The Weeper

The Meeting

        It is a grey and misty dawn.  Dark choppy water laps up against the shore, rising, falling, like a deep breath.

            My feet squish into the sand, water a cold shock as it touches my bare skin.

            I know places.

            I walk, feet making a wet smacking sound.

            The ocean approaches me hesitantly, as a friend who senses something wrong.

            I know places far away.

            I look out longingly over the endless expanse of water.  I have looked at this same view each day, yet somehow it seems vaster, more vivid.  Yet I still hear the calling in my heart that keeps me still. My Elene.

            I know places far away

            Places that we can sail today.

            So walk with me

            Out along the sea.

            There is a boat.

            It’s been so long since I’ve seen a boat (months? Years?).  I see it from the window and I dump my half-finished breakfast into the sink and put on a raincoat.

            It’s cold and wet outside as I dash down from the rocky outcropping, feet sliding on the slick grass and loose stones.  Through the weeds and onto the sand of the beach.  I kick off my shoes and carry them in hand.

            The boat is closer now.  I can see… it’s small, very small.  Just a rowboat, room enough for two people.  Splashing forward, I wait for it to arrive, watch it toss in the waves.  As it comes closer I think I see the silhouette of a man, pushing the oars relentlessly through the water.  Then I see him wave.  I wave back.  A few moments later, I see it is a man, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat.

            The man rests the oars and lets the waves push the rowboat up against the sand.  He tipped his hat.

            “Call me the Weeper.”

            “What kind of a name is that?”

            The Weeper said nothing.  He extended his hand so I stepped over and shook it.  He had a long face, thoughtful grey eyes and the scruff of a beard.  The straw hat cast a shadow over his face.

            “I’m Garret Daniels,” I said.

            “Climb into the boat,” the Weeper said.

            “I don’t want to leave here.”

            I promise Elene, I promise.

            “Come with me, I need your help.  Please.”

            “Me… why do you need me?”

            “Come and see.  I’ll bring you back.”

            Icy water flowed up and over my feet.  Rain spattered from grey clouds.  I looked out into the horizon and thought of all that could be waiting for me there.

            But then I remembered Elene.

            “I can’t.”  My hands fiddled with the buttons of my rainjacket.  “If you want, you could stay at my cabin here for a night.”

            The Weeper smiled wistfully.  “Take my hand.”

            “No,” I said, but I was reaching out and he clasped my arm and drew me forward, aboard his little rowboat.  The Weeper pushed off from the sand, then dashed to catch up and swung himself in.

            I wanted to leave the boat, but my legs didn’t seem to listen.

            The Weeper outstretched long, sinewy arms, pushing the oars into the water and pulling them back in an endless cycle.  He looked old.  In his fifties perhaps, skin weather-beaten and crinkled.  I turned to watch my island grow smaller and smaller.

            What was I doing?

            “Some stranger shows up and the next thing I know…”

            The Weeper laughed. 

            I listened to the ocean for a while, to the sounds of the oars crashing into the waves, again and again.

            “Where are we going?”

            “I know places far away…”

            “What?”

            “Don’t you know the tune?” He sang then.

                                    I know places far away

                                    Places that we can sail today

                                    So walk with me

                                    Out along the sea

                                    And know that beyond the horizon

                                    Is the place your dream lies in.

            “I know it well,” I said.

            Between the rocking of the boat and the soft sounds of the water, it wasn’t long before I was lulled to sleep.  In my dream I was in the rain, outside of a window.  I wiped away the water and peered in.  It was gloomy, but there was a candle lit and I could se Elene in her bed.  I saw myself sitting beside her.  I watched as my other-self leaned in and started to sing to Elene, the words of our song.  But it wasn’t my voice.  It was the voice of the Weeper.