Dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today to set things straight once and for all. I’m going to tell you a story and then I’m gonna ask you a question. You don’t have to answer me, but you may want to answer it for yourselves.
There was an island in the middle of an endless ocean. The people living on the island learned how to build boats and ships and how to sail. Farther and farther away they traveled, but they always returned to the island since it was the only piece of land they knew. There were no other islands in the blue immensity of that ocean.
One day a young sailor ventured farther than he had ever been before and he got caught in a storm. The storm lasted for several days and drove his small boat even farther away from home, and the young man didn’t know where he was anymore.
Suddenly he saw the shape of a small island on the horizon and set his sails toward it. It was the first time he’d ever seen a piece of land other than his home. He went to the island and was amazed by the beauty of it. There were fruit trees he had never seen before. In the middle of the island there was a tall mountain the top of which was disappearing through a round white cloud.
His curiosity got the best of him and he started climbing up the mountain. When he got high enough to be in the cloud, he realized that he was actually on top of the mountain; there was a plateau as flat as the surface of a still lake and in the middle of that plateau there was a hut.
He approached it, knocked on the door and somebody inside said, “Come in.”
He did, and was surprised to find an old man with a white beard dressed in a long, black cloak sitting in a rocking chair reading a great book, or writing in it.
“Come in, come in,” the old man repeated. “Have a seat. You must be exhausted after being in the storm and climbing up the mountain.”
He, miraculously, didn’t feel tired anymore, but sat down anyway. The air in the hut felt as fresh as the air in a clearing at dawn, and the young man felt at peace; he’d never felt so wonderfully cozy before.
He and the old man started talking and he learned a great number of things from him, about sailing, about the island, about the trees on the island, about the mountain and even about his home. Apparently the old man knew everything about the endless ocean.
After a while the young man started feeling as if he’d been in that hut forever. Time was of no consequence to him anymore.
“It’s time for you to go home now,” the old man said gently, and the young man understood. He had almost forgotten about his family and friends, who were probably worried about him.
He said goodbye to the old man, thanked him for everything he had taught him, and left. Before he left, the old man gave him a fruit to take home. He didn’t feel hungry at all while he was in the hut and, as he was climbing down the mountain, he realized he hadn’t even thought about eating.
He got into his boat, put the fruit in a safe place and set off. He was planning to take the fruit home to show it to his friends and family. As he was sailing away, the island grew smaller and smaller until it eventually disappeared. Then he was once again sailing by himself in the infinity of the endless sea.
He knew he was far away from home, and had no idea which way to go, but he trusted the wind would guide his sailboat in the right direction. Many days passed and the only thing he saw was the endless blue. He became hungry, but he didn’t want to eat the fruit; it was the only tangible link between him and the island he had been to. He took it in his hand and looked at it. The fruit looked as fresh as it had been when he received it. If the fruit hadn’t been there, he would have probably doubted ever being on that island. It could as well have been a dream.
More days passed and he started feeling worried about ever getting home. “If I’m gonna die here in the middle of the ocean, I might as well eat this fruit,” he said to himself. It wasn’t just the hunger talking now, but the curiosity as well. By the look of it, that fruit seemed to be the sweetest, juiciest fruit he had ever held in his hand.
Suddenly he realized how silly he had been. “Hey, I’m gonna save the seeds anyway; it’s not like I’ll have nothing to show to my friends. And I’m gonna plant the seeds in my garden and I’m gonna have this type of fruit forever.”
He started eating and he immediately felt refreshed. The fruit had such a wonderful taste that for a second he forgot where he was; he didn’t even realize when he ate it. And when he looked down at his empty hand his heart skipped a beat; the fruit hadn’t had any seeds at all.
* * *
The young man never told anybody about his wonderful adventure, for fear of being laughed at or ridiculed. Who would believe him if he started telling people about that magical island? Everybody knew their home land was the only island in the endless ocean. He didn’t even tell his friends and relatives.
But as time passed, the urge to tell someone grew stronger and stronger until one day he felt he couldn’t keep it inside him anymore. He had a good friend, one he had grown up with, and he decided to tell him. He was sure he could convince his friend he wasn’t just making up stuff.
They took a walk on the beach, as they used to do when they were kids, and the young man told his friend everything. To his surprise, his friend looked at him, frowning, and asked:
“Dude, have you been drinking?”
And he realized how ridiculous his story must have sounded to his friend. Yet, the taste of that fruit, the air he had breathed in that hut, the voice of the old man were so fresh in his mind as if everything had happened that day.
“I’m telling you, it happened. I’m not making it up.”
“Are you sure you didn’t dream the whole thing?”
“Well, duh! Are you sure you’re not dreaming now?”
“You know there are no other islands in the ocean. We’ve been sailing it for centuries and nobody ever saw another piece of land.”
“I don’t blame you for not believing me. I think I wouldn’t believe it either if it hadn’t happened to me.”
And from then on he decided not to tell anybody about it again.
* * *
Many years passed and the young man and his friend grew old and wise. Sometimes they would walk on the beach and reminisce about the good-old times. The story about the island came up many times but his friend never believed it. He wanted details about that magical island, out of curiosity, but he was still convinced everything had happened in his friend’s mind while sleeping.
One evening they were both on the beach sitting on a rock a little way off from the rippling waves–their favorite place of all–watching the sunset, and talking. A stranger, no more than eighteen years old, approached them; they had never seen him before.
“Nice place to watch the sunset,” the stranger said.
“Yes, it is. We’ve been coming here ever since we can remember,” the man’s friend replied.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
He was not from around there–just visiting relatives who lived by the shore.
“I live inland, and this is the first time I’ve seen the ocean.”
“No!”
“Yeah. Everybody in my small town kept talking about it and I had to take their word for it, but now I’ve seen it for myself.”
“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
“Is it really true that the water is endless out there?”
“That’s what they say. I mean, nobody ever sailed to the end of the ocean and came back to tell the tale,” the man’s friend said pensively.
“And do you really believe there is nothing else out there?” the teenager pressed on.
“I wouldn’t say nothing. There is water, for one.”
“No, I meant other people, other islands. It’s hard to believe that we’re the only ones in this immense ocean.”
“We’re not,” the man replied, looking at his friend to see his reaction.
“Do you believe there is someone else out there?” the teenager asked, surprised.
“No, I don’t. I know it.”
And the man started telling his story about how he had been caught in the storm, and how he had found the island and how he had climbed the mountain, and everything about the hut and the old man and the fruit.
“Also if my friend here had written down this story, he would have been the greatest writer of our generation,” the man’s friend concluded.
“He doesn’t believe me, but that’s okay. I’m not mad at him anymore. And it’s not like I’m trying to sell tickets to that island,” the man smiled toward the boy.
“I mean, come on, everybody knows there are no other islands in this ocean.”
“How can you be so sure? Just because nobody else has found one, is that enough to prove your assumption? Don’t you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
“But don’t you realize how far-fetched your story sounds?”
“Yeah, but I’m saying there is an island out there because I saw it with my own eyes, and I walked on it with my own feet, while you’re saying, no, there can’t possibly be an island out there because you didn’t see it.”
“I will only believe it when I see it.”
The teenager turned around and walked away, leaving the two old men to their squabble. Up until that day he had never seen the ocean and now that old man said there was an island somewhere out there?(to be continued)
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