The Weight of a Thousand Oceans

by Jillian Webster

“Well, at least when I’m working my butt off preparing it, I’ll know there’ll be bacon someday in my future. Lots of it.”

  “True. Let’s pray for bacon, then.”

  “Amen.”

  A light breeze ruffles the canopy leaves and a few tūī birds swoop along the trail.

  “And you, Grandpa? What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing really.”

  There’s a short silence. She waits for it.

  “You. Your future.”

  “God, Grandpa. Can we not? It’s early.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He groans behind her.

  She turns around. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says while rubbing his back. “Just an aching back. Don’t ever get old.”

  She smiles at him. “You’ve told me this before.”

  “Well, don’t do it.” He wags his stick in her direction.

  “I’ll try my best.” She leads him by his scrawny arm in front of her. “You go first. I need to keep an eye on you.”

  As he walks ahead of her, she can’t help wondering when he suddenly got so old.

  Two out of the four traps are empty.

  “Damn,” her grandfather sighs. “I honestly don’t think I can eat another rabbit.”

  “Did you know you can die if you only eat rabbit?”

  He eyes her suspiciously. “Where did you read that?”

  “I read it in our shed library last week. You have to eat it with lots of vegetables, otherwise eating it alone will leach your body of vital nutrients and you’ll die.”

  “Well, that sounds a tad dramatic. Haven’t you read every book in there at least twice? How are you still getting new information?”

  “At least twice—more like six times. I’m an encyclopedia of useless information.”

  “I wouldn’t say useless. And that’s great, that’s why I stole them from the university where I worked so long ago. One day I hoped someone would read them. Let’s head to the next trap.”

  “Haven’t you read them, Grandpa?”

  “Some. Not as much as you, darling. Too much building, farming, and hunting. It’s taken my entire life to create this home and land we have now.”

  A pang of guilt clenches her chest.

  “Look at this leaf.” Her grandfather stops on the trail. “What do you see?”

  Maia shakes her head. “I’m not sure I follow. I see a leaf, Grandpa.”

  They are surrounded by early morning light. The scent of deep wet earth fills the air. Maia and her grandfather stop and watch a tūī sitting in the branches above. The bird fluffs out his brown chest. Then, extending his deeply turquoise wings, he cocks his head, displaying a prominent ball of fluffy white feathers dangling from beneath his chin.

  “New Zealand,” her grandfather whispers with pride. “It’s always been a bird’s paradise.”

  The tūī straightens his neck as far as it will go, performing his signature jumbled mix of chirps, squawks, and clicking noises.

  “Maia.”

  She glances back at her grandfather, humoring him. “Yes, I’m listening.”

  “We don’t have many of these bush teachings anymore. I feel like we’ve spent your entire life out here in the forest, learning about the earth and the world … history, life.”

  “We have.” She faces him, meeting his gaze. “They’re some of my fondest memories.”

  “This leaf is life,” he says very seriously. “It is the one and only link between the earth and the sun; every second it is taking light and creating the nutrients our bodies need to survive. It takes toxins from the air to give us clean oxygen to breathe. It supplies us with medicine to heal our bodies. Even when humans numbered in the tens of billions, this leaf—our plant life—made up over ninety-nine percent of the earth’s living creatures. All of life depends on them. They were here long before us and they will be here long after we’re gone.”

  He pulls down a vine. “This will wrap itself around everything we’ve ever created and will consume it whole, as something as simple as water breaks it down into nothing. Worms, slowly over time, will bury it deep under the earth. And it will be like we were never here.”

  “Nice, Grandpa. Uplifting.”

  “Maia, this earth is alive in much the same way we are alive. From the smallest insect to the largest tree, this earth and everything on it is living consciousness—life striving to thrive. This tree can see, sleep, smell, taste, touch, and hear. Not in the same way we can, but don’t you ever discredit something living because it is different from you. From our atmosphere to our oceans, our dividing cells to our beating hearts … life is so brilliant in such a quiet way that we often take it for granted.”

  “Grandpa,” Maia smiles and shakes her head. “We’ve discussed this.”

  “I just don’t want you to forget. I keep thinking about where we went wrong, and I think this may be part of the answer. We forgot. We forgot who we really are and our place in this immense and complex community of life. We have a responsibility to protect this earth, to protect each other. Animals, plants—we are all in this together.

  “The basic elements that make up this tree, the ant below you, the beating heart within you, were created in a star above you, billions of years ago.” He pauses, then turns to look at her. “Maia, everything that lives will one day fall into the earth and become one with it. We are all one. Never forget that.

  “Hold your hand against this tree—can you feel it?”

  She hesitates, gazing up at the gentle giant.

  “Maia?”

  She takes a deep breath. Slowly raising her hand to the wet bark, she spreads her fingertips wide as she hovers next to it. A few spark-like balls flicker between her and the tree. Horrified, she looks at her grandfather.

  His smile fades. “Are you okay?”

  A glimmering stream of energy rolls up and down the tree in waves. Maia squeezes her eyes shut, fighting the visions in her head. It has been nearly ten years since she last allowed this inexplicable force to take her over, and she never wants to endure it again.

  The last time she did, she accidentally wiped out an entire colony of bees.

  A hive was still such a rare sighting. They were so close to extinction for so long. She and Huck had followed their sound, amazed by the intensity of their quiet hum. But then Huck ran off, as he often did. He’d always been such an independent dog. She was standing in awe just a few feet away when Huck ran back to her, whimpering. He had been stung as he dug around too close to the hive. She tried to calm him but he was so young, yelping and rubbing his nose into the dirt.

  Maia’s temper flared. Next thing she knew, she stood gasping as hundreds of bees fell to the ground around her, curling into themselves and writhing in pain. They were so loud. She tried covering her ears but she couldn’t escape it.

  She could hear every last one of them dying.

  * * *

  Looking down at her feet, the waves of crystalline light now emanate from her body in ripples. “Grandpa … can you see this?” she whispers.

  “See what, darling?”

  Her eyes fixate on the glistening rays.

  “Honey, are you okay?” He places his hand on her shoulder, startling her, and the glimmer disappears in a flash.

  Astounded, she backs up from the tree.

  “Okay, let’s go home,” he says with alarm and picks up his walking stick.

  “No.” She walks back to the tree and presses her hand hard against it. Nothing happens. She closes her eyes, placing her other hand against the rough bark and pushes harder. Nothing. She bangs her fists against the tree.

  “Maia!”

  She drops her hands, exhaling deeply. “Yes, Grandpa.”

  “What’s going on with you?” He pulls her hair off her face, tilting his head into her view.

  She looks up at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine. What were you saying?”

  He stares at her with ambivalence.

  “Grandpa—the tree. What am I suppo
sed to … feel?” She eyes it suspiciously.

  “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  “Grandpa, please, just forget about it. Please continue.”

  “I just … I just don’t want you to forget. That’s all.”

  She holds the side of his face, feeling his cheekbone protruding from his delicate skin. “I know, darling. I won’t forget.”

  “Darling. You’re my darling.” He smiles and places his hand on top of hers. “I know you have some big decisions in your life right now. Big decisions.” His smile fades. “I know you’re afraid, child, and I don’t blame you. I’m afraid too.”

  “Grandpa?”

  “The answers you seek are within you. When you find yourself searching for God, as we all do at some point in our lives, look deeply into your own eyes and see, God is within you. God is in this vine stretching across the forest canopy. He is in the chirping birds above us and in the sweet, tangy explosion of a blackberry. God is everywhere, Maia. I want you to know this above all else. Because when you truly know this, you won’t be afraid anymore.”

  Six

  Maia pushes aside the low-hanging branches and steps cautiously onto the warm sand. Her mother runs up to her and grabs her hands, leading her onto the beach. Smiling, they embrace.

  “Mum, I miss you so much. Promise me you’ll never leave me. Please? Never leave me.”

  Her mum leans her forehead against Maia’s, staring deep into her eyes. “I’ll never leave you, Maia.” Her long white gown flows behind her in the breeze. She squeezes Maia’s hands. “Come,” she says as she steps into the water’s edge.

  Maia shakes her head, once again standing alone on the shore. “No…”

  The edges of the ocean wrap around until they meet on the other side. Behind her mother, the foreign city still looms in a murky fog. Bigger. Darker. New lights now blaze from deep inside the windows.

  “Come, my darling.” Her mother reaches out to her.

  Maia stands frozen, the endless abyss just a step away. “Mum, I can’t.” She shakes her head, panicking as her mother stands farther and farther away from her.

  “You don’t have to be afraid, Maia. It’s okay. I’m right here with you.”

  “You’re not. You’re far away now!” Maia cries out into the wind, her toes now tottering on the edge.

  Both Maia and her mother reach out to one another, her mother seemingly at peace while tears stream down Maia’s face.

  “You said you would never leave me!” Maia screams from the shore. “You left me.” She watches in horror as her mother slowly disappears, the mysterious city behind her now visible through her gown.

  “Darling, hurry.” Her mother’s voice continues to fade.

  Maia peers into the water, now an endless chasm opening into the depths of the earth, and panic sets in. When she looks up again, her mother’s silhouette is barely visible. Maia takes a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she falls forward into the abyss.

  The water closes in on her with the weight of a thousand oceans. Despite kicking with all her strength, her body plummets as if being pulled by some great unknowable force. The sun pierces the water above in flickering streaks of light. Her mother still stands along the surface, gazing down at her with a callous scowl across her face.

  The dark ocean morphs into an underwater city. High-rises of glass and metal now tower above her. Rusted cars line the street below. Maia spins beneath the water. Struggling for air, she sinks deeper as the gloomy city closes in. The sun dwindles to a pinprick of light in the vast ocean above. She screams as she is swallowed up in darkness.

  Maia’s hand shatters the surface of the water like a pane of glass. Gasping and coughing up seawater, she finds herself stranded in the middle of an endless ocean.

  And her mother is gone.

  “No. No, no, NO!”

  This can’t be real. The cool water laps across her shoulders and a delicate breeze flows across her wet skin. Her breathing is now the only sound breaking the deafening silence. This is a nightmare—this can’t be real!

  A white gown floods Maia’s vision. She twists within the water. The ghost of herself stands before her, looking down upon her with a distant, vacant face and shimmering eyes. Maia clutches at the image’s feet, desperate to find something to hold on to, but her hands slice through as if grasping at a mirage.

  “Help me!” Maia screams breathlessly.

  The reflection of herself does not react. She is stoic, indifferent … almost enchanting.

  Maia’s limbs begin to tire. Thrashing against the water, she chokes on the harsh salty ocean. The mirage tilts her head to one side, and then a single tear tumbles down her cheek as thousands of bees spew from her mouth, engulfing Maia in a deafening, black cloud.

  Maia screams as she shoots up in bed, soaked in sweat and gasping for air. But this time, her grandfather is nowhere to be found.

  Seven

  Garden tools crash to the floor.

  “Maia?” Her grandfather limps towards her from across the backyard.

  “Where is my speargun?” Maia searches through the equipment stacked in the corner of the shed.

  “Maia, we have to talk about this. You’ve been sleeping all day and now you just up and leave? Where are you going?”

  “I need to be by myself. We should have fish tonight. I’ll go spear us a fish.”

  “A fish? When is the last time you saw a fish?”

  “There are some. I saw one last week. He was small, but … maybe he’s grown up now.”

  “Maia.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it!”

  He puts his hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off.

  “What are you dreaming about that so distressful? Your nightmares, are you dreaming about your mother again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want—”

  “No! I don’t want to talk about it.” She turns towards him with her speargun in hand and he cowers back. Horrified, she lowers her spear.

  “Maia, what is happening?”

  “Where were you in the middle of the night?”

  He stares at her but says nothing.

  She shoves past him and races across the lawn. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

  “I said what?” Her grandfather stumbles out of the shed.

  “Never mind.” She runs towards the trail.

  Down by the ocean, Maia grabs a heavy rope and pulls a floating dock to shore. There are a few jellyfish floating about. Picking up her paddles left under a bush, she climbs aboard and pushes out the dock, paddling until the rope is taut.

  She stands tall while gripping her spear and stares into the water. She tries to see past her reflection into the ocean, but all she can see is the woman from her dreams. It was Maia. But with wild, deeply red hair. And those eyes … so similar in color, yet surely her eyes have never emanated like that. Or have they? She certainly has never witnessed it, but her vision does change whenever the energy has revealed itself.

  Her thoughts race. What is her reflection trying to tell her? Maia can’t stay here anymore. She has to get out of here. There’s something out there … something is waiting for her. A life. Something. She knows it.

  A handful of jellyfish float just beneath the surface. Jellies. Nothing to worry about but each other, just like humans when they used to rule the world. Well, it can’t last forever. Enjoy it while you can, jellies.

  She sits cross-legged on the dock and leans over the edge, poking the top of a jellyfish. It bobs down and back up again. No fish in sight. She focuses on her reflection. Her wavy auburn hair is pulled into a large bun wrapped on top of her head. A few strands have fallen out and now kiss the side of her face. She sweeps her fingers across the freckles scattered across her cheeks. Her blue and green eyes almost glow against the ocean.

  You look just like your mother.

  She sighs and glances back to the shore. Huck has wandered in after a full day of excursions on his own. He lifts one paw as he watch
es her, his tail wagging.

  She looks back to her reflection, longingly drawn to her necklace, the only thing she owns from her mother. She reaches around her neck and unclasps the back, holding the small circular charm in her hand—a small jade koru. Shaped like the unfurling of a fern, the delicate spiral carving sits flat in her palm. In the old tradition of the land, it’s meant to symbolize new life and growth. Her mother carved it for Maia while she was pregnant with her. It’s tiny, perfect for a baby. It now sits on a fine flax cord her grandfather made. She carefully wraps it back around her neck and clasps it shut, patting it against her chest for reassurance.

  She waits until the sun begins to set. Straining her eyes, she stares into the water. Nothing. Not one damn fish. She could spear a jellyfish—make fritters. She pulls herself to her feet and stands strong along the edge of the dock, bracing her arm to spear. She has been doing this for years. It’s too hard to fish with a pole and line when there’s so little fish and so many jellyfish. She’s discovered her best option is to sit with her spear on a makeshift dock. Much more stable than a boat.

  She spears a jellyfish out of boredom and lets it hang off the side as she grabs the rope and pulls herself back to the beach. Now they have to eat it. As she approaches the shore, Huck lifts himself off the sand and greets her.

  “Hey, boy,” she says as she jumps off the dock.

  She leaves the jellyfish on the sand and uses a stick to hold down its tentacles as she cuts them off. Huck sniffs around her head. She scrunches her face as his wet nose traces along her cheek. Grabbing a large leaf, she scoops up the tentacles and tosses them beneath some bushes off the track.

  A familiar squeak sounds from the branches above. The little black fantail rocks forward and back, flashing his tail.

  “You again.”

  Squeak squeak squeak!

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before. Let’s go, Huck. Grandpa’s going to hate this jelly.”

  Eight

  Assorted glass jars are spread across the table. Maia’s grandfather is reading in his favorite chair in front of the fire.