He was not even fifteen when he decided to cross the sea. There was no time for goodbyes, his farewell at the shore was brief and perfunctory. His mother was there, in the long black dress which she only wore to funerals, crying silently as she hugged him. His father, who shook his hand earlier, stood in the distance, praying for fair winds to accompany this boy who could not wait to be a man. His sister, Antonia, was wailing loudly despite her promise to be strong and stolid, unable to give him the lei of jasmine and hibiscus which she clutched to her breast. He rushed to the boat, leaping at the gangplank with feverish steps, afraid that even one hesitant moment would tie him to the tiny island forever.
While the boat slowly sailed, he focused his eyes on the distant mountain, memorizing its form, now blurred by the haze. The water, which at the shore was so clear one could see one's toes despite being waist deep, started to darken, as it lengthened its distance from the pier. Soon the island which he knew so well seemed like a fist of slate-grey rock being swallowed by the sea.
Thirty five years would pass before he was able to see that island again. |
