Confessions of a Dangerous Blogger:

AS A GIRL, she had always been told about the day that Esteban visited their village. Passed down from mother to daughter, the abandoned drowned man lived in each heart, with each imagining an individual figure in their mind’s eye. And in the night, Esteban’s spirit would walk the narrow paths of their village, with his huge frame making all else seem small and he would watch over their community with a handsome eye. She had paid her respects every year along with the rest of her people, a loving tribute to the handsomest drowned man that ever there was.

Of course, there were no living witnesses of Esteban’s body left alive now, at least none that would remember. It had happened sometime in their distant past, a time of mystique and intrigue, so different to the present, so far away. It was a time when his presence could be felt everywhere, his unseen hand helped the men with their labours and protected their village from the darker forces. Now, everything seemed horribly real and dull and the dreaminess and fantasy of the past seemed so distant, so far away.

Of course, there were no living witnesses of Esteban’s body left alive now, at least none that would remember. It had happened sometime in their distant past, a time of mystique and intrigue, so different to the present, so far away. It was a time when his presence could be felt everywhere, his unseen hand helped the men with their labours and protected their village from the darker forces. Now, everything seemed horribly real and dull and the dreaminess and fantasy of the past seemed so distant, so far away.

That is why the news of a letter containing Esteban’s name filled all of the hearts in that village with joy and excitement, most especially Myra’s. Since her childhood, she had always imagined him watching her, walking next to her along the shores and paths of their community. She watched herself grow into a young woman, slowly, longing for the day when she could take a husband. Then, would Esteban appear and take her in his huge arms, carrying her away from her tiny village and its tiny people, away to his home across the seas. The young men of her village, while the source of a great deal of initial interest, now seemed immature and as a result unfulfilling. She was now a woman with no time for games. She would soon take a husband and she felt sure that the letter was Esteban’s calling.

She had been walking along the shore of their beach looking for seashells to make a bracelet when something bright caught her eye. Her head had been down, looking at the wet sand and at her feet as they trod their imprint. Out of the corner of her eye, something shone from out of the water. At first she thought it to be a small fish, its scales shining in the bright sun which floated overhead. Yet upon closer inspection, she grew certain it wasn’t a fish and saw instead a green bottle bobbing up and down on the surges of water. Thinking it to be garbage, she disrobed and swam out to retrieve it. Despite being a duty to clear away debris from the beach, it was a beautiful day and the water seemed exceptionally inviting, ready to wash away all of the wrinkles that her chores were trying to crease into her. As she swam, she felt the water flowing over her stomach and between her legs. Her body glided over the small surges, rising on the crests and then sweeping into the troughs, her muscles flexing and releasing, her bare skin glistening in the sun. She reached the bottle and turned to swim back. She threw it toward the shore and then swam to get it, doing her best to ride the surges on the way. In shallow water, she picked up the bottle and walked out of the water and up the sand to where her clothes lay, all the time turning it over and over in her hands. There was no doubt that its contents were special. Even the bottle was intriguing, with exotic pictures moulded into its side and slender neck. Unable to grasp the cork, she clothed and walked back to the village, thinking all the time of the origin of the bottle and the roll of paper it carried.

Very soon, word had spread about the foreign bottle, bringing many people to the centre of the village, eager to hear the message from across the seas. The cork was extracted by one of the younger men and the bottle was then given to one of the elders who retrieved the letter from inside and unrolled it with great care. The elderly woman’s small, wrinkled hands trembled as she held the flimsy, brown paper up to the light and proceeded to read the message roughly etched in the paper:

My Dear Love, Esteban

It has been twenty years since you sailed out of our sight, and I fear that you have been taken by the cruel sea. Oh, how I long for you to return to our home, the home we built together. The home in which we raised our children. My love, I have watched them grow into young men and women like we used to be and now they have children of their own, so proud as we once were. I cry when they ask me of you, for truly they do not remember your strong face and loving voice, they were too young when we waved our goodbyes. As for me, I am old now. My skin is not the one you used to touch so tenderly, it has seen years of wear which all of the seas cannot wash away. My limbs grow stiff and I often do the simplest of chores with great pain.

Please, my dear loved one, return again to your wife and to your children. We who have waited all of those years for your ship to sail into our view, for your strong embrace to catch our tears and bind us together, we miss you most completely and dote upon every second of time until you return. Oh please do return.

Throughout the reading of the letter, Myra had been weeping, as had been many of the other villagers. She was sad, not for her own shattered hopes, but for his poor wife who had waited and waited and finally died, never to see him again. Oh, how she cursed herself for being so selfish, to actually imagine Esteban would come to life for her. Her. When his wife was doting upon every second of time until his return and then never to see him again, to die waiting. She wept until the tears pooled at her feet. Through her crying, she did not hear the name of the author. She wept and wept, unaware of the eyes that were watching her.

The villagers waited for the elder to give them guidance on this revelation. None could think what life would be like from this point on. It seemed too horrible, too barren. Who were they now? Who had they ever been? The bottle had surely been at sea for years, maybe even centuries. Theirs was a small part of the world, they could look out toward the horizon and not even see the edge. In every direction, they saw the vast unknown. Were there other Estebans out there, Estebans whom they had never known? An elder who had been sitting on the outskirts of the crowd, stood and hobbled towards the centre. His hand stroked his beard and his glassy eyes stared directly ahead as he neared the elderly woman who had read the letter. Widely regarded as the wisest man in the village, he was often called upon for words of advice. It was widely known also that, as a young boy of three, he had discovered a large body, “the size of an enemy ship”, a body which had changed their village. The letter was placed in his hands, the ensuing silence signifying his authority. Some gulls flew overhead and out to sea. The sun shone down onto the weeping mass, drying the tear streaked faces. Myra looked at the people around her. They had moved away, leaving her standing in the middle of a circle. As she surveyed the group, some lowered their gaze, staring instead at her chest or feet. The elder raised his head and stared at the gathering. They stared back in breathless expectation, waiting for his wisdom to light their path into the future, to decide the fate of Esteban’s village. He looked unsure until his eyes fell upon Myra’s. With a sudden assurance he beckoned her to approach him. The gulls were almost out of sight now, even though no eyes saw them. The elder held out his hand and Myra took it. He pulled her close to him and then placed the letter in her other hand. “You” he said in a soft tone, “you are her”. He broke his grip and reached for the bottle. The sun shone down from above, glinting on the glass, sending rays of light everywhere, blinding its audience. He placed the bottle in Myra’s free hand and turned her to face the crowd. She looked down and read,

Your loving wife,

Myra

She turned around in shock. The elder’s eyes were warm.
“Esteban has traveled for many years at sea,” he said. “Searching…. cannot be happy until his wife… village will be cared for when Esteban is wed… you… Myra”
She understood his meaning, despite the detached nature of his speech.
“Two must reunite” he continued.
This time the man’s words were followed by murmurs of approval throughout the crowd. His words had been accepted. Myra would marry Esteban.
“Must ask the sea,” the elder went on. “his home now… travel to find him.”
He pointed toward the horizon: the path that the gulls that had flown not so long before. And as the sun shone down, the gulls kept flying away, away to an unknown destination. And the fish that they saw from their high vantage point darted away and down into the depths of their underwater world, unsure of the shadow that momentarily blocked their ray of sunlight. Both bird and fish continued on their individual paths, thinking each of their own existence and its continuation, while remaining totally unaware of the other’s. This had happened in one hundred places in the time it took the elder to lower his hand and still no-one saw it. It was life beyond the boundaries, beyond comprehension, almost mystical and always there. The life that these villagers could never know about. The life that Esteban had sailed away to find.

Soon, new clothes had been made for Myra. She undressed, having given the bottle to the elder to hold, and waited to be clothed. She stood as tall as most men in the village, her legs and rear muscular and shapely. Her skin was smooth and her light-brown hair fell about her shoulders like a thousand strands of silk. She did not twinge at the stares of the young men who looked at her with desiring eyes. They had already had their chance at possession and she knew they had seen her body before. The clothes slipped over her head, fitting her perfectly. Jewellery was draped about her neck and wrists and all were convinced that she was the most beautiful woman to grace their shores. She was led down to the water by the hand of the strongest villager to the small boat that waited in the shallow water. She was then picked up off the sand and placed gently down onto the boat’s wooden base while others busily filled it with foods and trinkets. By the time she was ready to set sail, the boat was almost full to the brim. Her mother and father kissed her and bid farewell along with the rest of the village, never ceasing to wave as she sailed away from them, away into the pink and orange horizon, her hair blowing in the light breeze.

From that day on, the villagers sensed a change in their fortune. The elder assured them that Esteban was now happy and would protect their community. Sightings of him stalking around the village were often reported and all felt safe in the knowledge that Esteban was there.

And as the food in the bottom of the boat ran out and a sick Myra took her last breath of air, she thought of Esteban and their marriage. She thought also of the village and the life that she had left behind her. And when a dead body was washed up on a foreign shore, gulls flew over and examined the bloated flesh. Paying no heed to its beauty, they pecked and squawked, fighting over who was to get first bite of the huge creature until they were chased away by three small children. At first entertaining the idea that the large, dark mass was a sea creature, the children proceeded to bury it in the sand and dig it up, making it a part of their surrealistic game. And it was only when they dug through the clumps of seaweed, the jellyfish tentacles, and the remains of fish and flotsam did they see that their creature was in fact a drowned woman. But this was no ordinary drowned woman. No, this, this was without a doubt, the most beautiful drowned woman that ever there was. And the story of this woman would be heard by all. All would know that this was her village, that they were her people and she would protect them. And the gulls continued to fly, and the fish continued to swim, and life existed everywhere in every place at the same time. Life in parallel. Unknown and yet always there.

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