The Lonley Mahi Mahi
by Gabriela Blandy.
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Home for William had become a city that sprung sore memories on him when he was least expecting it. He had awoken in the middle of the night with the familiar feeling of loneliness, a quiver in his spine reminding him that something or quite possibly everything was not right. That it was necessary to escape, to climb on a plane and leave for a country that offered him anonymity. Where considerate smiles would not be thrust in his face from even the most tenuous of acquaintances and where his shoulder would be liberated from the sympathetic squeezes that he had come to loathe.
As the clock chimed four in a house that was full of the echoes of emptiness, William purchased his ticket to salvation. He leant back in his chair and smiled, for perhaps the first time in weeks, at a decision that simply felt right. In a few hours the birds would begin their song to the morning and William felt the joy of not dreading the onset of another day, because in two he would be gone; on his way to Mexico, a land in which he had no past.
On his first day in this new country William walked the dusty road with a weightlessness he had, up until now, merely dreamt about. He felt a relief that he had only touched in his blessed moments of unconsciousness, a zone where real life can be virtually forgotten. But this was real life. Here he was, wandering between colourful houses and pretty front gardens, filling his lungs with sea air that was miraculously purging the staleness out of him with every breath. He had made a trade that would have left every broker in the world approving; a heavy existence for a month in paradise; a credit-card transaction for a chance to forget.
William did not know what had led him to Mexico, let alone San Pancho, but that strange inkling of destiny was what gave him hope for a future that would not be as grey as his past.
He rented a small room from a sweet woman called Maria, who welcomed him with a smile. It was a smile that said, I do not know you or your troubles, and it allowed William just to be.
He spent his first night in Mexico sitting on his balcony sipping a cool beer and jigging his foot to the music that played around him. There was no chance of silence here and William welcomed the noise with the eagerness of a man who, for too long, has heard only the sound of his slow breathing as he waits for nothing. When he finally slept, he dreamt not of a woman whose face he would never see again, but of the sea and the smell of ripe fruit; of how life began and promised to continue.
He woke early the next day, gathered his essentials and left his room. The village was quiet and when he reached the beach he saw that it was deserted. He settled himself near to the shore and relaxed to the sound of the water’s lullaby as the rolling waves foamed and toppled.
After a while he saw a woman emerge from the edge of the jungle. She walked slowly and when she had moved closer he saw that she was carrying a coconut half. She held the bundle as if it contained her life. It seemed equally weightless and dense, both a prize and a burden. She crept into the water and stood there for a while and the hem of her skirt became saturated in the salty mass around her. William could hear the faint drone of her voice, a miniscule melody flowing in the wind, the words lost in the stretch between them. He watched mesmerised, as she flung the shell into the ocean. Then she turned and ran back into the jungle.
He stood up and wandered over to where she had been standing. There in the water he could see the remnants of her offering; petals floating brightly, a candle and a cocktail umbrella, with the coconut bobbing innocently between them. What did such trinkets mean? William found himself thinking about this woman; intrigue refused to banish her image from his mind. She epitomised the unknown and in that vastness of mystery William imagined finding everything.
That evening William was restless. He had declined an invitation to join Maria and her husband for dinner, choosing instead to eat alone in a restaurant he had come across earlier that day. He had spent the afternoon reading and watching the world go by and although the seclusion made him reluctant to thrust himself into the company of others, he found himself craving conversation. He listened to the idle banter of the other diners as he ate, and satisfied himself with thoughts of where these people came from and how their lives fared. Would he wish to trade places with any of them? He knew nothing of their existence, but none of their worlds could be as painful as his.
With a sudden foul taste in his mouth, he pushed his plate away. His appetite had vanished. He took another sip of wine and noted wryly that it had taken all but two days for his grief to catch up with him. Here in Mexico, a land of warmth and colour, he was remembering all over again; an unforgettable smile, a desire of pure imagining and an extinct love. William left some money on the table and lumbered out of the restaurant with the weight of a man whose dreams have long since deserted him.
He found himself on the beach, walking close to the water, although in the darkness it was hard to tell how close. His hands were buried deep within his pockets and he fingered his loose change as he strode across the pitted sand. He saw some lights shining from the far headland and headed towards them. His face was unmotivated, sagging dismally, his shoulders drooped with private weight, and yet some small force propelled him along the sand, in search of something, though what he didn’t know.
When he reached the end of the beach he saw that the lights belonged to a group of fishermen who were getting ready to head out for a night’s work. William called out a greeting and a few of them turned around and responded, their smiles bright in the moonlight. He recognised Juan, Maria’s husband and wandered over to him.
‘Good evening,’ he called when he was closer.
‘William my friend,’ Juan said as he loaded his fishing rods into the back of the boat. ‘Did you find somewhere to eat?’
‘Yes…’ William hesitated for a moment as he took in the man’s open face. ‘I wish I’d joined you and your wife after all; my evening has been a bit lonely.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Juan said, and in the sympathy this man offered, William felt revived. His grief had been a secret in this land, kept tight against his chest, but in this small exchange it had been allowed to take a miniature form, one that could be acknowledged and lessened.
‘Thank you,’ William said and found it was his turn to squeeze a shoulder.
‘Would you like to come out in the boat tonight?’
William didn’t even need to think before responding and an hour later the two men were far out to sea. William gazed at the tar-like water in the darkness, marvelling at the ripples of moonlight upon its glossy surface. Juan began to sing softly and William leant back into his seat and sighed in contentment. They reached a marker buoy and Juan slipped the engine into neutral and began to position his fishing rods around the boat. There were small nooks for them along the vessel’s stern and down the sides as well. William watched closely and was able to help with the last two. Once all the rods were in place Juan adjusted the motor and began to steer again. Every so often the line tugged and Juan would jump towards it.
‘Why don’t you try?’ he said after a while, indicating a quivering rod. William sprung towards it and began to reel the mysterious prize in. His muscles leapt into action as he wound carefully, feeling the tug of the distraught fish and the tiny pang of guilt as he pulled the creature towards its death, but as Juan leant over the edge of the boat to inspect the catch he gasped suddenly.
‘What is it?’
‘Mahi Mahi,’ Juan said before setting the fish free.
William watched in wonder. The fish had been beautiful. He had managed a glimpse of its shiny green form, quite full of vitality, as it squirmed on the end of his line in the moonlight.
‘I do not like to catch the Mahi Mahi,’ Juan said later as they were motoring home. The sun was just about to emerge from below the horizon and William noticed the seriousness in his companion’s expression.
‘They are a bad omen?’ he asked. ‘No, not quite,’ Juan said slowly. He paused before going on, ‘the Mahi Mahi are a curious fish, they always travel in pairs; male and female, fins nestling close, exploring the sea together, but being so inquisitive is a danger for them. If they are separated, or only one of them is killed, the remaining Mahi Mahi will swim alone forever.’
‘You’re a good man.’
‘I am laughed at. But even though they are fish, their behaviour is too touching for me to ignore. I couldn’t separate a Mahi Mahi from its mate.’ William listened in wonder to this man who understood loss. He felt safe in such company.
Once on shore they loaded the fish into an ice cooler and began to wander home. In the distance William could see the woman from yesterday, standing in the water, another coconut offering in her hands.
‘Do you know her?’ he asked Juan.
‘A little; her name is Sophia. She and her husband used to run a hardware store in town, but he died, nearly a year ago now.’
‘She is like the Mahi Mahi,’ William said as he felt his own heart sting. Juan nodded slowly and stopped to watch Sophia fling the coconut into the sea. The red petals fell delicately onto the water as she blew a tender kiss into the wind.
‘She comes to the shore every morning and lays her offering. The coconut contains both pain and hope. It is for the Mahi Mahi who swim alone. She sympathises with their burden and prays for the lifting of hers.’
William watched entranced, thinking what beauty existed in sadness. The picture before him seemed so tragic and yet there was such glory contained within the woman and her daily ritual. It was like looking through a window into the most personal of emotions. He saw nothing in her display but the truth; grief had stripped away all her layers. ‘It’s mesmerising,’ he said eventually.
‘It’s hard not to be affected by other’s loss.’
‘Which is greater do you think? Arriving at grief or recovering from it?’
‘Who can say?’ Juan paused to look towards the sea. ‘I can’t answer your question, my friend. I can imagine loss, the hole that leaving creates, but after that I don’t know.’
‘It’s much clumsier than a hole because it seems so impossible to fill.’ William was startled at the sound of his voice. Juan was staring at him and he shrugged and looked down at the sand around his feet.
Juan laid a hand on William’s back. ‘Your conversation is out there, is it not?’
William looked at him in confusion. ‘I think you have a question for the Mahi Mahi.’
William nodded and the men parted. Juan returning home with his night’s treasure and William settling himself down on the shore. He could see the distant form of Sophia further down the beach as she walked away from him towards the jungle and he wondered if she had found her answer in the sea, in those beautiful green fish that feel love and pain. He silently saluted the Mahi Mahi, before lying back on the sand and closing his eyes.
He noted how peaceful he felt, aware that much of his comfort lay in the things he had run from at home. He was grateful for the friend he had made here, a man of such understanding, and a man with nothing to cloud his vision. Simplicity was everything to Juan. It was an example William felt he should follow; to live such a life, when one expects little, surely disappointment cannot exist?
As he stared out at the sparkling water he thought of Sophia. A woman of truth and bravery. She had remained in the vicinity of her family, people who had known her husband, so that she could have an identity, a place to grieve in comfort. It was only now that he understood the importance of such company.
He woke later, the sun warm on his face, with one thought in his head. He returned to his room and gathered a few things and then made his way back to the beach. He removed his sandals and shirt and stood on the edge of the shore, close enough for the waves to intermittently lap his ankles. In his arms he held his own private burden.
‘I miss you, Katy,’ he said and felt his body quiver, for to acknowledge that was to acknowledge her absence. He knew that he wanted his wife, that sympathy and memories were a sore replacement, but he also felt the peace of the Mahi Mahi. Whether alone or together they swam; they could not escape the ocean, it was their home forever. There was perhaps safety in familiarity. He threw his bundle into the sea, leaves, a photograph of sparkling eyes, and an earring, fragments of pain from a life still longed for.
When William finally arrived home, after his month in Mexico, he was exhausted. He closed the door behind him and wandered over to the window. Beneath him the city hummed and glistened. He saw streets where a couple once walked, and heard music that reminded him of laughter. Far beneath him were the echoes of joy and love, and there in the darkness, with a small suitcase sitting quietly beside him, he cried for the first time since his wife’s death. He thought of Sophia and her lonely prayer and Juan his thoughtful friend, and saluted the night; he would think of the Mahi Mahi and feel their peace.
©2006 Gabriela Blandy