July 22, 2008
“Were-Pen, where are we going next?”
“Triton’s Lair,” she replied.
“Under the sea?”
“Yes, of course. Where else would an ocean god live?”
“Just one little detail, hardly anything to worry about, but, well, you’ve got some metal bits that might corrode in the salt water, and me, well, maybe you didn’t notice my lack of gills, but I’m a land mammal. I can’t breathe underwater.”
“Oh ye of little faith!” said the Were-Pen. “This is Lemuria! We’re not bound by the laws of physics! You’ll be just fine! Just dive in! The magic will work!”
“But what if it doesn’t?”
“You must believe.”
“That’s just it, Were-Pen. I have this itty bitty problem called a complete lack of faith. The gods tend to hold disbelief against you.”
“Maybe in your world, but this is fiction, and anything can happen, so here we go!” The Were-Pen sharply prodded me in the back and I took a giant leap of, well, maybe not faith, but I was definitely stepping out past the point of no return. And to my great surprise, it worked!
“It’s amazing! How did this happen? I’m here, under the waves, and I’m breathing just fine. It’s a miracle!”
“Not really,” said the Were-Pen. “Your life on land, that was your past, but you have to go on. The tide goes in and out, with you or without you, it’s the law of ebb and flow, flotsam and jetsam. You can’t step in the same river twice, it moves on, just go with the flow, don’t look back, however you want to say it.”
I looked at the Were-Pen. “You are very wise.”
“Of course I am. I have been used to record man’s wisdom through the ages. You didn’t think I’m just any No. 2 pencil, did you?”
“No. But what is your name, if I may ask?”
“You may call me Claire, short for Clarity, what you discover when you write down your thoughts, emotions, history, culture, stories.”
“Claire, is Triton as fierce as they say?” I asked. The stories I’d heard were terrifying.
“He does have a temper, and no doubt about that, but he’s not all bad. Certainly, he is the god of hurricanes and tsunamis, but he is also the god of moonlit beaches and silver sunrises over the seas.”
“I hope you are right, Claire, because I do not think he will like his gift.”
“Often we receive gifts we did not ask for, and may not like.”
“True, and sometimes they are just what we needed, though we don’t realize it at the time,” I agreed. “But I wonder how the Triton will react to an unpleasant lesson in humility?”
“We’ll soon know.”
Claire and I entered magnificent rainbow-colored coral gates, and stopped before the Triton’s Castle-Under-the-Sea. I rang the knocker, an ornate, antique brass anchor. I heard no sound, but felt vibrations.
“Who knocks?” an ancient Gray Dolphin asked.
“Kerry and Claire, If you please, with a gift for his lordship the Triton,” I squeaked.
“More likely a trinket to barter your passage to Mudjimba,” the Gray Dolphin muttered.
“Yes, it’s true, we do ask his lordship’s permission to pass unharmed….We apologize for bothering your royal highnesses,” I said, trying to curtsey, which, under water, was not so gracefully executed.
“Tourists,” the Gray Dolphin grumbled. “Follow me. Triton is bored today – perhaps frightening you will entertain him, at least until Wheel of Sailors’ Fortune comes on…”
“Sire, some tourists for you to terrorize,” say the Gray Dolphin, then swam back to a safe distance.
The Triton thrashed about and drew himself up to his full height, 20 feet at least, and his seaweed hair and beard billowed out in ragged, murky tentacles. His eyes were as red as the center of a volcano. His torso was huge, barnacled, and broad as a boulder. The bottom half of his body was dark green and scaled. He had no legs, only a powerful fishlike tail, which constantly flipped, like an angry cat’s.
“What do you want?” he roared.
“I stumbled, knelt, and shakily said, “Please, o Great Triton, may we pass through your kingdom safely, to Mudjimba Isle?”
“What’s in it for me? And it better be good.”
“I have brought you a most special gift. It comes from long ago and far away, from New England, in North America.”
“Near the coast of the Atlantic Ocean?” he asked. I nodded. “Let’ see what you have, then.”
I opened my Enchanteur’s bag, and pulled out a tiny iron scrollwork balcony, which grew to its full-size when it entered the salt water. “They put these rails on balconies upstairs of homes, where the women would look out to sea, waiting for their sailor husbands to return home. It’s a widow’s walk, because so often, the men were lost at sea.”
“You blame me for their deaths?” The Triton’s eyes glowed with rage.
“No, of course not,” I said quickly. “You can’t stop the ocean’s ways. You can’t stop the tides. Whenever humans go to sea, we take a risk. This widow’s walk is a token to honor your power, and, perhaps, a reminder, that what you do may impact someone else miles away from here and years away from today.”
“Mortal, who are you to tell me how to rule my kingdom?”
“No one. I have no right. But I strive to be a writer, and it is my sacred duty to try to tell the truth, humbly, even when I am afraid. Please forgive me. I must try my best to speak true, even when the words are hard to tell, and hard to hear.”
The Triton looked hard at me, broke off a piece of living coral, and handed it to me. “My reef is sacrificing some of its life to ensure your safe passage to Mudjimba. I know how unpleasant it is to be the bearer or hard truths. Your way, like mine, is not an easy one. People will not thank you. They will not want to be with you. You may earn their respect, but not their love. It is a loneliness as wide and as deep as the seven seas. You will suffer enough – you need suffer no more at my hand. You may pass through my kingdom with my blessing. Go.”
Kerry Vincent (c) 2008
(Washington National Cathedral, light art by Gerry Hofstetter, re-colored by Kerry Vincent)
Tags: brave, honest, Lemuria, speak true, triton, were-pen, write
