The boy who built sand castles

The boy who built sand castles

         Mathew was born next to the ocean, in a house that stood alone by the beach. Only an old path connected his home to the village, and his garden was made of sand. Behind the house a dense pine forest separated them from the inland. His father was a fisherman, and his mother took care of the house and his education, tutoring him at home, for the school was a long two hour walk away.

He had no siblings, so he spent a lot of time alone, staring out into the sea, so different everyday: sometimes temperamental or even angry, others soft and calm. He especially liked the days when the air was clear and he could walk his eyes along the horizon, riding it in the saddle of a big black horse, looking over the edge of whatever lay beyond. He also loved searching the beach for treasure: shells with spiral shapes that reminded him of waves, colorful stones that stood bright against the pale earthy tones of his surroundings, oddly shaped sticks which turned into shiny swords or big bows, transparent jelly fish which made the world look funny.

And he loved building sand castles.

         He couldn’t remember the first time he’d built one. For him, building sand castles was like walking, or talking. When he was little they were simple, his mother had given him a bucket, and he would just fill it with sand and then turn it upside down. He loved that magical moment after removing the bucket, the round tower would stand upright with a crown of battlements. Then he would build an army with the bits and pieces that he found in the sand. He would imagine big battles between Christians and Moors, which would normally end with a big pinecone crashing the tower. Other times he would place a small colorful shell on top, and give her a beautiful princess name like Lily, or Daisy, or Rose. Riding a tiny stick he would go to her rescue, fighting with dragons and evil sorcerers on the way. He was always victorious. Then, when his mother would call him in to eat dinner, he would forget all about the castle. The next day he would build another one.

         As Mathew got older he began building bigger and bigger sand castles. First he added a moat, and turned twigs into fierce crocodiles. Then one tower wasn’t enough, so he began to build castles with two, three, four, and even thirteen towers. Then he added a portcullis that he would carefully make with pine needles, and drawbridges minutely made with match sticks. After that, towers didn’t seem enough, so he started building them around a big courtyard. Inside he built stables, and a great hall, and even a chapel.

He no longer daydreamed; he was too focused on building the castle itself. There were no more knights in shining armor, nor dragons, princesses, or epic battles. He enjoyed the actual castle too much to think about anything else. His imagination was still vivid, but all he could imagine was bigger and more formidable castles.

         He began to build them further and further away from the water. It would take him days to build one and he didn’t want them to be washed away by the waves. This was very hard work. The beach was wide and he still needed the wet sand to work on, so he had to carry it across the beach. It was heavy. His small feet would sink into the sand, but he didn’t mind. He set to work with a strange determination for such a young boy. However, the moon would get bigger and the tides fuller. Around full moon, no matter how far away from the water line his castle was, it would be washed away by the sea.

         He put a lot of time and effort into his work, and it made him really angry that the sea would just eat it away. Before, he had such a strong connection with the big blue, but now it made him anxious: when it was rough he was afraid for his work; and when it was calm, he found it a cheater, as if it was only pretending to be calm and then, as soon as he turned his back, destroy his castles. He no longer looked at the horizon, nor did he wonder about what lay beyond it.

         Nevertheless he carried on building his castles, and they got bigger and bigger, more and more detailed. By now he was even making the bricks in the walls, and the towers had pointy caps. There were windows and balconies, and his drawbridge could actually draw. But the bigger and more detailed they became, the more work and love he put into them, the harder it was to watch them go. Every time he woke up and found them washed away he was furious. He would scream at the sea, thinking that his yelling would be louder than the roar of the waves. He would cry bitterly, thinking that his tears were saltier than the water of the sea. He felt his anger bigger than the immense ocean that opened wide before his eyes.

        

He stopped building sand castles.

His parents were very worried about him. He showed a sorrow too profound for a boy who hadn’t even hit his teens. At first he prowled around the house, in a thick veil of melancholy. His eyes had lost their spark. After, some weeks he became numb, and no longer had any drive for life. It took a lot of effort from his mother to get him out of bed. He was absent minded in her lessons. While before he had been curious and eager, now he just sat with a blank look in his eyes.

One day, his mother had enough of his apathy and sent him out of the house for a walk. He would have preferred to adventure into the pine forest, but it was a cold winter day, and the sun was low in the sky, so he went to the beach, were he thought he’d be warmer. After a while he decided to sit, but he did so with his back turned to the sea. This, however, was very uncomfortable. The beach, as all beaches do, sloped towards the water. He turned around and was forced to face it again. He looked at it with rage and defiance. Then, suddenly, he saw some little dot come out of the horizon. It moved towards him. At first he thought it must be a ship, but he quickly discarded the idea. It moved differently, and there was something about it that made him extremely curious. After seconds, or minutes, or maybe hours, he couldn’t really tell, he realized that it was a girl. Before he knew it she was standing right in front of him.

She must have been around his age. She stood almost as tall as he was, and had an airy look about her, as if she was always dreaming, or had been born in a dream. Her eyes were blue like the sea where she had come from, and when she said hello it sounded soothing, like the undercurrent of a small wave.

The tide was low but getting fuller. She moved towards the shore, picking up a stick on her way. He couldn’t help but follow her. She began to draw him in the sand, and she worked with the stick as others would with a fine pencil. It was beautiful to watch her work. Her hand moved in circles as she tenderly scarred the sand. He soon realized she was making a portrait of him. He looked angry in it, and in some way, that seemed magical to him. She managed to use the different tones in the sand, and the random stones and shells that were in it, to create light and shadow in his face. Every time she looked up towards him he felt a new, strange, and exciting warmth grow within him. She felt it, and would smile back at him. As her fine lips parted, he felt something opening up inside him. She barely touched the sand with the stick, yet the portrait grew fuller and fuller, strikingly vivid. It was as if she had rearranged the sand, and everything that was in it, with her mind, rather than with the stick.

Then, when she was finished, she looked up at him, and as she did so, a big wave came and washed the portrait away. He was devastated, and all the old rage flourished again, transforming itself into one bitter tear that rolled down his cheek. As the wave drew back, leaving no trace of her work, she seemed to lighten up   a graceful movement, she collected the tear from his cheek with a light stroke of the stick, and it felt like a caress. She began to work again. This time she drew him building one of his castles. He was absorbed, fascinated, enchanted at watching her work. No trace was left in him of the bitterness he’d just felt.

The drawing was alive. It wasn’t precise or realistic, yet it was full of volume and light. It seemed to him that it had a heartbeat. She first drew him, and then the castle he was working on. It appeared as if it was the boy in the sand who was actually building the castle, but that didn’t make any sense, it didn’t matter. Nor did it make any sense that she had floated over the water from the horizon. When it was finished, the drawing was just splendid. The castle was worthy of his best work. She walked near him and put her hand in his. As she looked out to the sea, so did he. They saw a big beautiful wave rolling towards them. It crashed over the drawing, stopping just short of their feet. This time Mathew felt sad for the piece to disappear, but it was a very different type of sadness, it was like a burning beauty that almost hurt. There was no anger in him, and her hand was like an anchor that prevented him from being taken by the storm in his soul.

She went back to work, and this time she drew him looking out to sea. The drawing emanated peaceful serenity. In it he gazed upon the horizon. As she worked, the sea got calmer and calmer. One could not tell if the drawing made the sea tranquil, or if it was the other way around. When she finished, everything went quiet. Time had stopped. She walked next to him again, and very tenderly kissed him on the cheek, in the same place where she had collected his tear. As her lips drew away from him, the sea began to move again. A tremendous wave rolled towards the shore, again stopping just short of his feet. It washed away the drawing. As the wave drew back revealing the smooth sand, soft and untouched, Mathew felt he was taken out to sea with it. He surrendered, he wasn’t fighting, he wasn’t struggling. There was no need for air. He was becoming one with it. Another tear rolled down his cheek.

For some time he stood still, feeling the same connection he’d felt with the sea years before. Again he found himself riding the horizon. He felt in him the movement of the waves. His soul expanded until it became infinite, like the ocean. He felt at peace. He looked around for her, to embrace her, to kiss her, to thank her. But she was gone.

And Mathew began building sand castles again.

A.M.B.

  Noviembre de 2013