The Perishing Land - A Short Story
Page 3
***
"Father Michael is staying on the island. He's mad with fear, and he's speaking blasphemy," said Yosi.
The intricate wooden bowl that Jon's mother Ahorangi held clattered to the ground. Yosi leaned back against the door, then slid to the floor. He looked scared and exhausted.
"He talks of the old gods. The spirits of our ancestors. He says they're angry, and that's why the ocean comes for us."
Ahorangi knelt down and took Yosi's hands into her own. Her eyes were on Jon.
"The last of the military boats are leaving now," she said quietly. "They will wait no longer."
Yosi looked at his wife. "He's our priest," he said. "I can't leave him to die with blasphemy on his lips." She is such a strong woman, he thought, as she asked if they could stay with him. He nodded.
"Perhaps together we can convince the Father to come with us. I told him that I wouldn't leave without him. Take our bags to the hill next to the boat cradles. We will meet you there."
So they departed, Yosi and his son, knowing as the waters swallowed the remaining beaches that today was the last day the island would live. Under an angry sun, they walked the short distance from their home to the church, which was one of the few buildings made of concrete and stone. Chipped and faded paint on the outside wall of the church told in vanishing colors the birth of the island's new faith when the missionaries came and proclaimed the Word of God.
As they approached, Father Michael burst out of the front door. The priest grabbed Jon's father by the shoulder, and glanced at the boy. "Yosi!" said the priest, his voice coarse and dry. "Why have you brought your son?"
"We will not leave you!" said Yosi. "If you will not come with us, then we will stay with you. Please Father. Let us pray."
The priest stepped back, as if the suggestion horrified him. He stared at his friend with tears in his bloodshot eyes. He looked again at the boy, then turned away and walked quickly to the front of the church. Yosi touched his son's back, motioning him to follow.
They found Father Michael looking out of the east window, which was open wide and offered a view of the small jungle-covered slope that led to where the eastern shore had once been. The waters were already in the trees.
"Yosi, I don't know who God is," said the priest, turning slightly to face him. "Look out there!" he pointed. "Our world is ending, and all I hear are the spirits of the island and the sea screaming from the waves!"
Yosi stood beside Michael and watched the hungry waters consume the land. After a moment the deacon closed his eyes. He tried to pray, to ask for strength for him and the Father. The words would not come. The sound of the surf (which he had never before heard from the church) was alien and spiteful. As he formed the prayer, the sound of mad waters called to him. Suddenly he was startled by the soft pressure of Jon's hand grasping his own. Yosi looked down. Jon's eyes were open wide, his face etched with fear. He nodded behind Father Michael, who seemed to no longer notice his two companions.
Yosi turned to look. Further along, the wall narrowed into the tiny nave, large enough for only two men to stand side by side. The altar was covered, overlaid with a crimson cloth trimmed in gold threading. Atop the altar…
The deacon gasped, and fell to his knees. Father Michael snapped out of his transfixion, and looked upon his friend. He turned, and sighed a mournful breath. Slowly he walked to the altar and knelt before the skull that sat upon it. It was bleached, although scratches on the forehead and a dent over the right temple spoke of a violent death.
"Reverend," Yosi said, his voice shaking. "What is this evil?"
Father Michael turned.
"The spirits have claimed the island," he said. He pointed to the open window. "See, they come in fury." In response to his words a short cliff scarcely 50 paces below them collapsed, and the tide plunged closer to the village.
"Father," said Yosi, his voice edged with sudden anger "I have served you and the church since I came of age. Now as the world ends, you betray those teachings? You tell me with your treachery that the teachings are a lie?”
"No, my son. No!" He stammered and looked away. "Brother, I know our God. I know He lives! But..." Tears fell over his cheeks and onto the church floor. "I hear the spirits of the island now more than Him! In truth, I haven't heard Him for years." And he sobbed, and would have fallen had Yosi not caught him.
He held the priest, silhouetted against the clear blue sky in front of the open window.
As they stood there, Father Michael sobbing in his deacon's arms, Yosi tilted his head. A groaning could be heard, faintly, coming from the earth. He glanced down and saw that Jon was listening to it as well.
Then rising over the growing clamor a deep noise began to buffet the church from out of the sky. The air was thick with it, a rapid thumping sound that shook the building.
Whup-whup-whup.
Jon cringed as one of the terrifying army machines flew around the east side of the church and halted, frozen in the air. The three in the building could see men within the helicopter point at them.
The waves pushed forward again. Water suddenly gushed violently out of the ground from long forgotten springs. The earth bubbled and shuddered.
Father Michael embraced Yosi, although the fear never left his face.
"Take Jon and try to save him. I know all the boats are gone. Perhaps the military can still reach you." A cavernous crash rocked the church as more ground gave way. The water was steadily rising now, only meters from the church grounds that stopped at the cliff overlooking the quickly vanishing slope. His friend began to resist, but Father Michael stopped him.
"Yosi, go." his voice was defeated and resigned. "I've either lead our people to the wrong God, or I'm leading you away from Him now. Save your family. Whatever punishment awaits me, spare me your blood as well." Michael placed his hand on Jon's head. "May whatever power that is stronger guide and protect you my boy."
***
Jon held the bucket of pitch with quivering arms as the water raced across the grass where the half finished boat sat atop a wizened cradle made of rope and bamboo. When the cool ocean surf rolled over their feet, terror seemed to overwhelm his father. Suddenly he seized Jon and hurled him into the unfinished vessel. The rough wood tore at the young boy's bare back, but he scarcely noticed. His father looked behind him to where his mother still sat in the shade of a tree. A vein of earth bulged between then, and suddenly it burst, sending water and sand spraying into the air. When the air cleared enough to see, a widening spring was spewing water forcefully between the clearing where Jon and Yosi stood, and the small hill where his mother had been waiting. She was nowhere to be seen.
"Jon," said his father, and suddenly the boat lurched as the waters of the ocean rose up in their final crescendo against the land. He rocked backwards, trying to remain standing as the water pushed the boat against him.
"For once, forget the words of the Father. He is consumed with fear. Remember the Lord. Even if the spirits of the island take your mother and me, remember your God!" A sudden swell lifted the boat up off the construction cradle and shoved Yosi away. He turned, and began wading toward where his wife last stood, calling her name.
Jon stretched out his arms and steadied himself, watching with anguish as his father sank further into the rising waters. As the tears fell a loud crack drew his attention. He looked beyond where Yosi struggled amidst the waves and saw the hill start to disintegrate where the church could scarcely be seen amidst the thick jungle. Then just as quickly as it started to fall apart, the remaining land appeared to take a breath. The last hillside swelled, rising higher. The church steeple rose and slashed across the sun for a moment. And beside it two of the military machines were hanging in the sky.
Whup-whup-whup, went the machines.
And then it collapsed. An unholy sound of exhalation, like the last breath of a dying giant, spewed from the earth into the air. From all around, the tide beat in, and overcame the ground.
/> Frothing water and erratic waves slammed into the half finished vessel. Jon closed his eyes and clung to the thick beam that formed the spine of the boat. Water spat over the edges in great bursts, and suddenly the boat flipped over so violently that Jon wasn't able to take a breath before being pushed under the surface of the ocean.
The waters roared in his ears. And faintly he could still hear whup-whup-whup.
Jon broke through the surface of the water, but was pulled under again as the land breathed him back. In ages past the island once dwelt under the waves, and seemed unwilling now to go back there alone. The terror of the island's grip quickly faded, and the young boy watched the sunlight through the briny water.
If God is king, then He will deliver. If the spirits of old rule this world, then they will take me. And so he closed his eyes. A muffled roar and warm water enveloped him (whup-whup-whup) and as the blackness grew ever greater, and the sounds of the world ever dimmer, he thought that he felt a hand close around his hand. But whether the hand was flesh and bone, or from below, perhaps from the spirits come to drag him to the abyss, he could not tell.
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