The Island

Adrift again and alone in a rolling ocean, rudderless, and following the tides. The stars moved along the sky at night, and the sun crept from one horizon to the other, making sure to pause overhead and beat down unrelenting with no reprieve. Day after day, night after night, sailing onward at the ocean’s mercy. Little room to move, but enough to get up and manoeuvre around with some relative ease. Everything was wet, from clothes to food, and nothing was safe from the sea’s reach. Apart from adjusting the sail, there was no controlling the little boat’s course, and with no compass or map, there was no way to know where one was apart from the stars at night. Rest, that was it, for, with a little hope, land would eventually be made.

The familiar crunching sound of the keel upon the pebbled shore awoken me. The sun beat down heavy directly above the single mast and along the slack canvas which lay flat against the stale air. The small clinker-built coble had been in dead wind for much of the night. I had seen no use in tiring myself out with rowing, so I had stretched out along the prow and admired the silence and stillness of the night’s sky until I was gently rocked asleep. Now the sounds of rolling pebbles with the water’s ebb and the lap of the waves against the oak hull occupied the silence. The sweet salt air filled my lungs, and the hot sun baked my bare chest as I lay awakened, waiting to decide when to open my eyes and swing my legs over and about to survey the latest shore. A little while longer, I thought, as I enjoyed the heat on my bare chest from the sun of a clear sky on a calm day, resting easy knowing land was finally beneath the hull.

“You dead?” a low gravelly voice echoed with concern.

“I don’t think so. Why, are you?”

“Well, you fooled me.”

I opened my eyes to the bright day, and swinging my legs over the gunwale, hurled myself upright. The cold water of the ocean was slightly above the ankle and the smooth pebbled shore was slick beneath the bare heel. A silhouette appeared behind the bow, and as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the figure of a man. He had a broken weathered oar in his left hand which he was leaning upon as a makeshift walking staff and a large canvas sack over the right shoulder. His long beard was grey and unkempt from the constant ocean wind and his eyes were piercing blue, but blank, set against his hollowed white face.

“You’re blind.”

“Perhaps. And you seem to be lost.”

“Perhaps.”

The old man grinned. I observed the shore and noticed a long coast empty in either direction as it wrapped the horizon as far as the eye could see. The baren shore sloped upward and into a rolling treeless landscape blanketed by a sea of thick golden grass that flowed in the breeze, an ocean of its own. I was transfixed with its beauty.

“Come. Stay with me tonight.”

The old man had turned and was walking away. I stood frozen, momentarily taken aback by this sudden stranger’s hospitality. It had been days since I had talked to anyone besides myself, and I was tiring from the salt cod diet of sea rations. As I scanned the dunes there were no signs of anyone else, far less any place suitable for habitation, such as that if I were to spend the night in were I to follow this old man. A truly barren land save for the small crabs and its unassuming blind steward.

“Tide doesn’t come back till the morn’ so there’s nowhere else to go anyways.”

The old man barked back, as he continued onward and already a good deal away.

“…and there’s a storm coming!”

His head lowered as he made his way up the dunes and inland.

A storm? I pondered as I stared upward at the cloudless clime. Good enough reason as any, I figured. I hurried and caught up to the old man just as he was making his way up the sandy embankment and through the long grass. The old man was wearing what appeared to be a reddish-brown robe, akin to that of a monastic order. There must be a monastery nearby, I thought, or at least there was at one time from the looks of the well-worn garb. As we climbed upward, I turned to take one last look at my boat which appeared as a dot from that height and saw the tide was already ten paces behind the stern. When we reached the top, I was able to see the grassy dunes which separated the beach formed a basin. It was an island. The dunes rose to encompass a valley and meeting at the base of a tall narrow rock that jutted out and pointed to the heavens.

The dunes formed outstretched arms for the solitary smooth bare cliff face as if the island were a person cradling a child. There the low and sunken flat valley lay before us with a small stone cottage in the distance on the opposite side of a lake near the base of the cliff. A few trees scattered the area surrounding the cottage, and a garden plot was visible from the distance. As we made our way down, the soil became less sandy and more compact as the crashing ocean sounds faded. I was beginning to think the descent was taking twice as long as the ascent, but it had been a while since I had walked on dry land and my legs swayed to and fro, still compensating for the uneasy ground a boat provides.

“Why do you think I am lost?”

“Why do you think I am blind?”

“Are you not?”

Suddenly, a sense of uneasiness came over me and the hairs on my neck began to stand as I thought about who this mysterious man was. I was sure that when I had first seen the old man’s face his eyes were white with a blueish tint, absent of pupil or iris. What were the motives of this generous invitation? Was this a trap or an ambush of some sort? Just as soon as the eerie feeling began to foment, the old man motioned with his makeshift staff, without turning back, as we continued down towards the little stone dwelling.

It appeared to be a laid stone and sod structure, and several remnants of foundations surrounded it from past structures. Grey, cold, and wet. A singular chimney, a large dark wooded door, and three shuddered windows from the front, shaded by the cliff from the back and guarded against the winds by the surrounding berms. An oasis, hidden from the shore and protected from the sea.

Something felt odd, but us appearing to be the only inhabitants of this island was not the cause. I had never met this man, but as we continued to walk, I felt more and more relaxed and at ease around him.

“It’s not too often boats come ashore here. Mostly it is a poor lost soul who perished while adrift before his boat could make land. A sad business really.”

“And what business would that be?”

The whitewashed oar made a hollow noise as it struck and ground into the dry narrow dirt path with a distinctive ‘thunk’ as we walked along between the rhythmic crunching of our steps. Silence lingered as the moments passed and we walked without pause. Maybe the old man hadn’t heard me, or maybe I have just insulted my host, I thought. We continued in silence as the now waist-high grass gave way to the edge of a pond.

“It’s freshwater.”

The old man said over his shoulder to me. I was following close behind, but not close enough to be within striking distance of his oar. I had decided after we had reached the top of the dunes to not underestimate my host. He may appear old and weak, but there is a reason a blind man has been able to live seemingly alone on an island in the middle of nowhere, and it was not likely due to the same charity I was ostensibly being shown. We continued around the edge of the pond and toward the stone cottage. I decided it was as good of a time as any to introduce himself.

“My name is Avery. What may I call you?”

The silence continued as we walked along the dark mud on the edge of the pond; its surface untouched by the steady breeze which was on our backs and lay as smooth as glass. Not a ripple or wave and one could mistake it for frozen if not for the warm sun and trees bearing fruit, a strong indicator it was not yet winter.

“Are you hungry, Avery?”

“I could eat.”

“Good.”

We continued in silence as we approached the place. It was a single level building with one room. The window shudders were the same weathered wood with iron straps as the door, and the stone was the same as that of the cliff. The roof was simple thatch on a wooden A-frame. It looked as if it had always been there. The last structure of a settlement long ago abandoned by the looks of the remnants of foundations peeking through the grass. But, no sign of furnace, and no apparent quarry of the cliff, as if the building were made before and transported piece by piece to be reassembled here.

“Take this.”

He threw his empty canvass sack to me.

“Go back up to the dunes and look for any other boats that may come in. I’ll ring the bell when dinner is ready. I assume you now know the way back here?”

We had just arrived, but now my host was sending me back to where we came.

“Of course! It wasn’t too far of a trek.”

“Good. Now go and look for any others. I am assured we won’t be dining alone tonight.”

I was taken aback but did as I was told and took the canvas sack and went back to watch the horizon from the height of the dunes for any other boat which may make its way ashore. When I arrived at the dunes, I sat and watched as the sun made its way to meet the horizon. I waited there and watched intently for any sail. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a sail appeared. A large ship, and in trouble. There was a reef I had managed to miss while drifting asleep, but it had captured this vessel. She foundered, and I could see small dots clamber over the sides and attempt to swim ashore. I ran down the dune, but my little boat was far from the tide. I stood there, helpless and could only watch from the shore as the ship lay on its side on the horizon.

“It’s the reefs.” A voice said from my side.

The old man was standing there leaning on his oar. I had not heard him come up behind me, but I was, for some reason, not taken by surprise. We stood there, looking on as the sea began to rise and the wind whipped in strong gusts carrying the faint sounds of splintering wood and cries for help.

“There’s nothing you can do now. Go back and set the table for thirty.”

I did not know how to respond, but I knew what he had meant. I turned my back on the disaster unfolding and slowly made my way back to the cabin. I made my way up the berm and, looking back when I reached the top, saw the old man standing, waiting, for our guests to make their way ashore.