The Weight of a Thousand Oceans

by Jillian Webster

  Maia stares at the back of his head as she absently pours melted wax into another jar. “Aren’t you hot sitting so close to that fire?”

  Her grandfather chuckles from behind his chair. “Nah. Good reading light. How are the candles coming?”

  “Fine. Where were you this morning?”

  He closes his book and turns to look at her. “Another question? How about you answer some of mine and then maybe I’ll answer some of yours.”

  “I can’t. I’m not ready to talk about it—not yet.”

  “But you will.”

  “I will.”

  “Soon?”

  “Yes, Grandpa. And what about you? Where were you in the middle of the night?”

  “No. I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.”

  “But you will?” she asks.

  “I will.”

  “Fine.”

  He turns around in his chair and flips open his book. Maia slowly pours more melted wax into another jar, relieved his omission has temporarily allowed hers.

  After a while, her grandfather sets his book down and stares at the fire. Maia watches him from the corner of her eye, quickly looking away when he stands. He shuffles over to her without speaking.

  “You’re hovering,” she mumbles.

  “Have I ever told you the story behind your mother’s tiger painting?”

  “Is there more to it? She was sixteen when she painted it; she adored tigers.”

  “Yes, there’s more.” He steps closer to it and runs his rheumatic fingers over the protective glass. Just beneath it, the uneven oils form miniature ridges and valleys. “Your mother was going to be a scientist. She wanted to save the tigers.”

  This makes Maia look up. “But I thought tigers went extinct ages ago.”

  “They went extinct right before your mother painted this. She was so passionate about them. She really felt she’d be able to save them somehow. When the news was broadcast that the last tiger had died of complications at a zoo, your mother locked herself in her room for days. When she finally came out, she had painted this. She had an even bigger resolution to save whatever was left. Nothing would stop her.”

  “Well, I guess the whole world stopped her, didn’t it?” Maia grumbles.

  Her grandfather grasps the bookshelf below the painting and drops his head. “Every time I look at this painting, I see the young woman your mother was, how strongly she dreamed and how hopeful she was. Every time I look at that tiger, I make an even bigger resolution in my heart that what happened to her won’t happen to you.”

  “What happened to her … you mean dying from childbirth?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Have you thought any more about what you want for your life, Maia? Your dreams, northern adventures maybe?” He still doesn’t turn around.

  “I think about it all the time.”

  “And?” He turns around to face her, his eyes glassy.

  “And what?” She immediately turns away, twirling the small jars between her fingers to check for air bubbles. “What does it matter what I want? I’ll just stay here.”

  “Alone.”

  “Not alone. I have you.”

  “I won’t be around forever, Maia, you know that. We’ve talked about this.”

  “I have Huck.”

  “Maia, he’s a wild dog. Why is he still here anyway? You’re not feeding him, are you?”

  “Of course not.” She suppresses a smile. “And he’s not wild—look at him.”

  Huck lays sprawled on his back across the porch rug. His feet are in the air with his tail lazily wagging from side to side.

  “Maia.”

  “What? What am I supposed to say?”

  Her grandfather grabs a chair and sits across from her. “I understand you need more than this. We both know that. But you have got to choose your life, Maia. You’ll never be happy sitting up in these mountains by yourself. Your ‘adventures’ have grown old, and your only friend is that nomadic mutt.”

  “Grandpa, seriously. Huck—don’t listen to him.”

  “I can’t leave you alone like this. Let me help you.”

  “Who said anything about you leaving? And really? Because last I checked, there wasn’t much life left around here.”

  “There’s life, Maia. Not necessarily the sort of life you crave, but there’s life here. I know you’ll love it up north, if you just give it another chance. You could have a little adventure, meet your own tribe of friends and hopefully a partner, and bring them back here. You’ll never want for anything up here; you just need some family with you. You could find that up north.”

  Maia shakes her head, trying to calm her temper.

  “Don’t make me say it again. Maia, what do you want?”

  “I want what any single, twenty-year-old woman wants. I want to live in a big city, like the ones in my books. I want to go to a university and travel around and meet men and have sex!”

  Her grandfather tips his head. “Maia.”

  “But I don’t really have that option, do I? I don’t want to go to the Northern Tribe. I’d rather be up here alone than go back there. Or…”

  “Or what?”

  An awkward silence hangs over them. Maia bites her lip, resolving to keep her mouth shut.

  Her grandfather looks back to the tiger painting hanging on the wall. “Your mother was a teenager when I took her high up into these mountains as the world crumbled around us. After a handful of years, she was ready to leave, but I wouldn’t give her my blessing. I knew it was too soon and too dangerous. I don’t think I was far off from reality, but I scared her. I told her there was nothing left.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Maia says from under her breath.

  “I’m pretty sure, even in my old age and deep regrets, that I was correct in my assumptions. The way things happened was so severe and bleak, your mother and I were all we had. I swore I would protect her, and that’s exactly what I did.

  “But sometimes I wonder.” He pauses. “Day after day, I watched her anger eat her alive. I still don’t believe it could have been any other way, but I can’t help but think maybe I should’ve gone with her, traveled the islands to find other civilization. The way I have with you. Maybe things could have been different.”

  “So, where did she want to go?”

  “What does it matter? She met your father and everything changed. She didn’t love him. She settled. I knew it wasn’t right and so did she. They stopped coming around, started drinking a lot. A year passed where we didn’t speak. And then she came over to the house one afternoon. Pregnant.”

  “With me?”

  “With you, darling. She was different—full of life. She was excited and hopeful for the first time since The End. We embraced each other back into our lives without a second’s hesitation. We sat together the entire day and talked. You gave her life again, a reason to hope. She named you Maia because, here in New Zealand, it means ‘brave warrior.’ She said you were going to change the world. She knew it. You were going to be different—special. She spoke with such conviction. It was like she had already met you. I’ll never forget the smile on her face as she rubbed her belly with you inside. I’ve never seen her so assured and happy.

  “Your father came over that night for dinner and he was different too. He was so in love with your mother. He had stopped drinking, and they seemed happy. There wasn’t much medical help but your father found a woman who had some experience and could assist with the birth. They figured out a rough due date and she had planned to be there for the month around then. Your father was working around the clock to make room for you and store enough food. The three of us stayed up all night talking. It felt like real life again; it was so nice having your mother back at home.

  “That was the last time I saw her.”

  “Because of me…”

  “No, you gave her life. You gave all of us life. What happened couldn’t be helped. Childbirth is a complicated and dangerous endeavor. Women all over the w
orld from the beginning of time have given their lives to give life. Your mother wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Grandpa?”

  “One night I dreamed about her, after she died. She came into the cabin and talked to me, clear as day. Told me everything was going to be all right and that she was happy and safe. She smiled that same big smile and told me you were going to do great things. And then, just as quickly, she grabbed my hand and told me to go to you. ‘Immediately. Do not hesitate.’

  “And then I woke up. It was morning, and I quickly grabbed my things and made the journey to the other side of the island. I arrived that evening and found your father living in his boatshed. He was drunk, almost incoherently so. And angry. You were in a crib in the corner, crying in dirty clothes. And I knew. I threw my bag down and grabbed you.”

  “What did he do?

  “He yelled a bit, stumbled off his chair. Grabbed his gun but I was faster and had already pointed mine at him. I told him not to follow me and that I would take care of you from now on.”

  “Did he put up a fight?”

  “No.”

  “How nice of him.”

  “He knew it had to be done. He yelled a lot as I packed up your belongings, but he didn’t stop me. He was scared and bitter and angry. He couldn’t take care of himself, let alone take care of you.”

  “Was that the last time you saw him?”

  “No. I’ve seen him a few times over the years when I’ve gone hunting for supplies, but we’ve never acknowledged each other. Too much unspoken that we’d rather bury.”

  “Grandpa, I think the same thing is happening to me now. My dreams … I want more.”

  “I know. I see that. Let me take you back up north again—”

  “I don’t want up north! Why won’t you listen to me? I need to be a part of something. There aren’t many of us; you always said one person could make a difference. I want to make a difference. The world back then was a different place but no less dangerous—”

  “YES! Yes! Less dangerous!”

  “But we overcome. We adapt! That’s what humans do! I don’t want to sit here and rot and procreate. Surely people are rebuilding out there. They must!”

  “But Maia, that’s what they are doing in the Northern Islands. You could start something in the Southern Islands.”

  “No—it’s not right. I’m made for something bigger than this. I’d rather live a short life and die out there trying than live a long life with all those creepy old men, already dead inside.”

  “Creepy? They weren’t creepy. They would take care of you. You need community—you don’t know what you’re saying. There’s nothing out there beyond these islands. It’s not safe!”

  “And it’s safe here? You think just because we have a huge greenhouse and a library and water tanks that I’m safe?”

  “Much safer than out there, don’t be foolish.”

  “I’m dying inside, Grandpa! This life isn’t for me.”

  “Argh, you’re so dramatic!”

  “You said it yourself, that you saw Mum die inside. You just said that. Can you not see me doing the same thing right before your eyes?”

  “YES! I can! So, go up north, goddammit!”

  “I don’t understand why you are pushing this so hard on me, Grandpa, after everything you just said about Mum.”

  He sighs as he bows his head. “I would give my life over and over again to protect you. I want what’s best for you, I do. I don’t understand why you think the Northern Tribe is … creepy. It was and always has been the best possible option for you.”

  Maia holds her head in her hands as silence overtakes them.

  “I’ve … I’ve made a deal with one of the elders to come for you.”

  Anger surges through her veins and she rises from the table. “What?!” Her fists slam against the wood, clanking the glass jars together.

  He holds his hand towards her. “Now, calm down…”

  “Why would you do that?!”

  “I … I just thought we’d give you some time after our last meeting. You weren’t ready then, but I thought you’d be ready after a few years. I needed to know that, no matter what, someone would look after you and make sure you were all right…”

  “No matter what? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”

  “NO! No, I—”

  “When? When are they coming?”

  “I’m … I’m not sure…” His voice is shaking.

  Somewhere deep inside, her heart breaks at the thought that she is scaring him. She sits down. “When?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Grandpa.”

  “Soon. The next six months.”

  Another surge of anger. “No.” She shakes her head, tightly gripping her hands as she feels the cabin closing in on her. “I won’t. No. I’m leaving. I’m leaving New Zealand. I’m leaving this crowded shithole of a cabin.” She pushes herself up from the table and grabs her pack.

  “Shithole…” His face looks pained. “But I thought—”

  “No, you didn’t think. You didn’t think with Mum and you’re not thinking with me. You’re the one killing me by forcing me to stay here. And those men...” She bites her tongue. “No, I’m leaving. I can’t take this anymore.” Her heart breaks as she says it, but she pushes it down and shoves her things inside her pack.

  “Honey—” Her grandfather starts to cough. He pulls himself up from the table and stumbles towards her. “Darling, let’s talk.”

  “I think you’ve said enough.” She ties the pack closed and throws it on her back, pushing past him and out the front door. It slams behind her as her grandfather calls out from an empty room.

  Nine

  A single drop of water splats against Maia’s nose as she sits silently in the black of night. Her head falls back against an ancient pōhutukawa tree and another drop breaks against her cheek. Heavy pellets of rain collide into the leaves above, snapping and bursting and breaking like the broken heart beneath her chest. Endless tears run in streams down her cheeks and her body shakes as she weeps, but she doesn’t make a sound.

  She’s been running through the dark forest for hours now, desperate to escape the ghosts that have harassed her for years. She was reckless in her attempts. Overcome with madness, she flung herself through the tangled weeds, falling over countless tree stumps as the forest gnawed away at her layer by layer. Now her body lies covered in mud, her hands and knees throbbing from a cruel accumulation of cuts and bruises.

  Lost. How did she become so lost and in so many ways? Seems like just a few days ago she was … happy. But that was a lie as well. The lies seemed easier then. Now it seems hopeless. Grandpa pulls so tenaciously from one direction while her dreams pull from the other.

  He’s probably right. He knows much more than she does—it’s probably really bad out there. And she’s alone. Maybe she should go up north when they come for her. Maybe she’ll meet someone her age … someone who will come back here with her. Maybe she should stop being so foolish. Foolish. Her grandfather has never called her that before. Now it seems like that’s all he says. Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.

  Let it be over now.

  Adventures are for books. This is real life. Go up north and find a partner. Grandpa says with the small number of humans left, they could still go extinct. So, it is her duty to procreate. There’s dignity in that! Besides, it’s the only life that’s left for her. That’s all there is.

  She gathers her legs against her chest, shivering as the rain trickles down her cheeks and off the tip of her nose. Her eyes flicker against the drizzle as she strains to see through the blackness. She lays her head on her crossed arms, praying for it to be over, but the rain continues on, unbroken and merciless. It covers her body and soaks her to the bone. It falls on the pōhutukawa and the tūī and the ferns.

  And then the heavens open up. The rain crashes in waves across the swaying trees above, pouring a deluge upon her.
r />   It’s as if the entire heavens are in mourning.

  The smell of smoke fills Maia’s nostrils, pulling her out of a deep sleep. Her eyes flicker open to a little black fantail sitting quietly on a branch above.

  A thick awning of leaves and branches are wrapped tight and tangled around Maia like a cave. She breaks her hand through the dense weave, cracking off enough branches to create an opening. Pushing herself through, she shuffles backward on her hands and feet along the soppy mud and drops in the sludge. Dumbfounded, she examines the canopy she had slept beneath.

  This wasn’t here last night. She collapsed against a tree and cowered under the open skies. There was nothing here. She shakes her head as she touches the knotted twigs. Was she delusional? Is she delusional now? She pokes at the hard weave.

  Shivering from the early morning cold, she slowly lifts herself from the damp ground. Her body is coated in layers of dried, cracked mud, and her legs and hands are covered in small nicks and cuts.

  Smoke. From a fireplace? Where is that coming from? She doesn’t recognize anything about this area. She can’t remember how long she had been walking last night or when she finally fell asleep. Climbing to her feet, she clumsily stumbles forward, following the scent like a hound. It must be from a fireplace. So cold. She wraps her arms around herself and scans the forest floor. Somewhere in her frenzied delirium last night she lost her pack. She has nothing.

  The rising sun has filled the clouds with swirls of a deep tangerine. A white glint of light flickers off the roof of a large metal shed in the distance. She lurches forward. Smoke wafts from the shed’s chimney. Someone is in there. She creeps up to the thick bushes surrounding the shed’s overgrown yard and hunches behind them.

  After a few minutes, Maia tiptoes across to the closest window. Pushing the snarled cobwebs aside, she peers inside to find a man motionless on a chair next to a wood burner. She pulls her sleeve over her fist and wipes away the window’s thick layers of mold and dirt.

  The inside of the shed looks like a half-attempted effort to serve as a home. A sad excuse for a kitchen sits sagging and burdened with pots and garbage in the corner of the large room, alongside an old couch topped with a pile of rumpled blankets and a pillow. The walls are lined with countless stacked boxes, some of which are labeled with barely legible faded writing.