cold hands

eulusso

The old man came while I was putting on my wet suit. He came close, slow pace, his hands in his pockets, watching. Then he said briskly, “How do you surf guys stay in that cold water for hours? Don’t even get paid for that uh?” I smiled to the old man and his funny remark, and said “they make good wet suits, we’re not that tough!” He said nothing for a while, just blinked a couple of times like lost in his thoughts, then “Damn I used to be a sailor! I spent my life in a boat, fishing cod, Newfoundland you know. Now look at me, I’m cold all the time…See I have these gloves but, I’m cold all the time, specially the hands, my hands got so cold they never warmed up again. They used to send us two by two, in small boats, and by the end of the work day we got back to the main ship, to unload. But they would not let us in before our boat was full of fish, no sir! No question. One day me and my buddy were having a bad day, no catches, so we stayed until late, almost night it was. When we started pulling the net on board, it got stuck. We draw which one of us would dip his arms in the cold water to unjam it, and it was my friend. We laughed about it! He was trying to pull it up, hard as he could, and he slightly bent more and more until he fell down. I grabbed one foot and tried to pull him up, but the boat was loaded now and threatening to capsize…big man he was, and all his clothes full of water…he was caught in a snarl of the net. I hold him there as long as I could, pulling till I my hands got so cold I couldn’t feel anything. I let him go. And he disappeared. Then I saw a big shadow coming up, I thought it was him coming back…but it wasn’t, it was a big, big black fish, swimming around the boat, like this, he did it couple of times and went away.
I came back alone and never fished again. My hands never got warm since that day, that’s how it happened. At nights I watch the bay, it’s like a shadow but, and I think I saw that fish. He comes around. I believe he followed me.
“I’m pretty sure – I said – I see shadows myself, surfing the waves under the water. He is all right, believe me, he’s all right. The man smiled and I said good bye. As I walked down to the water. When I looked back, he was taking his hands out of his pockets, and with a daring gesture, he took of his gloves.

Carcavelos bay - 2006

Eulusso

eulusso

There were four of us left. I,the young son of the king, had been allowed to take place in the competition, and the merciless crowds truly liked my tales enough to let me go that far in the competition. Our tales had to comply with one condition only: they had to be incredible. I had a good tale that i had kept for the end. But first let me report what the other storytellers related.

The first story:
I have been to the desert and I have seen the sand woman. The sand woman has been there for a thousand years; she is alone and wants a companion. When the caravans pass, she raises from the dunes and whirls and shrills around them, calling for the men until one of them looks at her, hoping he will fall in love. But the men hide and close their eyes trying to survive the sand storm. Then she’d whip them and shout until they die, and melts back into the dunes until the next time, sad and still alone. None has ever survived the sand woman.

The second story:
Two men loved a woman. I got this story from one of them, Zaïd. The other one was Zanivul, a medicine man, expert in the darkest arts. Zanivul trapped his rival Zaïd in a mirage forever. From his mirage Zaïd can see every point of the earth, and ear every sound, every word, including his beloved woman talking to his rival. But none can ever see or hear him. He stays there, shouts and cries for her. That place is called the trapdoor in the sun. If you face the sunset you can, sometimes, notice a quick light green flash, the trap door.

And the third story teller came, and this was his story:
From all the places I have been, none is as strange as the unspeakable town. When Babel was destroyed, the survivors looked for the most remote and hidden place where they could live. They finally reached a point in the North Mountains called Alamout, and built a city where they could live and hide their shame in the shadow of rocks, so high the sun light hardly reaches the streets. In that town, each new born baby comes to the world speaking a new different language, and will speak only that language all his life.

I was charmed and moved by my competitor's tales. My own story failed to enchant ME as they did. I felt unhappy. I learned that before you create for others, you must be true to yourself, moved, loose grip, and let the tale come over you. I retired from competition and a winner was chosen. Next day I left the palace, my comfortable life, and choose the road instead. I learned from the best and the worst tale tellers the simple truth that moves the teller. It took me to distant lands, I learned foreign languages, rescued forgotten tales from oblivion, searched for the unknown, the remote, and the rare. Then one day, news came to my ears that my father had died, and the kingdom was I great turmoil. I believed I had to come back and take my place as the new king. I never did. When I reached our capital, nobody remembered me or the young prince that had left the palace and choose the road instead. But everybody had heard of the story teller I had become. I said to myself “now I have my story”…

Eulusso

romybian

goosebumps