The Crab and the Old Man

The Crab and the Old Man

“I’m not leaving this island,” the old man grumbled.

“Then you’ll starve,” a little red crab replied.

“I have fish to eat and water to drink. I am content.” The man slumped down against a palm tree and crossed his arms.

“What about your wife? What about your family? Won’t they miss you?” The crab urged, taking timid, mechanical step towards the old man.

“I’ve an ex-wife who hates me and a daughter that doesn’t love me.”

“Love can be regained,” the crab assured him.

“Not this kind,” the old man muttered, “and what makes you such an expert on these things?”

The crab shrugged, “You aren’t the first to be stranded here, and you won’t be the last.”

“Was that optimism or pessimism?” The old man asked.

“It was just an ism, I believe.”

“And why haven’t you left this island?” The man stared quizzically.

“Because this is my place,” the crab replied with a sort of crustacean shrug.

“And you, who have seen so little of this world, how can you know your place in it?”

“A story for another day,” the crab replied, adding “I must return to the ocean to feed.”

The little crustacean scuttled across the hot sand and into the turbulent water without muttering another word. The man yawned, watching the sun set over the endless waters and decided to go to bed. Sleep took over him quickly, sending him into a dreamless unconsciousness in a matter of seconds.

When he awoke the next morning, the old man stretched and stood up with a vexatiously long yawn that seemed to span the entire rise of the sun. The morning he spent fishing near the reef, but there was nothing there for him. When it was apparent his venture would not be successful, he sighed, and returned to the island for the shade of the trees. He picked up a coconut, smashing it open against a rock and allowing the milk to pour out into the sand before he managed to get it to his lips. 

               “It’s time for you to leave. There’s no more for you here.”

               The old man laughed, “It’s an ocean, there’s always more fish in it. Plenty of fish in the sea, they say. I just had a bad go at it this morning, that’s all.”

               I was speaking metaphorically,” the crab replied, “it’s time to leave.”

               “What’s keeping me from smashing you like this coconut?” The old man asked, gesturing at the cracked, leaking drupe.

               “You know why you can’t crush me.”

               “Why’s that?”

               “Because I’m all you’ve got.”

               The old man chuckled, and went to take another bite out of the fleshy core. To his horror, however, he couldn’t bite into it. His mouth felt strange, revolting even, a weird sensation that quickly settled in his stomach as an uneasy fear of what was happening to his body. He stumbled away from the crab and to the water to check his reflection that danced along the surface. He gasped.

               His mouth had been replaced with large, red phalanges just like the crab’s. 

               “What’s happening?” The man screamed, turning to face the crab.

               “I was once a man,” the crab began, “it was only over time that this island made me what I am. That is why you must leave, leave before it is too late.”

               “My family cannot see me like this!” The old man gazed at his reflection once more, “I’m a monster.”

               “If they love you—”

               “Nonsense, nobody can love a monster,” the old man struck the sand with a fist just as a wave pushed water beyond his hands in a rush.

               “Believe me, you must leave, this is not your place.”

               “I would rather die here remembered as a man than return as a monster.”

               “You must leave.”

               “I’m not discussing this with you any further, little crab,” the old man groaned, sulking back to the shade beneath the trees. “In fact, I’m not discussing anything with you today, I’m going back to sleep and I’m going to catch a fish in the morning.”

               “You can’t, you won’t be able to—” the crab stopped, knowing that it was pointless to continue. 

               The old man settled back down under the tree, and quickly dozed off.

He awoke the next morning, attempting to brush away the sand from his eyes over and over to no avail. He ignored the sensation and yawned, stretching up into the air with large, red claws that felt like anvils at the ends of his arms. 

               “You must leave here,” the crab muttered, already poised at the old man’s side.

               “Why must I leave?” the old man asked, seeing the claws and feeling the shock run its course through his body but refusing to show any of it to the crab.

               “You cannot fish with those. You will starve unless you leave today.”

               “I haven’t even built a raft. I would drown,” the old man shrugged.

               “You can’t drown. The claws are buoyant and with every minute your body grows lighter. Time is running out, you must leave.”

               “I cannot return this way. I would be a lab rat,” the man sighed, allowing his claws to fall down at his side.

               “It is better than the fate that awaits you here.”

               “Enough of this,” the man stood up, “I’m going to fish.”

               He walked across the sand and into the water, snapping at shadows that darted around in the water. The fish had returned, he thought, but he was unable to do anything about it. He returned once again to the shade that evening, feeling exhausted and despairing over the rough, red plates slowly taking over his arms. To his relief, however, the crab was nowhere to be seen, and he was able to fall asleep without any arguing.

“It is too late, you have waited too long,” the crab woke the man. 

“Quiet, I won’t listen to you any longer.”

“You can’t make it through the ocean anymore.  You will be eaten. You are trapped here with your life of fear. Trapped with me for eternity.”

“Quiet!” the old man hissed, swinging at the crab with his mighty claw.

Only, the claw merely tapped against his foe’s carapace. His arm had shrunk, his entire body, had shrunk. The old man was no larger than the crab itself, having become one himself. He said nothing further, not a single word as the day ended, as the weeks ended after that and the months beyond that. He had no interest in speaking, no interest in thought, and no interest in life. 

               When another person became stranded on the island he said nothing while the other crab greeted them as it had greeted him. He made no indication that he was anything more than a simple crab and, only a few days after the woman had become stranded, she skewered him with a handmade spear and cooked him over a small fire. She left the island the next morning, using his body as fuel for the long swim to the nearest inhabited island.