My mother didn’t talk about my grandparents often. Anytime I’d ask about them, or where she was from, she’d either mumble to herself or claim she’d tell me when I was older. If it weren’t for my dad, I wouldn’t know much about her side of the family. He’d have to be a few drinks in before I could get much out of him, though.
According to him, my grandparents were from a small fishing village I’ve never heard of. There was no strict religion or doctrine within their village. They told myths and tales of various creatures to keep the children behaved, and to teach life lessons. Otherwise, they lived quaint and quite lives.
My mother was still a baby when they relocated to the United Kingdom, and my grandfather passed away when she was still a teenager. Anytime I asked more about the village or my grandfather he’d shrug and claim he didn’t know much more.
I refrained from asking my mother about it even as I came into adulthood. It didn’t take much to notice how touchy of a subject it was for her, and I had other things to worry about. Working, college, jobs, you know the drill.
Unfortunately my mother passed away a few months ago. It was an unexpected death that my father and I still haven’t recovered from. But, when I was helping my father put her belongings in the attic, I found a journal that belonged to my grandfather. Dad said I could keep it, and I’ve been translating it in my spare time. I’m unsure of what to make of it so far, but I’ll post what I’ve translated so far:
I’ll never forget the day I met her.
We prepared to set out one early winter morning. The villages food supply began to run low sometime during the end of autumn, and it was up to us to bring back a good haul. Such was often the case during this time of year. Our chief began referring to it as the seasonal hunt, giving a title for our plight.
Our voyage began at a time before the sun dared to rise. It was frigid, dry, and dark. Despite the discomfort we sailed forth without worry. None were strangers to the local river, nor the fickleness of the ocean. The only one among us considered ‘green’ happened to be Chief’s youngest, Tomas. But, even he had a natural talent for navigating the waters.
About halfway down the river is when the sun began to rise. All around us was a light fog, one that hardly obscured our vision. Along the rivers edges we could see ice starting to form. Where dew would rest on blades of grass, it had turned each blade into an icicle. It was a familiar and majestic sight, one that brought me a strange sense of comfort as we continued to sail along in silence.
As we approached the rivers mouth the fog began to grow more dense. We’d expected it to fade as the sun continued to rise, but we couldn’t let a little fog slow us down. I remember sharpening my harpoon as we headed deeper into the ocean. While most were setting up nets and lines for reinetas and snappers, it was up to the Chief and I to hunt the sharks.
“Mateo, let’s hope we find the big ones this year, eh?” I called out as I approached the bow of our dugout canoe. “It’s Chief outside of my home, Santiago.” He spoke stern, but looked over his shoulder and passed a wink with his scarred-over eye. The man was like a brother to me. We’d known each other our whole lives, and even had matching scars from one of our earlier hunts. So, it was often that I slipped up and called him by name as opposed to his earned title.
Several hours passed and the others had raked in a pretty hefty haul. But, Mateo, Tomas, and I, didn’t have a single fish nor shark to our name. It was strange. We’d bled out a few of the fish, sailed to the typical hunting grounds, and not a single one arrived. What was even stranger was the amount of fish that seemed to be piling up in the nets. Despite Tomas growing bored and impatient, we couldn’t complain. There was more than enough to feed our people and trade with the local villages.
“Think you can navigate this fog, Chief?” I said in a mocking tone. “Pah! What do you take me for? I could usher us back home even if I lost my other eye.” As we began to sail back the fog continued to grow more dense. “Stay close to my boat, you hear?” Mateo called out to the other fisherman. While we’d began to sail no more than a few feet apart from each other, I could understand his reason for such.
The fog began to grow so dense that it was hard to see more than a few inches past my face. It’d grown much colder, feeling as if our lungs would freeze with every breath. “The sun hasn’t even set, what in the Mapu is going on?” I mumbled, to none other than myself. I moved to sit at the boat’s stern, leaving Mateo and Tomas near the bow.
I gripped my harpoon tight as paranoia began to sink in. I couldn’t see the other ships, and Mateo and Tomas had become little more than misty silhouettes. “Keep moving forward, it won’t be long before we reach the rivers mouth-“ Mateo’s words were cut short. His voice, the oceans waves, and the other fisherman were all silenced. All I could hear is something I can only describe as beautiful.
It was a song unlike any other. Chill bumps ran along my flesh as I became overwhelmed by raw euphoria. Rapturous delight had encompassed my soul. For but a moment my burdens became insignificant. My worries and my cares had all become little nothings, and all I desired was more of that beguiling tune. I felt myself pulled towards it, like a ship and a whirlpool.
“San-“ I heard my name called, I felt my shoulders gripped, yet my attention remained upon that tempting voice. “Santia-“ It was clearer this time, but my mind remained affixed to the mesmerizing tune. “Santiago!” A hard strike across the face freed me from my stupor.
I heard my name, I felt my cheek stinging, but it took me a moment to gather my surroundings. As my disorientation faded I locked eyes with Mateo, who stood no more than a foot away from me. “Snap out of it, dammit!” He screamed and I jumped to my feet, looking around with a fervent grip on my harpoon.
My breathing grew unstable. My legs were shaking, my heart was pounding, and my ears were ringing. I couldn’t see anything beyond the fog. That bewitching tune continued to play, both enchanting and haunting me. “Mateo what the hell is going on?” I could hardly stammer out a question. But, he looked me dead in the eyes and spoke calm and clear.
“You didn’t think the villages tales were all stories to keep the children behaved, did you? That’s the sirens call, and we can only hope the others haven’t sailed to their watery graves.”