23 April 2012
The gentle waves hissed like elegant ball gowns on elegant ladies. It was early.
The tide retreated slowly, its work done, its deliveries made: driftwood from a pirate ship, green kelp freshly selected from Neptune's garden, and a mermaid's mirror - she'd be looking for that. It left them in a neat line halfway up the beach dividing wet sand from dry.
This part of the beach was deserted, as it always was so early in the morning. Even during the hottest days not many people bothered to venture down here; being away from the main attractions of the fun fair and the town centre it was usually quiet and empty, save for the few visitors who craved isolation and peace. Here, the golden sands could remain untouched for days, like virgin snow, and the dust devils and white horses and laughing spirits of the wind could play and dance unnoticed. So it was unlikely that anyone would discover the thing which the sea had mislaid.
The head lay still, propped at a slight angle on the sand as though it were sleeping. From a distance it looked like a bundle of seaweed, or a discarded bag; no-one would assume it was a head. As the tide retreated, the town was just coming to life.
The fun fair too began to live. Music and voices drifted down on the wind which distorted them and tangled them so that from this lonely place they were nothing but a gentle babble like a stream tumbling over rocks, and the waves of the sea competed to drown them out.
The head seemed content to just listen.
A crooked man, old as ghosts, walked his dog along the beach. He was always here early, perhaps to beat the hustle and bustle of the day. He walked among the spiky grass of the dunes; the sand was firmer there and easier on ancient legs. But the greying sheep dog, old as she was, trotted happily along the soft sand of the beach, leaving deep paw prints behind her. She would often stop and sniff at something she found, digging like a happy child. As she sniffed, her master would amble on ahead, alone with his memories. The dog would wonder far, forgetting herself sometimes, off across the wet sand which the receding waves had revealed; occasionally she would glance up to check on her master for reassurance: the crooked figure atop the dunes, dark today against the deep blue sky. As for the master, he just walked among the spirits of his past; at times his eyes would sparkle suddenly and he would smile to himself, and at other times his eyes would darken and he would shed a silent tear.
Today, as the man reminisced, the dog investigated the beach, following her curiosity, and her curiosity led her to the head. She sniffed, cautiously backed away, stalked it, growled; she crouched, ears back, chest flat to the sand, her swinging tail holding her rump high. It was tricky fixing eye contact with someone whose head was at such an angle but she tried, perhaps thinking it would get up and play if she stared pleadingly for long enough. But no, the head's tranquil, gentle eyes just stared back.
After a minute of confused stalking, a shrill and distant whistle whipped through the air. Seeing that her master was almost out of sight, the dog ran off, disillusioned. As she leapt into a run she scattered dry sand in the head's hair, but it didn't seem to mind. And now it was alone again.
In the hazy distance the fair was becoming lively, music and voices swirled in the summer air and memories were made. People splashed in the sea and laughed - or screamed - together. A little later, as the sun rose high and the pale moon too inched its way into the bright sky, two young people, a man and a woman, walked away from the noise of the fair to find a more secluded spot. They dropped their towels on the dry sand up near the dunes and ran down to splash around in the waves. They swam and bathed; they rolled and clambered over one another and they battled with great swords of water which they carved up from the ocean with a sweep of the arm, and then they scurried back up the beach again, splashing across the dark, wet sand, leaping the ragged band of flotsam, then churning the dry sand with their wet feet. They fell onto their towels and laughed, and as they held each other the distant waves chattered and spied, slowly reclaiming the wet sand. The head just watched.
After a while, the couple bundled their towels together and strode of through the dunes, laughing still, battling as they went. She was on his back as they dipped behind the grassy crest of the dunes but their voices lingered upon the sand long after the couple were gone from view.
The sun was high now, and the waves were clawing their way back up the sand, swirling into the footprints left behind by the beach's guests. Slowly, haltingly, as the hot day drifted by, they crept towards the flotsam until the soft bubbles were licking around the head, caressing it, gently washing away the sand which the dog had kicked across its cheeks and forehead, removing a strand of weed which had been draped across its nose. And then, as the tide rose, it lifted the head, gently, as though careful not to wake it, and carried it back out to sea.
In the distance, the big wheel turned.
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Thanks for reading this Opuss. If you liked it, please consider reposting it for me.
Among the Flotsam • Opuss № I