By Maryanna Gabriel
 |
| Xuwtluqs turned to stone. |
She was terrified of water. Moreover, it wasn't that she couldn't drive; she was afraid to. Talking incessantly, she peppered me with questions as we returned by foot along the ocean.
She wanted to know where I had been and what I had seen. Although it was late, her loneliness was apparent, and I hadn't the heart to hurry away. She showed me her guest home with an ocean view. She had many houses, it turned out. I roughly calculated the wealth from the rentals and sold land she described and it was extensive. But what good did it do? She was trapped in a prison of her own making. Longing to travel and having the means made no difference. The fear she lived with had her in lockdown. The tendrils of this longing wrapped themselves around me, and I was a brief respite from her conundrum, an entertaining diversion, as I anwered her questions and spoke of travels far away.
There is a legend. On the shoreline where we had walked, the First Peoples once lived in villages. Xuwtluqs, a supernatural being of power was a protector. One day Xexels came along and asked that he control a storm which was raging, but Xuwtluqs refused. Xexel was also a being of power, and he turned Xuwtluqs into stone and now he is frozen in the rock, visible to all who walk the shore today. A nearby sign posts that storms come up suddenly and many have died unawares along this coast. The moral of the story is to ask nicely, I think. At least that is what the sign said. Undoubtedly, there is something lost in translation.
Finally, the light was fading, and it was getting too dark to linger longer. My stomach was rumbling, and it was past time to go. I unraveled the tendrils of her longing wrapped around my spirit and managed to say my goodbyes to this woman who was frozen. Frozen with fear.
I knew it was coming in the way one knows these things. The next day, she wrote and ask if I wanted the house with the view should she decide to rent it.
The metaphor of being caught in stone was too powerful. I was already thrashing through metaphor enough. My reply was sincere. No, thank you.
 |
| The moral of the story is to ask nicely. |