Anamnesis 2:2
Read Chapter 2, Verse 1 here.
Chapter 2: sin sea man
Verse 2: is man sane?
As he plunges below the titan’s knee, the first thing Vave spots is a rarity he can’t believe. It’s a conch, a huge, glorious conch making its way across the seafloor. He wants it badly. The rich salty-sulfur-sweet flavor of its meat is enticing, but more, the fractal beauty of its shell calls to him.
It is now dangerously close to the marked boundary. Even an arm’s length beyond that, he will not stray, but there’s still time. He pumps his feet and scythes his hands. This conch moves faster than he would have guessed possible for a mollusk, but Vave is made for swimming.
The deep ocean’s black maw pulses with menace. His hand grasps the pointed top of the shell just as the conch reaches the boundary, Vave’s heart pounding with the proximity.
It’s the largest one he’s ever seen. It might even be strong enough to escape his satchel while he swims, so he decides to bring it all the way back to the shelter before continuing.
He swims back around to where the once smooth curve of the titan’s calf meets the water, now pocked and encrusted. Picking his way carefully to avoid the stab of a jutting rock or shell, he returns to his shelter. The rickety structure hangs partially over a natural pool which he has cleared out and uses to keep his food fresh. Various pieces of detritus, rocks, and driftwood fashion a weighted cover to keep the creatures contained. Into this pool he places his new treasure.
After diving a few more times, he returns with a satchelful of food. His dinner will be a veritable feast. As he thinks this, the herbs and wild root vegetables that grow on the island waft into his mind. The memory of their aroma lingers in his thoughts. As does the thought of having an actual fire as opposed to sad stinking heaps of dried moss and carefully apportioned driftwood.
“Okay, fine!” He says to himself.
He glances down at his belly, scowls, and begins to repack his satchel. If he gets a cramp, he can easily float on the rolling ocean surface until it passes. It’s just that lingering fear that stays him, so he banishes it now and makes his way to what he thinks of as the jetty.
When he was younger, still learning how to survive here, this word “jetty” bubbled up from somewhere deep in his mind. It isn’t a jetty, though, not really. It is a rocky protrusion, somewhere not far beyond where the titan’s right heel juts up from the sand, encased in corals and marine life. It is the closest point above water to the island’s shore.
Some of the food in his satchel jostles impatiently.
“Sorry, I know it’s cramped in there.”
Hesitating just one moment longer, he stares out at the green-capped island, appearing like a cleft emerald dome rising from the sea. It seems farther away than he remembers. But he knows this is just his mind counting the many small infinities within each breaststroke he has to carve. He surprises himself by diving in before he has satisfactorily concluded his dithering.
In minutes, his lungs are burning and his muscles protesting. At roughly the halfway point, he floats and rests, chest heaving.
He has recently mastered the delicate art of drying and inflating seal organs to use as aids in flotation. With these he can easily sleep atop the water, but he is too aware of the tides and currents pulling him toward the open ocean, to float above the depths. Even on the surface, he refuses to get near. He always swims to the island above the narrow ridge that links it to the titan reef. So, he flops his legs just enough to maintain his position and direction.
When he finally flings himself, exhausted, onto the rocky shore, the sun has started to dip toward the western horizon. After a long rest, he is recovered enough to move forward. He scrabbles over the crumbling stone jetty, the real jetty, one of the many ancient remnants on this island, and strides eagerly into the jungle.
Massive flagstones, crushed to shards by slow-constricting roots, mark the path to the ruins at the heart of the island, Vave’s second home. It is cooler and easier to live on the island, but something about the stone titan keeps him close. But he often stays here when he knows a bad storm is coming, and he always does. In fact, he feels one brewing now.
Something about the ancient reliefs depicting the Three Forms and the Seven Ways comforts him. They cover the walls of the central chamber, which is the only one with an intact ceiling, so he sleeps there. In the larger chamber preceding the central chamber he makes his fires and dries his wood. A third of its roof and ceiling lay in chunks on the floor, forming a triangular fire pit. Out from this room, more spaces crumbling into the jungle.
He spends the rest of the afternoon seeking the wild herbs and vegetables, building the fire, and preparing his feast. An ocelot appears and gazes down at him from the broken ceiling. Vave briefly considers hunting it, but he has seen images of cats carved into the stone of the temple, and decides against it. He has more than enough food, anyway.
As he prepares the conch, he discovers that it has produced a large, shimmery pink pearl. What a magnificent treasure. He secures it safely in a small pocket sewn into the interior of the satchel.
The sun slides below the horizon as Vave takes his first bite of conch meat, and it is divine. When he is finished, he makes his way down to the shore to rinse the shells below the darkening sky. The darkness is not a problem for his eyes, but he treads carefully anyway as he makes his way back. In the central chamber on the large stone table, he arranges the shells in a spiral pattern around the conch. Exhaustion arrives to claim him for the night, but he gently sets it aside. There is one last thing he wishes to do this night.