"Walrus-man" by Sebastián Ponce
Photo by Amy Humphries, licensed under Public Domain and obtained on Unsplash.
Walrus-man
My skin burned under the sun. The air smelled of seaweed and I noticed the warning flags on the shore as the wind howled long whistles. But no one paid attention to the flags beaten by the wind, just like no one cared to stop at the stop signs on the roads. Mere decorations of the landscape. I was fifteen, thin as a young eucalyptus, when I met him.
Tonsupa, a soft-sand beach town in Ecuador, boomed for the tourists: improvised palm huts, mobile cebiche stands, rickshaws and fishing boats pulling banana rides. Dark-skinned locals, from the ardent equatorial sun that watched over them, broke their backs for any dollar they could find. Humble people that smiled their welcoming smiles, cherished those shores that have been their home for thousands of years. Some of their old practices, along with their legends and myths, still persist. Some believe that when the wind is hoarse...
We traveled from Quito zigzagging down snaky roads to celebrate Carnaval—the final ecstasy before the agony of Lent. We dreamed of the ocean but getting car sick was part of the charm.
Tomás came with us. I saw him every day in English class, but he joined us for another reason. He was dating my cousin Gaby.
Carnaval promised us a four-day weekend of relaxation. Mornings of sunbathing, hopscotch, fútbol playa and Ecua-volley, cebiches on the beach, afternoons of sunburn and thirst, and warm evenings of fresh fruit cocktails. But I knew this pit-stop in paradise was going to end quickly. Vacation weekends like those always do. You can’t stop them from ending no matter how much you fight it, like a checkmate that is a couple forced moves ahead.
On our last day in Tonsupa, the plan was to enjoy the beach for the last time before heading back to the highlands after lunch. The wind beat our hair against our faces and roared in our ears. The red flags warned the tourists to stay out of the water. But the sea was calling us. That morning, the Pacific Ocean was ours.
With the water up to our necks, Tomás and I spent our last hours in Tonsupa battling the ocean. Wave after wave, we bobbed like a couple of buoys. We enjoyed ourselves and missed the growing swell.
“Sebas—el mar está bravo,” Tomás said as he tried to grab my arm. “The sea is angry,” he repeated himself, this time in a louder voice.
He noticed the water was getting too rough. But I thought he just wanted to head back to Gaby.
“So? It’s more fun like this.”
My lips tingled from the sea salt, my face burned from the sun and my stomach growled for some calamari cebiche.
“I’m tired, man. And hungry!” Tomás said and moved behind me, a couple of meters closer to the shore.
I saw a big wave approaching and decided that it was going to be our last before heading back. I turned around and gave Tomás a little smirk, granting him his wish to leave. “Alright, alright. Last wave then!”
Suddenly, I saw the fear on his face: his pupils dilated and his jaw trembled.
“Out now!” he screamed.
The sea was angry indeed...
With the corner of my eye, I saw my mother, quite agitated, waving her hands in quick and frantic motions ordering us to come back immediately, and I saw Gaby’s father, dragging his feet as he got out of the water with difficulty.
I spotted it and realized just how much danger we were in. A big dark whirlpool about to devour us.
I couldn’t touch the floor of the ocean anymore. I swam with all my might trying to get away from the sucking demon. Tomás, with his developed strength, managed to move toward the shore, but I worked every fiber of my muscles, purposelessly.
My thighs blazed like flaming coal and my heart pumped and pumped to keep up. Soon, the terror of not advancing a single stroke in the right direction sank in. I inched closer to the whirlpool.
Tomás walked his first steps out of the water. He was safe.
“Tomaaaás!”
He didn’t hear me.
“TOMAAAÁS!” I screamed myself mute.
He heard the panic in my voice and reentered the water. It took him no time to reach me, as if the demon were welcoming us into its maw.
My friend grabbed my upper arm and pulled. His hand covered my entire biceps. His hold was strong. However, it took all of his strength to move me. I felt hopeful when the tip of my toes touched the ocean floor again, even though the water was closing its grip on my throat.
The sea pulled and sucked with euphoria. In an instant, the water retreated to our knees like in the birth of a new wave, and I could taste the sweet and intoxicating elixir of survival. A mere mirage. The undertow was so powerful it prevented our feet from moving, as if they were nailed to the ground. Behind me, I didn’t dare to face my destiny.
The ocean unleashed its fury on our bodies. The biggest wave of all. It broke us into opposite directions. Tomás was tossed like an unwanted toy out of the bathtub, and I was pulled deeper into the sea. My skull met the ocean floor several times as I rolled back into the hungry beast.
My ears buzzed and I swallowed mouthfuls of salt water, but I raised my head for a gasp of air. I threw up bile before resting on my back to stay afloat.
The sea salt burned my eyes and the glare from the water made it hard to see the shore. All I wanted was to see my family. To raise my arms and shout, “I’m still alive!”
The waves kept coming and I had to kick my legs to keep my head above water. The whirlpool was close, and every minute felt like hours. I was sure I was going to drown.
When I accepted my fate, a strange peace embraced me. It was okay to let go. I cherished my final moments with a deep breath.
And that’s when I saw him.
His skin was dark and glistening in the sun. He dove in and out of the water several times as he approached me from a distance. When he was close, I saw his big beer belly and a couple of his teeth sticking out. His cheeks were bony, and his mustache had grown too long. He looked weak. Half the size of Tomás. Hell, maybe he was even shorter than me. The calm I had found escaped me and I hated him for that.
But there was more to him. The water didn’t bother him, and he moved in it with the dexterity of a dolphin. Whirlpool or no whirlpool, it was all the same to him.
He grabbed my wrist and it seemed like the entire ocean stood still. He spoke in a way I couldn’t understand. His lips moved too fast, in a manner that made his mustache stick out even more. What he needed to tell me, I don't know. It was the overwhelming smell of schnapps on his breath that woke me up.
I wanted to scream, “What are you doing? You’re gonna drown us both!” but nothing came out. He tightened his grip and quickly looked at me with a mix of pity and love. He hurled me across the ocean in one single motion. The water didn’t oppose him. He was the riptide and he let me go.
I skidded until I was able to stand in the ocean. My legs were heavy but the water on my shins felt like silk. I shivered uncontrollably despite the fact it was 90 degrees out. My mother came rushing toward me with a towel. I shivered some more. My knees knocked against each other and I held the towel and wiped my face.
Through a tear-stained face, my mother said, “Why do you always do this to me, hijo?” She lifted my face to look me in the eye. “Don't you even care about your own life?”
Father said with disappointment, “What were you thinking!”
Gaby’s father still looked pale and out of breath while my aunt yelled at him hysterically. “You’re so irresponsible. You almost got them killed! You...”
Gaby had her hands covering her face and was sobbing in silence.
Tomás moved closer and patted my back a couple of times. “I’m glad you’re OK, man.” Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “But how did you make it out?”
I looked back at the ocean. The Walrus-man was long gone.
Sebastián Ponce is working on his debut novel. He usually plays the Polish Opening with white and the Alekhine Defense with black and loves smothered checkmates. Born and raised in the mountains of Ecuador, he now lives in Maine with his wife and children, where they enjoy walking by the ocean.