The Infinite Wisdom of Great Mother

The man’s bloodshot eyes dart wildly around the dimly lit cellar, spittle flies from his chapped lips as he grunts, and his strength wanes as he strains against the black iron shackles. Sunlight spills through the grated window but it is too weak to warm the dank stone floor. The room is drafty, thick with the tang of the sea, but it is spacious and impeccably clean. The man appears not to see me, or at least register me as a threat; my small stature, advanced age and gender tend to have that effect. I take in the sight of him. The attendants have done their job well; he has been bathed, shaved from head to toe, perfumed, and dressed in the gray linen robe of the Newly Found. His athletic build and imposing stature likely afforded him both small and grand privileges in his past life, but they are of no use to him now. I wonder if he can appreciate the fine quality of his robe, the silver wavy patterns embroidered at the neck, the fabric's sumptuous softness. It is a small thing at this moment, but I do my best and leave no detail unattended.

He suddenly fixes his gaze upon me and entreats, “Please, please, help me. I mean you and your people no harm. I only wish to go home. Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Please!”

The desperation in his voice quickens my heart and I shudder because I cannot bear it. I do hate this part, I truly do. He will be at peace soon enough. I place a large wooden bucket of fresh water on the floor and slide it over to him. I do the same with platter boasting moss-wrapped roasted fish. “May Great Mother hold you,” I say, swiftly leaving the room and gently closing its heavy oak door behind me.

I scale the stone steps from the cellar to the first floor and look for my house girl, Lena. We are low on provisions and she has been shirking her responsibilities as of late. I find her reading The Chronicles in the meditation balcony and cannot find it in myself to admonish her. Lena sits crossed-legged on the floor, hunched over. Her locs are arranged in a bun atop of her head, exposing the back of her neck, narrow and a deep ebony, and her crimson robe billows with the ocean breeze. She chews her bottom lip as she always does when deep in thought. She is growing into her lanky frame, and I have heard that she enjoys a newfound attention from the boys around the city. I must encourage her intellectual efforts, foster an unwavering commitment to the Truths, lest I find myself training Nino to be my successor. He is a bright boy to be sure, and my sister Saria’s grandson, but lacking in Lena’s curiosity and drive. Lena will make a magnificent Wise One, better than myself even, if only I can shepherd her unscathed through the dense forest of adolescence.

I head to the market myself, savoring the kiss of the sun upon my face, letting myself be grounded by the weight of the damp stone against the soles of my feet. The black rocks of our homes and streets shimmer under the sunlight, and I find myself overtaken with a sense of lightness, of excitement. Our skies are perpetually overcast and one cannot help but take this as a sign for tomorrow. I take the back roads; the citizens are understandably giddy with anticipation, and I cannot take the questions and idle chatter. The narrow, winding side streets are quiet, the bustle of the main square drowned out by stone and wind.

I return to the man at nightfall, dinner for both of us at hand. I see that the man has not touched my lunch offering and am saddened; the attendants had prepared the fish to perfection. I know I must not begrudge him but it is hard; can he not see the devotion in our labor?

“You are angry,” I say to him, a statement, an opening.

He does not respond at first and I sip my wine as I let the silence settle between us. I have always found the pauses between words often more enlightening than the words themselves. The man sighs deeply as looks at me. “My name is Chris. Chris Costick. I have money. Whatever you want I can—” 

I cut him off, “That means nothing to us. If you want to save yourself, tell me your story, how the Great Mother led you here.”

The truth of the matter is that his fate has little to do with my personal convictions. Selfishly, I hunger for the stories, I always have. The ways of Great Mother astound me, the intricacies of her ways can only be seen sideways; I take every glimpse I can.

Begrudgingly, the man begins his story, a trickle of words soon giving way to a flood. 

As a boy, I was always intrigued with tales of adventure. I longed to photograph rare species in the rainforest, take tea with locals in their remote mountainside villages, break bread with nomads in the desert, walk among the ruins of civilizations long fallen, set up camp in the polar regions. My family had money, and no genuine interest in my everyday life, and so I left my house at eighteen to find these adventures, and I never looked back. By the time I reached forty, I thought I had seen it all. 

Ennui had taken firm root within me when I met Paul, the two of us the only foreigners in a small fishing village known for both its steadfast adherence to its traditional way of life and the exotic marine life of its waters. Paul introduced himself as a biologist and freely admitted that he existed in the fringes of science, but pointedly reminded me that all great scientific discoveries were once along the fringe. He claimed to have found something groundbreaking but had no way to prove it, no institution would back him. Paul had found a new species, aquatic mammals uncannily similar to humans, a possible close branch to ours in the tree of evolution. And so, I found myself roped in, well aware that I was being used for my money. I would fund Paul’s travels and give him the chance for scientific glory with one condition, that I would also join the expedition. 

I gave Paul free rein, and within six months we were ready to set sail. We were prepared, or so we thought, but our top of the line boat with all its fancy tech was no match for your seas. I now see that no ship ever is. I have never heard of this place, and if given a map, I would not expect to find it depicted. 

When we washed ashore, Paul left me to seek civilization and aid while I waited by our ruined boat, starting a fire to call attention to any passing ship or aircraft. When your people came to me, I thought I was saved; I failed to see the knives at their sides. I am at your mercy. Please know that I just wanted to see them, the creatures of which Paul was so certain. I wish you and your people no harm.

I nod politely at all the right times but his tale leaves me lukewarm. He used his resources not to better his own people but to be a part of something to which he had no right. Even here, in this cellar, he is blind to this. However, he does seem genuine. The truth seeker within me sees the truth seeker within him and knows the difference between us is negligible. My breathing becomes shallow and my hands begin to tremble. I cannot abide this atmosphere of gloom; I take leave of him.

That night I dream of dark swells crashing upon moss-covered rocks, of teeth and of hair, of frothy water mixed with blood, of light swallowed by an abyss teeming with creatures unknown.

I awake that morning with a slight headache and a churn in my belly. It is time. I bathe myself in the garden pool before donning my robe. I caress the velvety fabric lovingly, the deep royal blue complements my chestnut-colored skin, the sleeves billow with the breeze and the gold thread embroidered at the hems catches the sun elegantly. I deeply inhale, willing this peace to remain with me the rest of the day.

Lena arrives and joins me for a simple breakfast of broth and tea. She braids my silver-black locs into three braids close to the scalp and leaves the ends cascading down my back. Lena goes over the morning’s logistics, peppering her words with witty observations, making sure to keep me at ease. She shares none of my nervous energy, and I wonder who is leading whom.

A knock on the door indicates the escorts have arrived, and Lena ushers them down to the cellar. The man is relieved of his shackles and he does not look at me as he is led out of the house. He does not hang his head either; he looks skyward before closing his eyes and forcing breath out his nostrils. What would it be like to be here, like this, I wonder. Does he sense the splendor in which he will soon partake?

We, the man, the escorts, Lena and I, board my official craft. It is a plain wooden boat, sturdy with no frills, a sharp contrast to the ornately-embellished, jewel-colored boats of the citizens. The shallows are glittering with boats full of families; no citizen would dare be absent on such a momentous day. I give the signal and oars drop; we head out to sea.

The man digs his right thumb into his left palm and takes deep measured breaths. I see that he is staying calm as best he can, but he still shivers and his forehead is slick with sweat. Abruptly, he vomits over the side of the boat, and as he does so, I can see he has also soiled himself. I motion with the tip of my head to an escort and he is given water, a towel, and a fresh robe. Lena and I look away as he changes; we know that the outsiders have bizarre notions regarding modesty and have no desire to cause the man additional distress. 

The waves and wind cease, and a sonorous melody floats from the deep towards the heavens. The man pales and looks to us for reassurance but finds none; the bone-chilling melody pierces us all, leaving us raw and exposed. Our teeth chatter and children can be heard crying in the distance.

The water surface breaks; Great Mother is here. She rises up and again I am struck by her enormity. She is the height of four men and her powerful, thick cylindrical body is covered with a charcoal-gray fur. Her arms are as thick as tree trunks, and the claws at the end of her webbed fingers are as sharp as her many teeth. It is Great Mother’s obsidian eyes, though, that flutter the heart of even the bravest. They are human, but also more than human. I know nothing of the nature of eternity but I do know that those eyes have seen the not only the birth of humanity, but of what rose and fell before us. One day, those dark pools will be the sole remaining witnesses to our existence, and I can only hope that Great Mother remembers us with fondness, perhaps in part due to my humble service.

Great Mother approaches and regards my boat and her occupants. The customary prayers flow from my tongue without thought; I do my best to not stare at her terrible beauty. She gazes into the man’s eyes, tears now flowing down his cheeks. She speaks to him, her voice heard by him alone, in his heart, in his mind, in his gut, in his bones. He looks up at Great Mother, a prayer at his lips, and jumps overboard.

I see Great Mother grasp his robes with her teeth and she pulls him under. Minutes pass and the citizens and I wait in silence. Blood and hair drift to the surface, and we all sail back to shore and begin feasting.

We eat and drink and sing and dance until sunset, and then we wait, faces turned towards the shore. A figure slices through the surf under the moonlight and then stumbles ashore; the man has survived. The citizens part, allowing the man to make his way to me. I see him and start down the beach, towards the cliffs. He follows, and away from the crowd, we are soon side by side.

We walk in silence and the man rubs the translucent soft pelt now covering him. I see him fully seeing mine for the first time; the mind often seeks answers in the distance and ignores the truth that was always within its view. I allow him to realize our reality, his new reality. 

I break the silence and say to him, “You may live among us, if you wish. Great Mother protects us and bestows us with her many gifts. If you wish to return home, you may leave without fear. No harm shall come your way.”

He stops walking to face me. He now possesses a quiet calm, and he is now ready to utter the words he did not dare ask before. He clears his throat, “Paul, did he ever make it here?” Comprehending my silence, he continues, “Did you give him that same promise?”

I take his hand in mine, with what I hope is an expression of compassion. “Great Mother chose differently for him. He never walked ashore again.”

We resume walking, and I lead him to his boat, now fully repaired, and ask, “What do you choose?”

He wastes no time with his response, “I will stay. I am one of you.”

I knew, of course, his answer before I asked. Great Mother makes her decision and the world follows.