the shadow are stretching.”

Whether to stress his insistence that Paris rise, or to force the amber rays of the setting sun upon Paris’s eyes, Lucius, or Ignatius, Paris couldn’t be sure in his haziness, walked over to the door of the tent, and pulled back a flap.  Reddish-orange sunlight eased into the darkness beneath the canvas, crawled over his bedroll, and found its way to his face. Paris brought his hands to his eyes, rubbed, then yawned deeply.

“Very well, I can distinctly see your point.”

Lucius, or Ignatius, ignored his sarcastic remark, then proceeded to cinch the flaps of the door open, forcing a larger segment of waning daylight into the large internal area of the tent.

Lucius and Ignatius were already at the business of packing up their sleeping arrangements.  Soon, their gear was free of the interior of the tent.  Paris quickly followed their example, packing his bedroll into his bag, then moving his pack outside.

The curious duo dismantled the tent using the same precision with which they had erected it that morning.  All pieces were soon tucked away and packed in the back of the wagon.

Ignatius gestured towards the bare wood next to the piled bags and boxes, as he and Lucius climbed up to the seat of the wagon.  Paris hoisted himself up and over the already closed gate, and settled himself, uncomfortably, onto the hard, wooden floor.

Without a check to see if Paris had settled into position, Lucius whistled sharply, then, Paris heard the snap of leather, before feeling himself lurch backward with the sudden forward jerk of the wagon.

In a short time, they were past the sandy, bumpiness off the trail, and back onto the relative smoothness of the road.  They traveled in silence for a long enough time that the orange-red glow of the sun shifted to that of blood-red, then to a copperish hue, then finally,  was replaced by the ghostly pale of a shy moon.  Paris had glanced behind him several times during these long hours of speechless travel, and found neither Lucius, nor Ignatius interested in eye contact, and, assumedly, any degree of conversation.

They moved through the dimly illuminated darkness for a time, until Paris heard the swift crack of a match being lit, then saw the warm, reassuring, glow from the lantern.

“The dawn will be here before you know it traveler.”

“Pardon?”

“You may begin, any time, but the arrangement still stands.”

“What if I am unable to finish the story by the time dawn breaks?”

“We will give you time until we must stop to make camp, if the story has not been completed, then we will part ways.”

“Quite exacting.  Very well.  I think I have a tale that you will appreciate.  I hope you find this story to your liking.”

“We certainly hope so.”

Paris shifted so that his back was against the side of the wagon, then crossed his legs into an “x” shape in front of him.  He took several deep breaths, then began his tale.

“In a place a great distance from here, there is a small, quiet village.  This village is several days travel from any major town.  It is best reachable by boat, as its site is nestled in a thick, dense, nigh impassable forest; most who have attempted to reach it by land have found little success, and some have  occasionally met tragedy in their journeys.

It is most appropriate to think of this place as a fishing village.  It’s industry, traditions, and well-being of its population, revolve around the coaxing of fish and crustateous creatures from the waters nearby.

The men in the village, as expected, are mostly fisherman.  Those that do not fish, excel in crafts that support the fisherman.  Of these support roles, there were a few men, in the village, whose role was that of a merchant.  Excluding the merchants, those few remaining, non-fisherman were engaged in repairing lines and nets, fixing and patching boats, and repair, maintenance, and construction of the huts, and bungalows, that sheltered the villagers.  The merchants made regular trips to the larger cities to turn surplus fish, clams, crabs, and other water-dwelling delicacies, into grains, tools, and other commodities that the village could not produce on its own.  The fishermen in the village were greatly experienced. Their skills, techniques, and particularly high yielding locations were valuable commodities, passed down through generations, thereby providing the village a surplus with which it always had to barter.  Thusly, the village flourished, and its people were happy.

The women in the village were depended upon to provided support and daily care, while the majority of men were at sea.  They tended to those who fell ill, and raised the children of the fishermen.  They cooked the fish caught by the men, and provided meals for the merchants and craftsmen.  The turned cloth from the large cities into clothing, bedding, and sails.  They made candles that illuminated the village at night, and honed the utensils and dishware the villagers used to eat.  For these integral tasks, and many more, without which the village could not survive, women were not permitted to fish.

There was one more unaccounted for role in the village, that of the chief.

The chief was charged with caring for and protecting the people of his village.  He was to be friendly and kind.  He was to be quick to resolve conflicts, and responsible for dealing with disputes and concerns fairly and justly.  He was responsible for allocating the specialty resources gained by the merchants trades in the larger towns.  He would have the respect of those that lived in his village, and of the people who lived in the smaller towns and villages nearby.

And, like those who had held his position before, he earned his place according to the traditions of the village.

Each chief before him had been granted the position when his father, who had been chief before him, had passed on from the earth.  Or, that chief had been awarded the position due to an extraordinary feat.  According to the code of the village, when one of the villagers caught a fish larger than that previously recorded, the person who caught the larger fish would then be the new chief.

Allamar’s father did not pass on the chieftanship to him.

He had been a fisherman since his earliest days.  He could still remember his earliest lessons learning how to secure hook to line, when he was no older than four.  He distinctly remembered  the small wooden craft gently swaying, his hip anchored against gunwale, his hands gripping the coarse rope.  He remembered staring at a much older version of himself, waiting on a cue.  When his father’s arms began to sway, his mimicked the motion.  He saw his father mouth “one,” “two,” and as they had practiced, when he mouthed “three,” the net arced over the side of the boat, and sailed outwards over the water, breaking the plane of the subtley rippling water with a gentle “sploosh.”  He remembered rope burn on his hands, pelting rainstorms upon his face, and long days spent fishing, only to return to the village with small yields and  intense sunburn.

Allamar remembered growing up as a young man, his skills, strength, and endurance increasing as the years passed.  He remembered the year when he was awarded his own boat, and no longer had to accompany his father on excursions.  He vividly recalled his first solo voyage, and the meager haul which he brought home.  He recalled the trip, not long afterwards, and slow crawl of his fish-laden craft, as it drifted into port, and the colossal grin on his face.  He smiled at the thought of his first meeting with his future wife, the day the joined their lives together, the hut into which they moved, and the gift of joy that came into their world a year later.

The years passed contentedly for Allamar and his family.  He was a successful fisherman, bringing in consistently above average catches, and providing for his family, and village.   He and his wife had no more children, but their love had grown for each other, and their daughter was healthy and vibrant.

But a challenging time was to beset Allamar.

He hadn’t managed a decent haul in some time.  Considering his usual consistency, he was becoming uncharacteristically frustrated.  It had been many, long, disappointing days since the casting of his nets allowed him to return to his village in the evening without having to slink towards the village center, to deposit his meager yield.  He had cast his nets at the spots that he knew would guarantee baskets full of seafood.  He had fished in those places where he was sure he would catch many silvery scaled fish.  He couldn’t figure out why he had such issues coercing sustenance from the waters.

Allamar was embarrassed.

Having found that his regular spots were providing few bites, and less in his nets, Allamar began drifting further away from the village in search of a catch.

He canvased waters that he had never previously fished, and each night he returned later and later to the village.  But even the shadows brought about by his further-towards-twilight returns failed to veil his disappointment, nor provide cover for the paltry yields that he brought back to the village.

Allamar sailed further, and began to regularly return to the village after dusk, a single bobbing lantern illuminating his melancholy, languid glide to the docks.

The day was already acquiescing to the impending darkness was on his twenty-second day of meager catches, when Allamar made a bold decision, that he would follow the waterways further than he had previously ventured, vouching not to return to the village until he could dock with a vessel full of fish and seafood.

The next morning he stealthily secured some extra provisions, a spare blanket, and a weathered, old jacket.

Seven days later, a similar looking figure, on Allamars boat, drifted towards the village docks.

His boat was empty.

Before he departed, he had told his wife and daughter that he would not be returning that same evening.  Therefore, when he did not return that night, they still worried, but not intensely.  As the days progressed, and Allamar did not return each evening, their anxiousness turned to panic, then desperation. Each passing day the grew more and more sure that Allamar would not be able to deliver on his promise of return.

The shade of the sunlight was turning to orange as his wife spied the incoming craft from her early evening perch, leaning against the doorway of their hut, peering hopefully out across the water.

“Allamar?” she whimpered from the doorframe.

“Abigail! Come quickly!”

A young girl of thirteen appeared soon after at her mother’s side.  Together they sprinted towards the dock and the approaching craft.

The pilot was guiding the boat to a docking position as Abigail and Zara’s feet hit the wood.  Allamar barely had time to secure a mooring line, before his wife and daughter secured him in a vigorous, simultaneous embrace that felt intensely of relief.  Soon, Allamar could feel the heaving of his wife’s chest against his, and the flow of her tears soaking through his shirt, dampening the skin of his shoulder.

“I’m so glad that you are ok.” Zara whispered. “We were so worried about you.”

“We were definitely concerned,” Abigail said.  “But I knew you would be back.”

After several heavily emotional minutes, his wife and daughter stepped away from him.

The family was so caught up in their reunification, that they failed to notice the cautious approach of a score of villagers.  Once they broke from their intense gratitude for each other, in their periphery they became aware of the crowd that crept slowly towards them.

As their fellow townsfolk drew nearer, Allamar, Zara, and Abigail saw that the villagers’ expressions of relief, and blissful contentment at Allamars return, were replaced with ponderous curiousity, and puzzlement, as they peered towards the recently docked boat.   One villagers mouth hung open, and his eyebrows were raised, until he became aware of the peculiar expression upon his face, whereby he quickly shut his mouth, allowed his brow to return to an unaffected linearness, and averted his gaze from the bobbing craft.

“We are so very glad that you have returned safely!”

“Are you ok?”

“How was your journey?”

“What has kept you for so long?”

“Weren’t you concerned for your family?”

“How far did you go?”

“You look tired; and you look thin and famished.  Perhaps we could find you something to eat?”

“Did you see anything interesting in your travels?”

The questions came like a barrage, Allamar failing to articulate an answer to a single one.  He looked at each inquisitor as the questions flew at him, blinked his eyes, the turned and repeated the action when the next interrogative shot into his ears.  Until he heard the question, queried in a higher-pitched, childs voice, not directed towards him, but to his mother whose left hand palmed the babes right.

“If he’s been gone so long, why aren’t there any fish in the boat?”

Allamar saw the mother’s quick shake of her left arm, and heard the sharp “Hush!” come from her mouth.  He saw her bend to the child, and her mouth moving close to his ear, thought he could not hear what was spoken.

Allamar’s close friend, Pescus, bumped him on the shoulder.

“Here friend.  Eat.”

Allamar looked at the fish jerky in Pescus’s palm, then back where he had seen the youth and his mother, only to find that the closing crowd occluded his view of the pair.  He pursed his lips, then look back at the dried fish, and felt his stomach growl.

“Thank you Pescus,” as Allamar took the fish jerky from his friend’s hand.

The curious villagers were soon pressed close to Allamar and his family.  The questions and concerned commentary continued to fly towards them.  Eventually, Allamar noticed an increased amount of subtle gesturing towards his boat.

Allamar drew his wife and daughter close to him, wrapping his left arm around Zara’s back and letting his hand alight on Abigail’s shoulder.  He raised his right arm and put his hand out in a parlaying gesture.

“Though I’ve been on the water for many days, I’m so glad to have returned safely.  I do sincerely appreciate my fellow kin greeting me at the dock, and expressing concern for myself, and my family.  Is there a greater concern though, for my humble vessel?

Stammering voices began to emanate from the crowd.

“Well…..”

“It’s just that….”

“We’re certainly glad that you are safe….”

“There’s just……”

“Well…..”

“You’ve been gone quite a long time…..”

“And its wonderful that you have returned……”

Then, like a sudden crack of thunder interrupting a the rolling growl of a storm, the statement that Allamar had been anticipating, boomed over the cacophony of simultaneous yammering.

“There’s nothing in your boat.”

“That’s not entirely accurate.  My oars, coat, rod, tackle and supplies are in the boat,” Allamar said to the villagers.

“Bbbbut, ” an septuagenarian villager muttered, “yes, there are iiitems in the boat.  Bbbbut, there aren’t any fish.”

The crowd likely missed it, but Zara noticed a slight inclination at the corner of Allamar’s normally tightened, expressionless lips.

“Remandt, you are most perceptive.  And I am sad to disappoint, but my extended travels yielded no fish, that I haven’t already consumed, to bring back, in my boat, to our village.”

“Wwwwhat kept you ffffor ssssoooo long, then?”

All heads, which had previously been focused on the dialogue between Allamar and Remandt, suddenly jerked towards the recently docked boat, and the sudden dip towards the water, of the back section of the craft.

Allamar began walking towards the docked vessel.  The crowd stood transfixed as his feet, thunderous in volume against the sudden silence of the drove, pounded upon the boards of the dock.  He placed his left hand upon the port side edge, then swung himself deftly onto the small vessel.

In two long strides, Allamar reached the rear of his boat, and the almost inconspicuous line tethered to a small ring anchored into the weather-worn wood of his fishing vessel.

He glanced back towards the crowd, eyes sparkling with excitement, before reaching for and grasping the line with both calloused hands, then drawing, foot by foot, the submerged secret towards him.

Though an experienced fisherman, weathered, hardened, and with abundant strength earned through many years honing his trade, the veins on his arms bulged with the strain.  As Allamar drew more and more soggy rope towards him, allowing an accumulation to occur on the floor of the vessel, the water began to stir behind the boat.

Allamar took a step forward and anchored his left foot against a bracer on the hull.  He continued to tug on the waterlogged cable, and the stirring in the water changed to splashing, and thrashing, silvery fins occasionally spearing through the surface, only to quickly vanish beneath the water.

The crowd stood by quietly, a few of the onlookers mouths agape, as Allamar hauled his prize slowly to the stern, up over the back of his boat, then heaved it onto the floor of the vessel.   An astonished gasp went up from the crowd as the giant, silver fish began to flop and thrash, it’s gills expanding in panic as it strained against the absence of water.

“Quickly! We must get it to the pen, ” a voice commanded from behind Allamar.

Several of his fellow villagers stepped towards the boat, and Allamar beckoned them forward, gracious for their assistance with the humongous fish.   By a challenging combined effort, they managed to temporarily subdue the captive in the arms.   Then, they exited the boat, and proceeded slowly towards the village chief’s residence.

As they were nearing the chief’s home, they saw him standing at his front door, doubtlessly roused by the crowd at the docks.  He observed the procession as they approached, his countenance changing from curiosity, to shock, then to pensiveness, as they walked by.

“That is an incredible catch.  Has it been measured, ” the chief queried?

“Not yet sir.  It has been out of water for a stretch; we are en route to the pen.”

Allamar could feel a slight grin begin to form at the corners of his mouth, but as soon as he sensed it, he clenched his jaw, and all potential for a smile was obliterated.

“That is probably best, as the hour is late.  Once you have placed the catch in the pen, please find rest for the evening at your homes.  We will be sure to measure the fish in the morning.”

The entourage passed the chief’s house, and continued towards the enclosure, a curious throng of onlookers following them at a considerate distance.  A fluttering of whispers, that sounded to Allamar like the flapping of a bird’s wings when taking flight, glided through the air and alighted in his ears.

The powerful struggles of their ported prize had begun to weaken, thus allowing their clenched grip to weaken considerably.  The resultant fatigue from the fishes resistance had considerable effect, but the lack of water to its gills had also begun to have an influence on its constitution.  It’s body weight sagged in their arms, and it began to loll its head back and forth slowly, forgoing the rapid horizontal thrashing in which the fish had previously engaged.

“Hurry!”  Allamar barked, panic, urgency, and concern, clearly audible in his simple utterance.

The carriers increased their pace, and crossed the remaining wooden span in short time.  Carefully, they descended a short flight of sharply declining stairs, stepping down onto a large, flat, circular platform.   Across from the stairs at a diagonal, a long dock jutted out from the platform.  An observer from on high may have viewed this extension as a curiously long stem affixed to a massive, round, fruit, but would have no idea what to make of the oversized, merchant vessel docked beside this stem.

The fish porters headed towards the center of this circular platform, where an octagonal recess was located.

The fishermen of this village were not only adept at soliciting sustenance from the sea, but many were competent engineers as well.

There were two manual pump systems connected to this octagonal enclosure.  The first, connected by a long conduit, to the waterways near the village.  When the villagers manually utilized this first pump system, water flowed from the nearby waterways, and into the octagonal enclosure that they had constructed.  It was within this water filled, geometrically shaped pen, that the fisherman deposited their catches once they returned from their excursions.

The second pump system, ran directly along the long, stem-like dock, eventually connecting  to the merchant vessel when it was at docked.  When the first pump was shut down, and its duct opening securely closed, the outflow of water and fish could then be pumped from the pen, directly into a hold in the merchants ship..  This facilitated the freshest transport of the villages fishing hauls to the nearby cities, where the water currency could then be converted into goods not readily available to the village dwellers.

Allamar looked back at the trailing throng as his fish-toting entourage neared the octagonal enclosure.  He made eye contact with a trusted friend, and with a rapid, double-jerk of his head, beckoned the man to come closer.   When his friend was close enough that Allamar could smell the stale odour of sweat on his skin, he whispered directions into his ear, that were entirely inaudible to the rest of the porters.

It was two days before the merchants were due to make towards the cities, and the enclosure was teeming with scaled currency.   Allamar and his crew guided the colossal fish into the watery pen, and upon touching the water, the previously flagging creature thrashed vigorously amongst smaller-sized relations.

“Thank you for your assistance friends, ” Allamar spoke to his fellow villagers who had helped him carry the fish to the enclosure.

“Our pleasure.”

“It’s a magnificent catch.”

“Quite magnificent.”

“It is massive compared to the others in the pen.”

“Quite massive.”

“Do you think….Do you think it could be……”

“Could it be larger than the last catch?”

“It’s very large.”

“It is.”

“What if it’s the largest on record so far? that would make…..”

“Gracious neighbors, let us abide by the chiefs wishes, and see on the morrow to what length this creature may be measured, ” Allamar said, all the while nervous, anxious, and excited inside, that this fish he wrested from the waters, may well make him chief of the village.

He returned home to his wife and daughter that night, but when he laid down to sleep, it was fitfully.  All night long he was plagued by intense nightmares of being drowned in a violent black sea, then,of being consumed whole by gigantic shark. Then, he dreamed of attending the next days measuring, only to find that the fish he had caught was a scant two inches shy of the previous record.  He also dreamed that when the chief approached the enclosure to retrieve the massive fish that he had found, and secured, that the monstrosity had  vanished from the pen.

He awoke the next morning, with his wife’s arm draped across his broad chest.  She didn’t seem to mind, nor be aware of the clammy, sweaty, dampness of his skin, though he didn’t sense excessive warmth in the room. He backhand-swiped his right hand across his brow, and beads of perspiration liberated themselves from his forehead, and attached to the veined side of his hand.

Allamar swung his legs off of the bed, the carefully shifted from under his wife’s casual embrace.  He rose to his feet, found his clothes, and dressed himself in darkness accented by languid rays of the slowly rising sun that slunk into their abode through minute cracks in the walls.

He scurried from his house, and, lighted by the pale, yellow rays of the barely rising sun, speed-walked his way to the pen.

Allamar gave a quick, shrill whistle as he approached the enclosure.  In the area surrounding the pen, there was silence for several minutes after the piercing, birdlike call.  Allamar heard a rustle amidst the branches of a nearby tree, then a scraping, clawing sound.

Allamar ducked into the a shadow-sheltered place nearby, and waited for the generator of the quiet-breaking noises.

A shrouded figure make his made towards Allamar, his features obscured by shifting shadow and intermittent spears of morning light.

When the hooded person drew within several feet, he reached his arm forward in a motion that Allamar mimicked.  But their hands passed, and their palms clasped each others forearms.  They brought their foreheads to touch, one buffered by hood cloth that hung over his brow, the other with the unkempt strands of hair matted on his brow from a restless night of sleep.

A hushed dialogue commenced.

“What news?”

“Three attempts in the night.  One solo.  The others small groups.”

“Any concern for you?”

“Little.  It seems there convictions were, well, not quite resolute.  I chased off the individual with deterrent noises I made from the shadows.  The two groups fled at the behest of carefully aimed projectiles.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“I did what was right by our village, and by you.”

“Still, I am in your debt.”

Allamar increased the firmness of his grasp upon his friends forearm, pulled him into an embrace, and gave him a firm clap on the back with his non-engaged palm.

“I’ll take it from here.”

“As you like.”

Allamar pulled away from his friend, and shifted his body to face the pen.  His prized catch swam in the water contained in the octagonal shape, and he would be the one to guard the giant fish until the current chief’s entourage came to provide a measurement.

The sun seemed to take an uncommonly long time to provide its illuminating wake up call to the village that morning.  It’s rays seemed to flit and putter through the trees while Allamar waited patiently for footsteps to alert him to the pending evaluation.  As he sat upon the wooden slats that constituted the observation area of the pen, Allamar watched the thrashes and massive shifts in the water with detached amazement, almost incredulous at the fact that he had reeled in a demi-leviathan.   He dawn-dreamed about what impact chiefhood might have on his family.  He fantasized about remaing in the village each day, and not braving the choppy, harsh, waters each day to bring in a haul.  He reminisced about what he had to go through, to get the giant creature here, to this enclosure.  He mulled over what could have happened, if he hadn’t asked his close friend, to keep an eye on the pen overnight.

Then he heard footsteps coming towards him.  At first it was the pattering of a small coterie, then it became the thunderous clomp of a mass.

He rose, and turned to greet the chief of village, accompanied by his wife, and several of the chiefs close confidants. Over the shoulders of this cluster, Allamar could see, what appeared to be, the entire village.

“It seems that you have managed to catch a great fish of these waters.  Though I had not been awarded my role through the same means, I am aware and respectful of our village traditions.  Before my eyes, and those of the village, I would like to measure your catch against our recorded marks.”

“Please do,” Allamar said, smirking confidently, and with an unusual degree of haughtiness, despite the innumerable eyes upon their interaction.

The chief twitched his head towards the pen, and six men strode towards the enclosure.   A seventh man, grabbed a wooden ladder from its horizontal resting place on the flat deck near the octagon.  The six waited, until the seventh moved around them, and placed the ladder into the water, and against the wall of the pen.  He held onto the upper portion as they made their way down the ladder into the pen.

Though, having experienced life as fisherman, and been considered adept at the craft of securing marine life, it took a considerable time for the six villagers to wrangle the uncannily colossal fish.  The crowd watched patiently though, as did Allamar, for when they did bring the fish up to the platform, it would not be long before a determination was made.  After considerable occurrences of unintentional catch and release, the six, intrepid, trappers finally managed to take simultaneous holds of the fish.  Then, they began to make their way towards the ladder, still held in place by the seventh man.

The waterlogged fish-bearers ascended the ladder carefully, and curiously without misstep.  The scaled beast twitched, thrashed, and convulsed in their grasp as the six villagers made their way to the platform surrounding the pen.  The marks of the last measurement, as well as those of the previous measurements, had been burned into the wood a mere thirty feet from the open pen.

They approached the blackened markings, in full view of the entire village, and carefully laid the silvery creatures head on the first, blackened mark.  The aft end of the group pulled the great fishes tail taught, stretching it along the measuring panel of the platform.

It was beyond obvious.  It was abundantly clear.  There was no remote consideration to entertain.

The whole village could see it.

The tail of Allamars catch stretched a full three feet beyond the burn mark indicating the length of the previous record.

Allamar was the new chief of the village.