THE magical universe: how it all began

I remove the hair from my eyes and salty lips, but the warm wind guides it back. Frustrated movement, I remove it again. I can still feel the heat of the sun, but I know that the cold is coming because the sun is sinking into the sea. It bathes the world in a golden hue as the waves run like dark lines as far as the eye can see. My feet sink deeper into the cold, wet sand. I look back. My footsteps create a long neat trail in the centre of the sandbar. The waves are already licking the sandbar ahead; I must hurry. The first moon rises from the sea like a silver disk. The night is coming, and the darkness greets me with an almost physical force. It creates an emptiness in my mind, leaving only one thing—the place where the asphalt ended and the sand began. The hard asphalt supported and steadied by steps until the road became sand. At first, it had been dry and warm, and it had tickled the soles of my feet. I had looked back. The wind blew the dust off my shoes, standing on the side of the road, right where the sand begins.

The emptiness demands that I stop. The smell of the ocean has grown stronger, and I feel the water draw away the sand beneath my feet. Currents tug at my wet dress, and I fight to stay upright. I know that standing is dangerous, but it feels like my body is no longer mine. It is all so beautiful, and all I want is to lose myself in it. I feel a strong gust of wind and lose my footing momentarily. It forces me forwards. The enchantment has dissipated, and the anxiety has returned. I find myself in the small gap between the moons when everything is impenetrably dark. I must reach the island before high tide. Just then, a glowing dot appears like pearls on a string, emerging from the darkness one by one. I run. The wet sand disappears, and the dry surface clings to my feet. It is no longer dark, and I long for the warm, dry sand by the asphalt road. Instead, I feel an earthy path under my feet, and the smell tells me I am far from the sea. Above me, the second moon rises, announcing the arrival of a time of day I always look forward to. Like a small lamp, it turns the world silver. It feels like a cleansing, and I lower my shoulders as the dots multiply in a new steady rhythm. I notice that they are torches. The pale light settles like a cloak around me, and I feel warm again. Then they go out, the safety disappears, and I stand in front of a wall of darkness under the palm trees. Nothing is as it was moments ago. I feel alone. I am lost. I take another few steps forwards in the hopes that the path continues. But my naked feet find dry twigs. I am no longer on the path.

‘Good evening.’

I start and listen.

‘What do you want?’ The voice is gentle, and I hear a match being struck. It lights up her wrinkly face as she lights the next torch.

‘I want to speak with you.’ My voice sounds uncertain. She sticks the torch into the ground. ‘You’re the old woman on the island, right?’

She freezes briefly before continuing with the next torch.

‘Well, well, well’, she says. I walk towards her but stop. She is blind. She lights the next torch by the entrance to the wooden hut, and in the light of the flame, she turns to face me. ‘What do you need me for? What do I know that you don’t already know for yourself?’

Although I know she is blind, I feel that she sees right through me—sees my deepest thoughts, my anxieties, and my uncertainty. ‘I can’t find my path in this life’, I say quietly.

She sits down on the steps with the precision of a sighted woman. The seconds tick by. Each time I try to speak, she holds up her finger.

‘You need not say a word.’ Finally, she stands up. ‘Follow me.’ She does not wait, and she leads me back to the beach. I feel miserable that she is sending me home without helping me. The pit in my stomach grows as we approach. We stop at the water’s edge. ‘What do you see?’ she asks.

My eyes dart from side to side but stop at the twin moons sitting low on the horizon. The wind has died down, and the sea is an unbroken surface of liquid silver so glossy, I can see my reflection. Slowly, she steps into the water and lifts up her dress as small waves ripple across the surface. She does not stop until the water reaches her knees. Her back is towards me.

‘You are not lost. You have merely searched. Things seem to catch up with you, and this is the source of your fear. Come.’ Without thinking, I step out into the liquid silver. It does not ripple. I stand by her side. ‘Now, tell me where your footsteps are.’

I look at her for a long moment. ‘I can’t.’ My voice is barely a whisper.

‘Time’, she says. ‘Time is like the sea. It wipes away all traces of us. It’s simply a matter of waiting long enough.’ She turns to face me. ‘And now, I must go. My heart can’t bear to look to the horizon. It holds my past—hopes and dreams that never came to be. Time has wiped all traces of me from his thoughts, and soon, he will be wiped from mine.’ Small waves ripple as she leaves me. She stops and, without turning, continues, ‘Time is a double-edged sword. Some things we want to forget, others we yearn to retain. But it’s not up to us.’