The day the fisherman caught his wife started just like any other.
He rose at dawn and waded out into the waves, his net thrown over his back. He pulled anchor, and sailed his small sand ship out into the bay, anchoring just behind the point. He set his nets and lines, and by midmorning he had caught enough fish for market, so he sailed around the point to the small town on the other side to sell his catch.
He moored his ship at the end of the single dock and walked into town, his fish filled net dripping water along the dock behind him.
He he stopped outside the large stone building with green shutters that was the fishmonger's. Outside were barrels and crates of fish, fresh and shining in the sun. From inside came the smell of the sea.
He entered the dark store, exchanging greetings with the mistress. The fishmonger's wife and the fisherman had been something more than friends, in their youth, and she always gave him a good price, and a warm smile. Today she gave him more.
"I am sorry, Hao Min," she said, after glancing around to make sure her husband was out of ear shot.
"Sorry for what?" the fisherman asked, accepting the coin she passed over.
"Sorry that you are all alone out there, on the cape. Sorry that you have to fish alone every day," the woman, said lowering long lashes over dark eyes. "Sorry that I could not be with you, as your wife."
The fisherman did not understand where this apology came from, after so many years, and he was not quite sure what to say.
"Don't be sorry, Hai Ling. The fault is with me. I could not give you a life like this," he gestured at the shop around them. "For that, I am sorry."
Hai Ling blushed and lowered her eyelashes further. She had been very beautiful, in her youth, the fisherman recalled. She was still beautiful, but hard work in the sun and sea wind had caused wrinkles to form at the corners of her eyes, and her once perfect hands to crack and thicken.
The fisherman did not know what else there was to say, so he thanked the fishmonger's wife, took his string of cash, and left.
When he stepped out onto the wharf a skinny man with a face like a rat was coming toward him, flanked by two larger men. The fisherman immediately turned and hurried in the opposite direction.
"Hao Min!" the thin nasally voice matched the man's face.
The fisherman froze, knowing the encounter would be over quicker if he complied in every way possible.
The rat face man drew close, his two bruiser accomplices hovering behind him. "Long time no see, Hao Min."
"Long time no see, Gao Ran," the fisherman replied obediently.
Gao Ran threw an arm about the fisherman's shoulders, as though they were old friends. Which was challenging, as the fisherman was nearly as tall as the two giant men. He was forced to drop his net and lower himself to accommodate the smaller man.
Once the fisherman's head was within reach, the man called Gao Ran ruffled the fisherman's short hair as one would a child's. "Ren Hao Min, you old sack of rocks, it's been a while since we've seen you at the Floating Flower. You don't intend to make us come visit you at home to collect this month's payment, do you?"
"I will be by before the end of the month," the fisherman replied quickly.
"Good, good," Gao Ran said. "Because I don't know what we would have to come take from you if you couldn't pay."
"Perhaps my stunning wit and humor?" The fisherman dared.
The rat faced Gao Ran paused, then decided to laugh at the joke. "The girls always did like that fast tounge and soft face of yours. Perhaps you should come work at the Flowing Flower to pay off your debt? We do get women customers every once in a while."
The fisherman laughed, and bent to pick up his net, also freeing himself from the rat faced man's grip. "I fear I would drive off all your customers." He turned, and spoke over his shoulder. "Tell your boss I will have his money by the end of the month."
"That's three more days, Hao Min," the rat faced man called after him. But the fisherman was already striding down the dock and away.
*~*~*~*~*~*
He sailed round the point again, and instead of making for his small cottage, all alone on the shore, he decided to set lines and fish for the rest of the afternoon.
It was still not yet midday, and the wind had picked up, causing the wave tops to froth and bits of foam to fly. It was a cool wind, as it was still early in the springing season, but if the fisherman lay down in his boat, the sides would block out the wind, leaving only the warm sun to touch his skin.
The fisherman did this, unrolling a woven rush mat he kept under the tiller seat. He was tired after all the human contact he had this morning. Usually he went days without seeing anyone, let alone talking to them.
Warm sun on his skin and with the wind whistling just above, he was soon asleep.
*~*~*~*~*~*
The fisherman dreamed, and in his dream there was the sea.
He saw the sea in every season. In the summer, when the waves were blue and deep, and the fish plentiful. He saw the sea in the bronzed season, when long orange sunsets ignited the waves to copper and fire.
He saw it, and sailed on it, in the freezing season, when the sea sunk to dark navy, and the cold north wind turned the spray to sharp ice crystals that froze to his hair and cheeks. He saw it in the springing season, when the sea was the soft green of a birds egg, and topped with broken white peaks from the warm southern winds. And he saw an enjoyed it in the raining season, when the water was slate grey like the sky, and the rain bounced and skipped off the waves.
The fisherman lived by the sea, he worked on it. He breathed it, tasted it. He knew it as a man knows a woman, her moods, her vices, all her petty desires. How she looked first thing in the morning, and the soft sounds she made at night.
He knew the sea, that was without question. But for some reason when he dreamt of the sea, something felt wrong.
In the dream he stood on the shore, staring out at the waves as he often did. The clouds above matched the waves below in color and choppy consistency. A storm was coming.
Normally such a scene would be cause for the fisherman to turn around and stride back up the beach. To hang his nets beneath the eves by the door, and return inside to wait out the ocean's tempestuous mood by the fire.
But in his dream, instead of returning to his small home, he walked toward the waves that crashed, upon the shore. They crashed, higher and louder, louder and higher, as he got closer. Roaring beasts breaking at the edge of their cages.
Into the furious waves the fisherman walked.
The waves closed above his head, and their roaring muffled. He knew he was in a dream, for instead of sweeping him away in the tow as they should of, the waves just barely tugged at his sleeves. His breath, that should have been forced out of him in great gasping bubbles of air, continued to come easily, as though it was water he had breathed all his life.
He kept walking.
Down, down, unsure what was beneath his feet. Was it water? Was it sand? Stone? What did it matter?
The waves got distant, farther and farther above him, and the roaring faded. Until all around him was quiet. And dark.
And still he kept walking.
*~*~*~*~*~*
With a gasp the fisherman Ren Hao Min woke.
He felt himself all over, expecting the rough woven shirt he wore to be soaked with the sea. But aside from a little sweat, he was warm and dry in the early spring sun that filled his small boat.
The sound of metal drew his attention. One of his lines was taunt, and the scraps of metal tied about the end were jingling together in a frantic tune. Hao Min leapt to the line, and carefully, one hand over the other, pulled in his catch.
The sea bass was large, larger even then the last time the fisherman had caught it. It's scales, a strange mix of matte and shine, reflected the sun at some angles but not at others. Along its back spines stretched. Those spines could pierce skin if gripped by an unsuspecting hand. But this was not the first time they had met. The fisherman gripped the monster by its belly, holding it at eye level as he stood leaning against the single mast of his swaying boat.
"The sea may be large, but sometimes two ships meet," said the fisherman to his catch, his eye trailing along the line of spent hooks fixed in the fish's jaw. He recognized some as his own hooks, made from bent nails sharpened and filed to their new purpose. "And sometimes they meet again."
The fish's copper orange eyes fixed on the fisherman. "You fought a good fight, but the final battle goes to me," Min said. The huge jaw gaped, gasping pleas or curses.
"You have final words to say?" The fisherman asked. The sea bass's eyes glared, even as the gasping mouth slowed.
Hao Min grinned, imagining the taste of the fish's soft white flesh. He would bake it, or perhaps grill it, and sprinkle lemon and a dash of mountain pepper atop. Or perhaps the fish would flavor better with lime, or a chili sauce? Or a sweeter glaze?
But then his smile faded. Hao Min's eyes traced over the line of hooks fixed in the fish's jaw once more. Some still had bits of line attached, or seaweed. The bits of line and weed fluttered in the breeze that rushed across the open waves, like ribbons of honor for all the fish's hard fought battles.
Min Haoren the fisherman bent, leaning over the edge of his rocking schooner, the fat fish held unsteadily in one hand. Then he turned his hand, and let the fish go.
There was a great splash, as the heavy body hit the water. Then a second splash as the giant fish's tail propelled it down.
"A truce for now!" Min called out after it. "But this is not the end!"
Then the fisherman reset the line he had caught the bass with, retying his hook that had grown loose, and adjusting the metal bits so they could chime freely. He checked the other lines as well, and the small net trawling out the back of his boat. Quick tugs told him they were all still too light to have caught anything worth notice.
Finally the fisherman checked the line that moored him to the shore, several stone throws away. The bay he was in was ideal for fishing, as many currents passed by, but it was deep, and the sea bed too smooth to lay an anchor well.
Several firm tugs showed that his landline still held firm. Then with a sigh the fisherman lay down on the straw matting he kept in the stern of the boat.
"How I love sea bass," the fisherman muttered to himself. Or to the open waves around him. "It would have had such a nice flavor squeezed with lemon."
Min Haoren threw an arm over his eyes, and the warm sun paired with the gentle rocking of the small waves soon lulled him asleep once more.
*~*~*~*~*~*
He did not dream this time, and when he woke it was late afternoon. Or perhaps early evening. It was hard to tell, as clouds had rolled in to cover the horizon, and the light that filtered through them was grey.
With a yawn and a scratch Min stood. He began to pull in his lines. All of them were free, and he cursed his poor luck and tender heart that had let the bass go. It would be hard bread and dried fish for dinner tonight. Perhaps soup, if he could rummage up some roots from the forest near his cottage.
Min turned to pull in the net. He sunk both fingers into the woven reed mesh, preparing to haul it aboard.
Then he froze.
The net was heavy. Too heavy for the small silver fish that sometimes found themselves caught in its folds. A larger fish would have thrashed its way free, and the movements would surely have shaken the boat enough to wake him from his sleep.
What is...?
Hand over hand the fisherman pulled in his net, and the dread that had sat in his stomach since his dream earlier grew and grew. It was the dread of the unknown, the uncertain. The dread that for some reason, whatever he pulled up in his net, his life was about to change.
How strange, when just a moment ago, I longed for any variation in my life. Humans really are creatures of habit, clinging to any sense of familiarity—
All thought fled his mind as the bottom of the net emerged from the water with a final heave and sluiced into the boat, salt water spreading everywhere.
Ren Hao Min the fisherman had caught many strange creatures in his net. A barracuda with no teeth. A spear fish with two tails instead of one. A strange pink blob of a fish, that no one at the fish market could identify.
He had caught many strange things, but nothing quite like this.
Pale white flesh, pale enough to look untouched by the sun. Two smooth legs, made of straight lines and slight curves. A slender arm stuck out from the folds, raised almost as if waving in greeting. And a swathe of black hair, that pooled and swayed in the seawater that ran across the deck like a dark sea flower.
In his net was a girl.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Word count:
Chapter- 2416
Total- 2416