The Reef at Monocle Point

The ocean is a rather unforgiving place. Below its surface, predators stalk their prey - their methods in the hunt growing more grotesque the deeper one explores. Take the Anglerfish: its luminescent fin ray lures unsuspecting souls to their deaths, allowing it to minimize its efforts in the dark Below. While, closer to the surface, the Great White Shark uses sheer brute strength and speed to claim its crown as Apex.

On the surface, the waves thrashed and the swells build to a crescendo, rocking any vessel who dare interfere with its constant push and pull across the horizon. Perhaps makings for a madwoman, Liza found herself surrounded by blue nonetheless. It had been two weeks, and still no signs of land. Another two should see her safely to the shores of Agadir.

Her vessel rocked religiously, port to starboard, at perfect quarter intervals. Liza counted aloud, “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

She found speaking to herself in the daylight drove away the Siren’s call when the sun bid the horizon adieu. The eerie sound of the waves mimicked a haunting melody. To further subdue her growing anxieties, she zipped her necklace along its chain, creating a smooth “vvvt” sound as the pendant was coaxed in alternating directions by her anxious fingers.

The small Louha between her forefinger and thumb grew warm under her touch. She often wondered if it had a heartbeat of its own. The day she found it, glinting in the sunshine filtering through the warm waters of Antigua, enticingly draped along the coral like a treasure placed with intention to be found, she wrapped her hand around the dainty jewel encrusted gold, and was met with a heat that did not match the cool temperatures of the water. She carried her prize to the surface with wonder, running her nail along the Arabic inscription etched the edge of the arch.

Something about it pulled at her soul, and she found herself unable to remove it once placed over her breast. She’d worn it every day for the last five years. She received a number of offers from jewelers and collectors alike, and, at her insistent refusals, was always reprimanded in warning that she did not know the value in what she wore. It never bothered her - she felt she found the piece for a reason, and would be hard convinced to part with it.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimming light of the day, she gazed toward the eastern horizon. A familiar pull at her heart - her soul - reassured her that despite the uncomfortable accommodations, she was on the right path.

As the remaining weeks passed by, the waters calmed and the wind became a steady beam-reach breeze, pushing her sails ever faster towards her destination. The String of Fate in her chest pulled evermore taught, and on day twenty, she spotted her first glimpse of land.

With a heaving breath, Liza shouted, “Land-ho!” - only to remember she was alone, and there was no one there to celebrate with her. Her loneliness crept into her spine, stiffening her limbs and lodging in her throat. Shaking herself loose once more, she jumped through the companionway into the galley of her vessel, and pulled the rum from the cupboard below the sink.

Emerging from the cabin once more, pulling the cork from the bottle, she dumped a fair portion overboard - a gift for the gods of the Sea. She then brought the bottle to her lips, tipping it back and drawing in a mouthful of the sweet, burning liquid. 

Raising the bottle to the sky in tribute, and moving her other hand to cover the pendant on her chest, she repeated her thoughts aloud, “Whatever the reason be that I’ve tolerated this blasted ocean for damn near a month, it better be worth it.”

Twenty-four hours later, after hailing the port captain for check-in, Liza maneuvered her thirty-seven foot sailboat into the bay, frequently glancing at her charts to be sure to avoid the shallow waters near the pier. As she entered the marina, two men guided her to her slip, and assisted in securing her lines to the dock. A port official stood nearby, ready to board her vessel for inspection and formally clear her for entry.

Now settled, she gathered the necessary paperwork, and made her way to the custom’s office to complete the check-in process.

“Good morning,” she greeted the employee behind the counter, hoping he spoke English. “I am here to check-in.”

In a thick accent, the man said, “Welcome to Agadir. Please provide your passport, as well as your vessel’s registration and insurance information.”

She passed the folder to the agent, engaging in polite conversation as he filed her paperwork and instructed her to fill out an additional form. Once complete, she bid the man goodbye, with much gratitude for a quick and easy process, and soon found herself at a local bar back by the marina.

As the bartender served her drink, Liza was approached by a woman who appeared to be in her mid-to-late sixties. Despite her exhaustion, she was happy for the company and hoped it would chase away the lingering sadness of having spent twenty long days at sea alone. The woman slipped onto the stool next to her and eyed Liza carefully - as though suspicious of the younger woman.

“Hello,” Liza said with a small smile, hoping once again that a language barrier would not keep her from companionship.

The woman, though still eyeing Liza warily, smiled in return, and said, “Good day. I have not noticed you here before. Have you just arrived to Agadir?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I’ve just completed an Atlantic crossing - from Antigua.”

“How interesting. Did you come alone?”

Now suspicious herself, Liza squinted at the stranger next to her, trying to determine her intentions. As a woman, traveling alone on the wide open sea was one thing. As she reemerged in civilization, she was now reminded to be wary of her surroundings.

Noticing her changed demeanor, the woman recanted. “I apologize, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I am Sirah - I own this bar. I simply hoped to make your acquaintance. You came from Antigua, you say? I spent some time there in my youth, diving with my sister. We were working towards some certifications.”

Relaxing into herself a bit, Liza replied, “What a small world. Your bar is lovely - the wine selection is top notch.”

Sirah smiled politely, nodding her head in thanks. The two women sat in amicable silence for a while, Liza sipping her wine occasionally while Sirah watched a football match on the television across the bar.

After a few moments, Sirah turned back to Liza. “I’m terribly sorry to keep bothering you, but I have to ask. Where did you get your necklace?”

Instinctually, Liza reached for the pendant. “I found it, actually - doing some diving of my own. It was nestled amongst the coral in the reef near Monocle Point. It was too beautiful to leave behind…” She trailed off, reliving the day in her mind’s eye.

Sirah breathed deeply, eyeing the necklace with something that Liza thought looked like longing.

“Do you know what the inscription says?” Sirah asked.

“I don’t actually. I never thought to have it translated, even after all these years.”

“Hmm. Why did you come to Morocco? It’s a very long way from the Caribbean.”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Sometimes, you just get a feeling, you know?”

“Indeed, I do. I didn’t get your name,” Sirah inquired.

“Oh, how rude of me,” Liza reached out her hand, “I’m Eliza, but most people just call me Liza, or Liz if you’re real lazy,” she said with a smile.

“Liza, then. A beautiful name. My sister’s name was Elizabeth. How interesting that hers is the root of yours,” Sirah responded with a sad, yet fond twinkle in her eye.

Out of nothing more than curiosity, Liza asked, “Is your sister here in Agadira with you?”

“No, she passed a little over five years ago. Lung cancer, ironically. After so many years of breathing underwater, I suppose breathing normal air just took a toll on her,” Sirah joked. Liza couldn’t help but offer a smile at the affection in her voice.

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. My condolences.”

“Your necklace, by the way. The inscription says, ‘So remember me, I will remember you.’ It is a verse from the Quran.”

“Oh… That’s very lovely. Do you speak Arabic then?”

“I don’t,” she said cryptically.

“Oh? Then how do you know what it says?” Liza replied, once again growing suspicious of stranger next to her.

“I may not know you, Eliza, but I would know that necklace anywhere,” Sirah remarked, still smiling. She began rolling up the sleeve of her tunic over her right forearm. “Allah has many ways of reminding us our loved ones are with us.” Below her cuffed shirtsleeve, inked into her skin, Sirah offered Liza a glimpse of a tattoo. It appeared geometric in nature, with sharp lines and clear angles. Liza noticed quickly that it matched the inlaid jewels in her pendant. “The symbol below the inscription is an anchor. Elizabeth and I had matching tattoos of the same version. The only reason we got the tattoos was because she’d lost a necklace I’d given her during one of our dives. I told her not to wear it in the water - Barracuda are attracted to shiny things, you know - but she insisted it would be safe with her. Anyways, she lost it that day and I refused to let her live it down. To make it up to me, she insisted we inscribe ourselves with the symbol, so as never to lose it again. We were twins, you see. The anchors were just another stitch in our already melded souls. There was no need to tattoo the verse, because how could anyone forget their twin?”

Sirah reached up and wiped a tear from Liza’s cheek. She was not aware she’d been crying. After a shaky inhale, she opened her mouth to say something, but no sound emitted from her lips. Sirah smiled that soft, fond smile once more.

“Today is her birthday - our birthday.”

Another tear rolled down Eliza’s cheek, but she finally found her words. “I only crossed an ocean because something in my chest was demanding I go. I wear the necklace every day - I can’t bear to take it off. I’ve had many inquiries from people asking to buy it, but I just can’t part with it, no matter how much they offer me. I knew it was important, but I never imagined this would be the outcome of my journey.”

Gathering Liza into her arms, Sirah sat quietly with her. The women embraced for a few heartbeats, allowing the preternatural warmth of the pendant between them to heat their flushed bodies. Finally, Sirah loosened her grip and allowed Liza back into her barstool.

“Elizabeth was always rather superstitious. If anyone could break through the veil, locate a stranger, and demand they sail across the world to find me, just to celebrate our seventieth birthday together, it would be her.” Sirah was now laughing in earnest, the sadness wiped from her eyes.

“Happy birthday, Sirah,” Liza spoke quickly, and moved to do something she'd never thought about before: remove the necklace, but Sirah gently placed her hand on her arm.

“Please, keep it. Lord knows if I were to take it from you, she’d never leave me be!” She cackled once again, keeling over the bar and reaching for two shot glasses. “She loved rum - every dive ended with a trip to the closest bar for two shots and ceviche. It’s only right we do the same.”

The two shared their shots, and Sirah asked her chef to prepare a small bowl of the fish & citrus hors d'oeuvre. They raised the first to Elizabeth, and the sheer natural force of her stubbornness. The second they knocked back in silence, the feeling of accomplishment and much needed companionship settling comfortably in Liza’s stomach with the burn of the rum. The two women regarded each other with a nod, still smiling faintly at the depths of fate they’d now found themselves in. Liza was sure she’d be returning to the bar tomorrow.