FISHERMAN’S PRIZE
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| Thomas Masters Dalton (1831–1908) |
SECTION ONE
From the beginning of time the incessant
northern storms had violently swept across the Sea of Kontu crashing against
the sheer cliffs of Wenjenkun with tempestuous fury to permanently mar or mold
crazed abstract forms on this already scarred, irredeemable land. With fair days few and far between on this
inhospitable strand, incredibly, a small number of persistent, stalwart
fishermen still managed to eke out a meager subsistence from the unforgiving,
turbulent sea.
~
Most recent of these storms, lasting in intensity without wane four or five days, had been so severe that only now, when it had barely subsided, the bravest, the most stubborn or the most desperate of men, would have dared venture into it.
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| Thomas Masters Dalton (1831–1908) |
It so happens that one such fisherman
named Kaimu, in defiance of all reason, cursing the elements, at the crack of
dawn had set his small craft out to sea. He’d reassured himself that he was overall
in excellent physical health and though middle-aged (in his late 40’s) he was
still agile enough and possessed great stamina/strength to meet any impending
challenges that would be mated out to him by the exacting “Mother Nature”. Now ordinarily, he too would have paid heed
to nature’s dire warnings: after all, the overhead sky was still riddled with
ominous, flotilla of (billowing) clouds! This aspect among others had deterred
his fellow fishermen from the perilous enterprise. But as ill-luck would have it,
resultant of his cursed land-born accident that had inevitably incapacitated
him for a time- his patience and their meager life provisions had been reduced
to nil.
Nor could he stomach one more accursed, infernal root- for the supposed,
medicinal sustenance!
A proud man, he’d never be caught dead
opining, let alone receiving a handout from his closest neighbor; nevertheless,
he had his wife Ensa to consider. In the last couple of days, it had pained him
to see her put through such hardships. Though she’d never once complained, now
that he had his mobility back, nothing short of death would deter him from his
resolve.
Besides, having spent his entire
existence, rather subsistence, at this desolate (forlorn, dismal) corner, he’d
always had this strange love and hate relationship with the Sea. From
childhood, fishing had been in his life’s blood. Now, as he charted alone, the
precarious course, the fickle sea foaming at the mouth, sprayed his face in
tauntingly in greeting- as at the same time the towering, churning waves
embraced and somewhat gyrated his seemingly toy craft off its heading (mark). Undaunted, he steered hard to remain on the
intended bearing; but sporadically still, (every now and then) his boat would
be helplessly tossed about and whirled (reeled) as if caught in the whims of an
impetuous, harlot.
"Tempestuous wench, I dare you to do your
worst…You owe me, and I mean to reclaim my right!" He cursed aloud then clenched his jaw in defiance with a
certain determination, mindful of the dangers abounding, with every fiber of
his being now poised to tackle the unexpected. Despite his layered clothing
however, a shiver passed through him as the bitter cold mercilessly seeped into
his lungs with every intake of breath. Sudden gusting, biting winds rising in
intensity meanwhile buffeted his sleeves and admonishingly trashed his already
etched sculptured features, making him squint.
Would this blasted weather ever subside
(let up)?
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| Christian Krohg (1852–1925) |
Apart from his physical exertion, he was
also quietly disconcerted deep down in his heart, to see so much wooden debris
floating about on the surface water. Far
more than usual, far more than he’d anticipated. All evidence pointed to (foretold)
a vessel or vessels’ calamity; hence, loss of myriad lives! Many torn pieces of flesh and bones would be
fishmeal, but an infinite number of identifiable human parts or corpses would
also be washed ashore. Subsequently wild dogs or birds would feast on them.
He dreaded such gruesome reminders of
man’s vulnerability!
The shoreline was barely visible now, at
a deemed favorable spot, he dropped anchor. Steadying himself, he was about to
cast his sturdy net over the sea (floor) when just then his keen eyesight
espied (spotted) an intact floating figure at some distance.
Rubbing his eyes he focused his
attention on the partially submerged object that lay beneath the unconscious,
seemingly lifeless human. His clear vision partially obscured by the bobbing
waves, Kaimu could barely discern the thick ropes that fastened the castoff-
therefore keeping him afloat- on a large, sturdy piece of dark wood.
"Hmm! Looks to me a valuable commodity, a
door perhaps, or a chest." A hopeful
light shone in his eyes, despite the odds stacked against it being so. Then
again, why should he bother; besides, the person could have already expired…
dead as a doornail he would be from exposure to cold!
Kaimu in quandary gnawed at his lower
lip as he same time thoughtfully stroked the chin. Just then however the situation took on an
urgent turn when he glimpsed (detected, pinpointed) large school of sharks over
yonder headed straight for the castaway.
“Not if I can help it!” Without hesitation, on
the perchance the poor soul was still alive, he quickly aborted his earlier aim
of casting the net. With incredible agility and strength, he first hauled the
anchor up, and then raced his craft (vessel) straight (into) towards certain
peril in order to rescue that poor unfortunate being. Having reached the spot,
he, with the use of his sharp dagger quickly released the bonds and hauled the
unconscious body up on board- just in the nick of time too! Sharks having
missed their mark, circled the boat with certain frenzy, some irately bumping
it, then just as swiftly they swerved and swam away towards yet another
opportunity. With the passing of this
certain danger, Kaimu grinned elatedly.
On second thought, forsaking the idea of
salvaging the ‘adrift-wood-piece’, he now turned his attention back on the
rescued being. Squatting, he carefully checked for the vital signs. The face
was ghostly white (devoid of any color) but the body was nonetheless warm. The pulse,
although faint, was still there. There
were some bruises and cuts, some bleeding, but nothing serious. Aha…. Hahn!
“What’s this, a woman?” He was suddenly taken back and so abruptly
yanked (jerked, pulled) his hand away.
It’s most puzzling, indeed? His
suspicious, scrutinizing gaze affixed on the unconscious being, he
absentmindedly scratched his forehead; for plainly enough, the drenched, rather
prosperous attire was that of male’s.
Hmm, what probable mischief was at play
here… Could she be an escapee, a run-away?
When just then she made a faint
whimpering sound and stirred, oh who cares, at least she’s alive! Kaimu
elatedly shrugged, having received added confirmation that at least his
expansive efforts had not been in vain after all. As she seemed to be laboring
for breath however, he now gently turned her on to her side and patted
(pounded) her back. Pat, pat, pat…
She coughed, pinkish hue brushed her
lovely cheeks and her lips parting, she spewed (ejected, disgorged) some
seawater. The eyelids fluttered, opened
just a crack but then she, once more going ghostly pale, passed out cold. Kaimu
knew all too well the signs of shock and what the subsequent requirement would
entail. Cold as he was, without a
moment’s hesitation he took off his dry outer jacket, and as she was petite in
frame, pretty much wrapped her whole body in it. Deferring his plans to fish
until later, he then quickly applied himself to the oars (rowed) and swiftly
steered his small craft back to the shore. His feet trod quickly on the wet,
slippery path as he with ease carried her in his arms to his meager dwelling.
“Look what the sea has given us!” Kicking the door wide open with his left foot, he barged right in leaving muddy footprints on the clean floor and laid her on the cot.
“I shall leave her to
your competent care.” As he said this,
he’d also quickly retrieved (reclaimed) his coat and put it back on. Then
without sparing another moment for a response or an explanation to Ensa’s
barrage of questions, he turned right around (on his heels) and darted out.
She’d nimbly rushed after him to outside
and persisted with her loud inquiries. But there was so little time for him to
waste; the weather could take a turn for the worse at any moment! Hence,
ignoring his wife’s entreaties, his back still turned to her, he raised his
right hand up high in the air and waved a dismissive goodbye. Just like a
woman! Exhaling an impatient huff, he shook his head as he quickly retraced his
steps back to his boat. After returning to the proximity of the earlier spot,
he then dropped anchor and cast his homemade net into the sea.
(To be continued in the next post.)
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| shipwreck-1854 |
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