The queen of bed island slept in a boat, on top of the mountain.
Some seasons, she would drape it into a tent, not coming out for days at a
time.
Some seasons, she would barely sleep in the boat at all, preferring to
make a nest for herself near the shoreline.
Pulling on the soft fabric earth, she would drag it out, bit by bit, until
it balled into a soft heap. And there, she would climb onto the structure,
after a days worth of work, and lie still while the moonlight shone over
her like a spotlight.
✦
Often, she went into the water to catch fish and crabs. If the weather was
right, and she was feeling fearless, she would dive down into the water
and go swimming for scallops. She made her own salt, digging out cavities
on the shoreline.
She would beat her catch with a trusty piece of driftwood, brine it, and
dry it in the sun to eat. On days she preferred shade, she would simply
pick the kelp and sea weeds, carrying as much as she could back up to her
boat palace.
There was not a lot to eat on bed island, not a tree in sight. The sea
provided, wave after wave after wave of salty breeze and brine.
✦
Her prized possesion was a stick with holes at either end, and more on the
side. A kind of flute, whittled with sharp rocks. Never far from her
person, tucked into something, or slung over a limb.
You'd think it was a plaything. Like every other little oddity in this
place. So when the call came, it was something of a surprise. A long note,
sustained. Over and over again.
✦
She ran down the mountain in a spiral, looking. This angle? That distance?
Listen. Listen!
When she saw them, it was a straight line, and small bursts of whistles.
For joy? For relief? For recognition?
The water in me, recognizes the water in you.
🌊 Wave after wave after wave 🌊 🌊
And in she dived. A practiced run, jump and into the depths. Past the
crowds, the bodies. Smaller, larger, textured, slimy, scaled, smooth,
clawed. Down and down and down.
✦
Breaking out of the surface, she dragged them to shore. A long thing, of whalebone.
A small thing, of shell.
Grasping for air, coughing, she
dragged herself out too. One step, two step. One step, two step.
Catching her breath, she smiled wide into the sun. Orange and red blinded
her vision.
✦
Eyes closed, she blew into the whale tuba. And the crowd answered her
back. An unlikely orchestra.
Keeping her breath steady, she reminded herself to always remember this
moment. It might never come again.
When she blew into the conch, the visitors said their goodbyes, drifting
back into the blue.
Curling into herself, she slept. For what good is bed island, if not for
the moments of peace?
✦
When she woke next, the air was sweet and cool.
Climbing lazily up to her castle, she reached for her flute, slung over
her neck. One note, two note. Up and up we go.
Settling down
into her palace, she played some more. Keeping her eyes still, she looked
up into the stars, so small, so bright in the darkness. That's when she
heard it.
The shapes cames up quickly, from all sides. A mass of writhing things.
Life forms. Life parts. Gooey here, sharp there. Changing into the other
and then changing back. Like n impossible dance, moves so fast and
intricate, you couldn't find the patterns. And anyway, she head them, more
than saw. If she knew our music, she would call it jazz, sort of.
She kept it company with her flute. A friend to play against, to play
with.
✦
They reached her awake, but she was half asleep. Tired, after this long
day.
The shapes settled into forms that could hold her. Gently arranging
themselves around her sleeping form.
And there they slept. Faces, arms, legs,crooks, nooks.
Tomorrow, she would think to herself,
Is this boat really enough to hold us all? In all that we are?
And then, when she'd glance up at her companions she'd think,
Well, just a little bit longer then.
✦
The End