The Turning Land, the Constant Sea: excerpt 2
Little Namu paddles his colourful, boy-sized longboat from the shores of sharply jagged island toward the ever-retreating horizon. He likes to follow the trail of the moon. The destination is not important. Finding a point where the ocean’s ripples light up like a trail of silvery stones, Namu moors. Arms pull his lifeless right leg into position. He can now maneuver his small body to lie atop the two parallel planks that run across the boat’s half-cocoon hollow. From this position he is able to gaze at the brilliant speckling of stars above; be comforted by the gentle swaying of his little boat. When the sun rises, he will return to the island and hide his boat in the cave that the old fisherman showed him. This has been his nightly routine for some moons now.
The luna path has faded now and a slow but dramatic reveal is occurring. More and more of the brilliant orange sphere of the sun appears upon the inky blue horizon and sends fire across the sea’s surface. Little Namu has been asleep for sometime, lulled by the quiet peace of his private nocturnal world. A sudden pressure on the bottom of his boat awakens him. While more of a firm nudge than a violent rocking, the boy’s heart jolts with a rude shock.
Breathily audibly and gripping the boat’s sides, Namu pulls himself up and peers over the timber edges. The lapping waters are still dark; not yet the aquamarine translucence of full daylight. And yet he can make out a shadow below, gliding in and out from under his boat. Frightened, Namu imagines that this may be a shark. Perhaps the old people’s stories of sea spirits taking those who disturb the cosmic balance, those not sprung from original inhabitants of the island, have come to pass. After all, Namu’s people are outsiders here-on the island, at sea.
The upper layers of the ocean are slowly lit up, and now Namu sees a large snout breaking the surface of the water. The creature turns in profile so that a small dark eye peers at him. The mass is large and a glistening grey like ocean-polished stones. The body tapers into a tail like a fish’s, and two protrusions extend from the body near the head like undersized fleshy fins. With shock and relief, Namu now registers what this creature is, ungainly in form but elegant in style, as it slowly glides around his boat.
It is a dugong.
Namu has only ever seen carvings of the dugong and heard the stories told by the island’s artisans. They tell of a strange creature that first appeared when one of their own entered into an underwater union with an ocean spirit and gained a fishtail. The elusive dugong is said to be an ancestor and gentle keeper of the island’s people.
As the dugong slowly circles, it regularly surfaces, peering at Namu and nosing the boat’s sides. Namu is no longer fearful but mesmerised by the creature. The surfacing snout almost appears to form a closed smile; the small, round, black eyes are without aggression. Emboldened, the boy reaches out a tiny hand and delicately strokes the smooth snout. The creature does an underwater somersault and returns to the surface to gaze again at Namu. Namu laughs. Next, he leans over the side of the boat. Placing his face in the water, Namu opens his eyes bravely against the salt like the old fisherman taught him to. Adjusting to the watery fog he finds the dugong staring back at him. The huge creature touches its snout to Namu’s nose and then turns and glides away, as if not to frighten the boy.
Smiling and quivering slightly, Namu sits up. He thinks for a moment. Does the dugong know that he is not one of the island’s people? Does the dugong mind? And then, unlike all the mornings that proceeded this one, Namu slips his little misshapen body over the side of the boat, parting the clear water below. This time he is not alone. He has a friend.
