Sea Burial
The sun was going down. A small piece of moon appeared behind staked mists. Waves clasped the beach for only a few seconds, then faded in the vast ocean. The sea gulls hovered above them and cried hoarse laments. The salty sea breeze stroked the leaves, the sands, the rocks, and his lapel.
How large the ocean was! Alfred felt he could not believe he and Arthur had passed the Mediterranean to come here two years before. In that time, he was only seventeen, and he knew nothing about war and danger. He still remembered that long trip, the harbours he had been to, and one time, the sea burial. Not every soldier could arrive to the battle field safely. That morning, he woke up because of the noise from the deck. A funeral or a young Scottish sailor, who died from gun accident. His body was wrapped in white fabric on a wooden board. His girlfriend, a nurse who could not save her lover, played a bagpipe in prow. The melodious mournful ballad waved with the winds. Some sailors uplifted the board and, at last, pushed it into the sea. Alfred did not see the spindrift. He only heard the sound: the heavy impact between wood and water appeared like a drumbeat in the nurse’s song. Suddenly she dropped the bagpipe, crashed into the crowd, shouted, and cried. She stretched her arm as a cross on the deck. She was not tall, but Alfred recognized her immediately. Her head overlapped the rising sun, and her prayer and weeping dropped into the great ocean.
Being a sailor was not a safe job, the same as a soldier. It was the first thing Alfred learned from Arthur in this journey. He was the lucky one. After he went through gunfire, land mine, death, defeat and victory, he, as a sailor and also a soldier, was still breathing. Alfred could not tell if he liked life, but now, he had to love it, more than everything. He had to love this deep edgeless sea, this tranquil polychrome sky, and, the thousands scintillant bleary lights behind him. Their brightness drew out the shape of towns and dimmed the Apennine Mountains into the nightfall. If a ship passed this beach in this kind moment, they would think this was only a ordinary seaside village. Only people who fought and lived here knew its splendid secret.
It was like one month ago, when Arthur was still alive. They ran in the forests and woods with the guerrilla. In the early morning, they woke up with the grey cool mist. The moist fragrance from grass and soil melted into the chicken soup. Brooks flowed through flowering shrubs and wilds, like ribbon bound up in the hair of spring and summer. After the rains, all the leaves dressed in a white veil, and all the trunks put on their dark cloak. The sky was always delightful, no matter how the weather went. At noon, the fiery sunshine smelt their guns, their homespun clothes, their old muddy boots, and their righteous warm-blooded hearts.
One dusk, after they annihilated a small enemy, Arthur and Alfred set on the roof of their headquarter (before the war, it was a villa for a rich man). The great ridge stretched her arm and showed them her colourful jewellery that covered up her long dress. Arthur pointed to the flowers over the mountains.
“You know what?” His intonation enhanced unconsciously, “We should live here. You, me, mom and dad, move here and live together when the war end. We can build our own house and have a garden. I can plant some roses. It is just not a right place to fight, to destroy by guns and shells. It is a place to sleep, to enjoy nature, to sing and play music, to sail, to catch some fish……It is a place to live the life, but not only exist. ” Alfred stared at him. He could see in his elder brother’s emerald eyes, the magnificent highlights. His eyes had the same color as the verdant woods, and his thick eyebrows, which had been mocked by Alfred so many times, in this moment, unfolded with evident expectation, like the expanded wings of sea guils.
However, this was only a dream. Even if Arthur had survived, he would not stay in a mountain and live a normal life. The same was for Alfred. They were the sons of sailors. Their hometown was Liverpool, the best harbor in the world! No real sailor from Liverpool would stop the journey until death. The places they have been to, no matter how beautiful they were, could only be memory. They only had one home to stay forever: the sea.
Arthur loved the Apennine. And now, Alfred took this responsibility. He would love here, as deep as he loved Liverpool and the sea. But before that, he needed to send Arthur back to his HOME.
Chiara Vargas came back. She brought a big basket, with countless flowers: white and red roses and some purple lilies. Those flowers were covered with leaves and mud. Alfred could even smile the familiar aroma.
“I bought this candle.” She took out the red candle, “I don’t want to bury him in darkness.” He received it, with an amiable smile.
“Thank you, Chiara…… little sister. ” He always called her by name. In the whole troop, only Arthur called her “little sister”. Chiara blinked her eyes, and some clear pearl tears moistened her pale face.
They removed the flowers from the basket to that little boat, where Arthur had been laid. Some petals dropped on his golden tough hair, like roseate clouds decorating the offshore thatch. Alfred put that red candle on prow and ignited it. The tiny flame jumped for a few seconds, and started to burn constantly. Alfred boarded on the boat and rowed it into the Mediterranean.
This world was silent. His arms were moving, but all his mind and sight were on Arthur. He did not even know what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted to find just a few trails from their childhood. He needed to remember something, before his brother disappeared from this world. For a few seconds, he felt like Arthur was a stranger, but after another couple seconds, he realised that this is still his brother.
The moon came out. The shadows on Arthur’s face changed. He recently began to look on the glistening waves under the boat. The ocean wobbled the boat and them like a mother wobbled her child’s cradle. His heartbeats were in the same frequency with those waves. Arthur’s heartbeats were like the waves in the deep, deep sea, where all things lived in darkness, in silence, and in safety.
Finally, he thought, he is ready. He looked back; the lights on the shore were so remote that he felt like they were a part of the Milky Way. He picked up the chisel, and drilled a hole in the bottom of the boat. The chilly sea water came up stoutly, inundated his feet, and Arthur’s hair. The flowers floated in the boat, slowly and softly.
Alfred jumped out of the boat. He backstroked without knowing the direction. He just swam, as Arthur taught him twelve years ago. The only thing he could hear was the heartbeats of sea. But the thing he could see, was much more amazing.
Stars. The cloudless starry night firmament covered his view. The stars like iron nails on the warship, like sugar on homemade bread, like the tears on Chiara’s face, like the lights in Arthur’s eyes. They were there for a long time. They would be there forever. They did not know the cold of water, but they needed to bear more loneliness than any human could do. Today, they twinkled to Alfred; the moonlight clasped he and his brother. They were the distinguished guests of this funeral. He did not know why the stars became vague and brighter. He kept swimming, in this endless space, as swimming in the extensive heaven. The shimmery spindrift created another starry sky, and he was just a small traveler in it.
The flashlight interrupted his illusion. Chiara rowed another boat and found him. He got on the boat. She gave him a towel and asked, “Has your brother……arrived home?”
He eventually observed distance. He did not miss the direction, but nothing was there now. Only the abysmal mirky ocean answered this question.
“Yes, he has.”
The sailor laid on the boat, like he slept on a warm bed. The sailor slept in the sea, like he laid in his mother’s embrace. Arthur went back to that high eternal home, with thousands of splendid flowers and stars.
The sun was going down. A small piece of moon appeared behind staked mists. Waves clasped the beach for only a few seconds, then faded in the vast ocean. The sea gulls hovered above them and cried hoarse laments. The salty sea breeze stroked the leaves, the sands, the rocks, and his lapel.
How large the ocean was! Alfred felt he could not believe he and Arthur had passed the Mediterranean to come here two years before. In that time, he was only seventeen, and he knew nothing about war and danger. He still remembered that long trip, the harbours he had been to, and one time, the sea burial. Not every soldier could arrive to the battle field safely. That morning, he woke up because of the noise from the deck. A funeral or a young Scottish sailor, who died from gun accident. His body was wrapped in white fabric on a wooden board. His girlfriend, a nurse who could not save her lover, played a bagpipe in prow. The melodious mournful ballad waved with the winds. Some sailors uplifted the board and, at last, pushed it into the sea. Alfred did not see the spindrift. He only heard the sound: the heavy impact between wood and water appeared like a drumbeat in the nurse’s song. Suddenly she dropped the bagpipe, crashed into the crowd, shouted, and cried. She stretched her arm as a cross on the deck. She was not tall, but Alfred recognized her immediately. Her head overlapped the rising sun, and her prayer and weeping dropped into the great ocean.
Being a sailor was not a safe job, the same as a soldier. It was the first thing Alfred learned from Arthur in this journey. He was the lucky one. After he went through gunfire, land mine, death, defeat and victory, he, as a sailor and also a soldier, was still breathing. Alfred could not tell if he liked life, but now, he had to love it, more than everything. He had to love this deep edgeless sea, this tranquil polychrome sky, and, the thousands scintillant bleary lights behind him. Their brightness drew out the shape of towns and dimmed the Apennine Mountains into the nightfall. If a ship passed this beach in this kind moment, they would think this was only a ordinary seaside village. Only people who fought and lived here knew its splendid secret.
It was like one month ago, when Arthur was still alive. They ran in the forests and woods with the guerrilla. In the early morning, they woke up with the grey cool mist. The moist fragrance from grass and soil melted into the chicken soup. Brooks flowed through flowering shrubs and wilds, like ribbon bound up in the hair of spring and summer. After the rains, all the leaves dressed in a white veil, and all the trunks put on their dark cloak. The sky was always delightful, no matter how the weather went. At noon, the fiery sunshine smelt their guns, their homespun clothes, their old muddy boots, and their righteous warm-blooded hearts.
One dusk, after they annihilated a small enemy, Arthur and Alfred set on the roof of their headquarter (before the war, it was a villa for a rich man). The great ridge stretched her arm and showed them her colourful jewellery that covered up her long dress. Arthur pointed to the flowers over the mountains.
“You know what?” His intonation enhanced unconsciously, “We should live here. You, me, mom and dad, move here and live together when the war end. We can build our own house and have a garden. I can plant some roses. It is just not a right place to fight, to destroy by guns and shells. It is a place to sleep, to enjoy nature, to sing and play music, to sail, to catch some fish……It is a place to live the life, but not only exist. ” Alfred stared at him. He could see in his elder brother’s emerald eyes, the magnificent highlights. His eyes had the same color as the verdant woods, and his thick eyebrows, which had been mocked by Alfred so many times, in this moment, unfolded with evident expectation, like the expanded wings of sea guils.
However, this was only a dream. Even if Arthur had survived, he would not stay in a mountain and live a normal life. The same was for Alfred. They were the sons of sailors. Their hometown was Liverpool, the best harbor in the world! No real sailor from Liverpool would stop the journey until death. The places they have been to, no matter how beautiful they were, could only be memory. They only had one home to stay forever: the sea.
Arthur loved the Apennine. And now, Alfred took this responsibility. He would love here, as deep as he loved Liverpool and the sea. But before that, he needed to send Arthur back to his HOME.
Chiara Vargas came back. She brought a big basket, with countless flowers: white and red roses and some purple lilies. Those flowers were covered with leaves and mud. Alfred could even smile the familiar aroma.
“I bought this candle.” She took out the red candle, “I don’t want to bury him in darkness.” He received it, with an amiable smile.
“Thank you, Chiara…… little sister. ” He always called her by name. In the whole troop, only Arthur called her “little sister”. Chiara blinked her eyes, and some clear pearl tears moistened her pale face.
They removed the flowers from the basket to that little boat, where Arthur had been laid. Some petals dropped on his golden tough hair, like roseate clouds decorating the offshore thatch. Alfred put that red candle on prow and ignited it. The tiny flame jumped for a few seconds, and started to burn constantly. Alfred boarded on the boat and rowed it into the Mediterranean.
This world was silent. His arms were moving, but all his mind and sight were on Arthur. He did not even know what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted to find just a few trails from their childhood. He needed to remember something, before his brother disappeared from this world. For a few seconds, he felt like Arthur was a stranger, but after another couple seconds, he realised that this is still his brother.
The moon came out. The shadows on Arthur’s face changed. He recently began to look on the glistening waves under the boat. The ocean wobbled the boat and them like a mother wobbled her child’s cradle. His heartbeats were in the same frequency with those waves. Arthur’s heartbeats were like the waves in the deep, deep sea, where all things lived in darkness, in silence, and in safety.
Finally, he thought, he is ready. He looked back; the lights on the shore were so remote that he felt like they were a part of the Milky Way. He picked up the chisel, and drilled a hole in the bottom of the boat. The chilly sea water came up stoutly, inundated his feet, and Arthur’s hair. The flowers floated in the boat, slowly and softly.
Alfred jumped out of the boat. He backstroked without knowing the direction. He just swam, as Arthur taught him twelve years ago. The only thing he could hear was the heartbeats of sea. But the thing he could see, was much more amazing.
Stars. The cloudless starry night firmament covered his view. The stars like iron nails on the warship, like sugar on homemade bread, like the tears on Chiara’s face, like the lights in Arthur’s eyes. They were there for a long time. They would be there forever. They did not know the cold of water, but they needed to bear more loneliness than any human could do. Today, they twinkled to Alfred; the moonlight clasped he and his brother. They were the distinguished guests of this funeral. He did not know why the stars became vague and brighter. He kept swimming, in this endless space, as swimming in the extensive heaven. The shimmery spindrift created another starry sky, and he was just a small traveler in it.
The flashlight interrupted his illusion. Chiara rowed another boat and found him. He got on the boat. She gave him a towel and asked, “Has your brother……arrived home?”
He eventually observed distance. He did not miss the direction, but nothing was there now. Only the abysmal mirky ocean answered this question.
“Yes, he has.”
The sailor laid on the boat, like he slept on a warm bed. The sailor slept in the sea, like he laid in his mother’s embrace. Arthur went back to that high eternal home, with thousands of splendid flowers and stars.
