Living in such a hectic world, taking a few moments to imagine peace and tranquility helps the realization that there’s so much more to life than staying in the fast lane.
Blind Vision
The old man with the gnarled cedar stick turned from his boulder perch and listened. The sound of horses'' hooves was not foreign to his aged ears. He had heard hundreds of such sounds during the many years he had occupied the rock, mud, and seaweed-walled station overlooking the ocean. Sailor, as the few inhabitants of the island affectionately knew him, had requested to use the sparse and barren enclosure as his home ever since an untimely explosion aboard the salvaging boat he worked had taken his sight. During the intervening fifty years, he had often used his keenly developed ears to help Umberto, the salvage boat owner, decipher the many elusive sounds of the deep, some of which had led to treasures. Now, he listened for what might prove to be his first visitors in many a day.
Samantha''s horse drew to a stop where a hollowed out log held water.
Max approached, still wearing a smile of pride. "You still ride like a champion."
Samantha laughed back. "Like a klutz, you mean."
As the horse drank, Samantha looked up to see Sailor waving from fifty yards ahead. "Friend of yours?" Samantha quipped.
Max dismounted and walked his horse toward Sailor. "That''s your surprise."
"My surprise," Samantha repeated. She squinted at the silhouette standing at the edge of the rise, waving his stick above his head and almost singing his greeting, "Welcome. Welcome. Please join me for tea."
Samantha held up her hand to shade the sun. Were it not for the real sky and ocean dropping off behind him, I''d swear I was hallucinating. Tea? It must be a hundred out here.
+++
Inside the "Sailor''s Castle," as the spindly old man chose to call it, the temperature was ten degrees cooler, beckoning a longer visit than anticipated. The surroundings were stark and bare of any superfluous comforts. In the corner stood an old potbelly stove. Standing in the center of the stone and dirt floor was an old galleon bunk bed and three small barrels that served as chairs. The hand-carved side-panels of the bunk carried the inscription, "One hundred days of storm and no end in sight - June 2, 1784." The lower bunk had planks spread across it providing a table level for things such as eating, chatting and now, tea. As they exchanged niceties and sipped their tea, Samantha found his strong angular face with its weathered skin fascinating, as it framed very beautiful and mysterious eyes; eyes she had just realized were blind. The revelation made the décor of the 18th century lookout shelter all the more intriguing. Both her and Max''s attention were pulled to the books-hundreds of books stacked against the walls. OK, he''s blind and likes books. My kind of imagination. Max was the first to pose the question.
"You certainly have a fine collection of books."
Sailor smiled and lifted the old teakettle from the stove, quickly finding his way back to their barrel seats. "Oh, those. Can I freshen your tea?"
"Thank you," said Samantha.
"No more for me," replied Max.
Sailor gestured toward the walls, "Those, my friends, are such rich memories. Occasionally, a traveler will visit and read to me. Such pleasure, books. Don''t you agree? Many years ago, I served as the ship''s librarian, a rather unique position on a salvage boat. But, Mr. Pasolini is a unique man. Have you met him?"
"No... no, we''re just your everyday tourists," Samantha said with a chuckle.
"Oh, but I can tell by your rich voice that you are anything but ‘everyday,'' yes?"
Max spoke up proudly. "Well, you''re right, Sailor. Samantha is unique in her own right."
"Of course. It was apparent," said Sailor. He turned to Samantha and gripping her hand gently said, "Tell me more, please."
Taken aback by the deft aim of his old, but strong hand in finding her own, she patted him back. "Well, perhaps to some, it''s true. I''m an actor."
"Of course. That voice is a storyteller''s dream. What is your name, if I might ask."
"Samantha Turner," she replied.
"Very nice name. It fits you. By birth or a stage name?" Sailor asked.
Samantha turned to Max and smiled. "Well, it''s by birth... made to mean something by Max. He is my teacher, my husband"
"Oh," laughed Sailor, "We are romantic. That is so nice to hear occasionally. You''re married."
Max smiled back at Samantha, "Yes. Just a few days. We''re on our honeymoon."
Sailor rose, lifting his teacup. "Congratulations. To Mr. and Mrs. Turner, no..."
"Quinlan, Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan," said Max.
"To Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan. May you realize many little Quinlans, yes?"
"Perhaps a little later," answered Samantha.
They all touched their cups together.
With a hint of sadness, Sailor said, "Better earlier than later, Mrs. Quinlan. Life has a way of interrupting your plans." He suddenly paused and picked up his walking stick. "Please, let me share something with you. Come. It''s outside."
+++
Sailor led Max and Samantha along a rocky path of fixed-ropes that had obviously been up for some time. The woven hemp curled down the hillside, passing rusted relics of a past era including rowboats, anchors, propellers, capstans and bollards. The maritime walk ended in a small cove, protected on three sides by volcanic rock.
Sailor paused and raised his arm, whispering. "Shhh. We must be careful not to frighten them away."
Max and Samantha stopped and waited to hear more. Below, the waters were undisturbed, save for the gentle lapping of waves brushing against the cold porous rock with its blanket of mussels and other mollusks.
Sailor turned his head from side to side, listening. He cupped his hands and softly squealed a sound like that of dolphins. Again, he turned his head from side to side. He smiled and whispered, "They are farther out than usual. Might take them a few minutes to come in, but..." he gestured for Max and Samantha to sit down, "... we can sit on the rock here and enjoy the cool salt air. I come here often. Isn''t it beautiful?"
Samantha had been holding Max''s hand on the short walk to the cove, but now she gripped it tightly, as if in fear of something.
"Yes... very," answered Max as he turned to Samantha and quietly asked, "What''s wrong, Sam?"
Continuing to grip Max''s hand, Samantha fixed her eyes on Sailor, "How do you do it?" she asked.
"Do it? What?" replied Sailor softly.
"Stay so happy... here... this desolate place. No one to relate to. No one to be with."
Sailor pointed his chin to the sea, turned his head from side to side, listening once again. Satisfied, he took her hand and placed it on his chest. "Feel it?"
"Feel it? What?"
"Happiness, my dear. That wonderful sound within where the real thing resides. Where no matter the interruptions in life, no matter the place or time when the unknown, the unseen, the unexpected, can surprise you, the happiness of life comes from little else but honesty with oneself... and perhaps a small amount of intelligence to help one understand the quiet voice inside that keeps you company... keeps you from thinking you''re alone or without someone to relate to." He patted her hand once again. "And of course, it''s always a special treat to have visitors like yourself to add to the sounds." He pressed her hand tighter to his chest. "Now, do you hear it?"
She drank in his kind expression, his wrinkled eyes that sparkled even brighter with the water''s reflection. "Of course I hear it."
"Good. That is good. From me to you. From you to your husband and the unborn I hope you will realize some day. An honest heart deserves other honest hearts." He turned back to the ocean. He slowly rose and turned his head again. "Yes... they have heard the happiness as well." He cupped his hand once again, using the soft squeals of his voice to bring the dolphins to the surface. One, two, seven in all. They came and performed for all three with the same love and calm affections as had beckoned them—the same peace and tranquility that now ushered a tear to both Samantha and Max''s eyes. To Sam, it was as if a new dimension, a higher-self had been introduced—an appreciation that would challenge forever her stubborn resistance to the honesty Sailor had asked her to believe in. To Max, a fortuitous experience that he knew would help keep the fragile and vulnerable woman he loved from succumbing to a world that would use her up without any thought of its cost. To Sailor, it was just another sharing, a simple everyday experience with two strangers who arrived out of curiosity and left as friends with a renewed appreciation for the unexplainable.
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Love ya!
Jane
Ron