Sebastian's Wish

Manuel Mendoza added five more kilos of weight to the net then returned it to the sea,
making the sign of the cross as he watched it disappear beneath the surface. His prayer
was always the same -- let him catch the big one.

His tiny boat cut through the evening haze, trolling slowly, the net a familiar
drag, a member of the family used by his father and his father before him. The wooden
floaters had been carved by the same men, and the net bore the signature weave of his ancestors. If there were a fish foolish enough to test it . . . .

In the distance, tiny as a string of glistening stars, he saw he village. The soft curve of lamps along the shoreline were beacons to the village's fishermen. As long as one of them was at sea, no lamp would be extinguished. Tonight they burned for him.

He trolled slowly and skillfully. Were he a farmer, his furrows would be straight, his crops well-planted. "Perhaps a little less speed," he thought, lowering the throttle. The ancient piece of machinery coughed, sputtered, wheezed . . . held.

Easing the old boat into a slow turn, Manuel headed back in the opposite direction, the village lamps now on his right. He looked at them, thinking of his wife Marta. As children they had played together in the village. Now, twenty-five years later, they raised their only child Sebastian in its comforting embrace.

The boy had wandered into their lives six years earlier, after Marta had despaired of ever having a child of her own. It had been Marta who heard the scratches at their front door. And it had been she who persisted in rousing him from a deep sleep, sending him grumbling to chase away the troublesome cat or dog. Instead, he found the small child, naked and staring up at him with a smile on its face.

They had immediately retraced the child's wobbly steps back to the water's edge, from where they seemed to have emerged. Of the person or persons who had set him ashore then left, there was nothing. No message. No trace of anyone else having been there; nothing to explain the strange occurrence.

Marta had no difficulty explaining -- or accepting. She immediately named the child Sebastian in honor of the saint, even bestowing upon him the same birthday, for he was, without a doubt, San Sebastian's direct response to her constant prayers. And she had watched over him these past six years with a sharp and meticulous eye.

The engine suddenly sputtered, caught, missed, caught, sputtered...died. Drawn from his thoughts, Manuel gave it a swift kick. Like a sleeping dog suddenly startled, the engine jumped to life. `Tonight,' he thought, `was not a time for temperament.' He had promised a fish -- a great fish -- for the feast of San Sebastian, and he vowed to the saint not to return without it.

He was waiting hours later, the stars now unforgiving and cold, and no moon would guide his plowing of the sea. He was still waiting when the shrouded wetness settled like an unwelcome guest in the prow of his tiny boat, staring back at him with luminous, sea-green eyes. Manuel quickly crossed himself and the phantom disappeared, leaving him with his mighty his might promise. And when he could wait no longer he dozed lightly, dreaming of Marta, feeling her soft presence snugly against him, warding off the chill.

But the dream was quickly shattered when the tiny craft suddenly reared, its prow completely out of the water, leaving Manuel with barely enough time to free his hand from the net before all slack was taken. Struggling for balance, he felt the boat shudder beneath his feet as though under a great strain.

Then his reflexes took over and he hauled on the net with all his strength. Never before had he felt such a weight. And though a part of him wondered why such a mighty creature had surrendered so meekly, he was happy to give all honors to San Sebastian who must have calmed it with his holy touch.

Within moments the net was over the side, spilling its contents into the boat. And, as was the way with all fishermen, Manuel immediately returned it to the water, for the net must always ply its trade. Only then did he examine his catch.

At first he thought it was a cannon ball. His grandfather had told him many stories of pirates and raiders who had sailed upon these waters in times past. But no, it was much too shiny, seeming to radiate even in the moonless night. And how could such a thing float? He picked it up, hefted it, guessed that it must weigh at least twenty kilos.

Setting it aside for a moment, he picked up the kerosene lamp he always carried and lit it with a match. Holding the lamp close to the strange object, Manuel marveled at its construction. No seams. No imperfections.

He removed his heavy fishing knife from its scabbard and tapped the object. No question, it was solid. `But how could such a thing float?' he asked himself again. For surely it must have floated, how else could he have trapped it in his net? He lifted it with both hands, debating whether or not to return it to the sea, wishing at the same moment that it had been the fish instead.

Had it been anyone but Manuel he would have been thrown overboard by the sudden force that sent the boat skidding in the water, threatening to overturn it. The net buckled and shook as though a mighty hurricane had been trapped, and the old outboard motor labored against the force. Manuel could felt he enormous strength of the creature trapped in his net. This time there was no mistake. The fish! The fish!

He dared not drop the object he held, to do so might send it through the boat's bottom. So he kneeled and placed it gingerly beneath the seat, but not before he felt it grow warm in his hands, as though a fire had come to life inside. He had no time to think on it further for the fish was threatening to tear its way free. But he did notice, out of the corner of his eye, a greenish glow that seemed to surround the object.

For the next hour Manuel struggled to keep the fish within the net until it grew fatigued and easier to land. His hands were cut and raw from rope burns; his arms felt as though they had been pulled from their sockets; and the chill night knifed through him like dread. But he held firm and soon the fish struggled less...then not at all. When he was at last able to haul his catch to the surface, he realized the extent of the miracle, for the fish was twice the size of the net.

In its struggles the fish had only succeeded in becoming more entangled. And Manuel could also see it wasn't dead, merely exhausted, but he quickly dispatched it with a blow to its head from the axe handle. Then, exhausted, he fell back in the boat and stared at the enormous marlin, wondering how his tiny net could have restrained such power and force.

As he stared at the magnificent creature, he could already hear the sound of his name on everyone's tongue. Ah, how the women would compliment Marta on having a husband such as Manuel Mendoza, the mighty fisherman. Rousing himself from such comforting thoughts, he primed the reluctant outboard motor. "Come old friend," he coaxed, "I will tell how you trolled and held the mighty fish captive." Together they moved slowly toward the distant necklace of lights, glinting like fiery crowns awaiting him.

The village came alive as news of Manuel's catch spread from house to house. Women stared in veiled envy and old men dressed up ancient stories for retelling. But the night belonged to Manuel and, on the beach, surrounded by his family and the others; he knelt beside the great fish to receive the priest's blessing, his tears falling unashamedly on the sand.

Later, as he told and retold the story, basking in the admiration of his fellow fishermen, he thought of that other catch. But the tequila had brightened the cantina's lamps to brilliance, and he was asked, yet again, to repeat the story. In due time he would tell them of the other thing, When the night was wearing thin and his story weary of telling, then he would surprise them with the other, and the tequila would flow once again. Yet, even that decision could not ease the vague sense of discomfort he felt deep within.

Meanwhile, the children played their games, enjoying the special dispensation from usual bedtime hours because of the great event. All except for Sebastian, whom Marta deemed still too young for such exceptions. And so it was, in the middle of his favorite game, Marta called out, "Bedtime, my son." When he was reluctant to end his fun, she assured him that tomorrow would be activity enough, for it was to be his birthday and feast day as well. For such a day, she told him, much sleep is required.

Because he was a dutiful, obedient child, when he begged for "only one more chance to hide" and would come in as soon as he was found, Marta agreed. She knew that he would do as promised. But, being a dutiful mother, she sought out his cousin Consuelo, instruction her to seek Sebastian before all other.

And because he was such a dutiful and obedient child, Sebastian knew he must hide as never before if he was to spend any more time with his friends on this special night. So, he made his way to the beach and crawled into his father's fishing boat, flattening his small body against the bottom, striving to become a part of it. As he laid there, eyes closed against discovery, he could faintly hear Consuelo beginning her search.

He could also hear the laughter from inside the cantina, and the voices of the women sitting in the shadows, watching over the children and talking among themselves. And though he could not see or hear her, Sebastian knew that his mother was softly humming as she turned down the covers on his bed. Next she would fill the small tub with water. This she always did, and there would be a soft smile on her face as well.

But tonight he was filled with an excitement he had never felt before, and he knew only that he must stay awake as long as possible. His mother's smile and song were familiar, but tonight they were not enough to ease the faint sense of being different from the other children; from the knowledge that he was joined to his parents not by blood, but by love; and joined to the village as a stranger taken in. This he knew, for he heard others whisper these things.

His thoughts were interrupted by Consuelo's voice nearby. "Sebastian, where are you? Tia Marta says you must come in at once." Sebastian curled himself into a tight ball, listening to the beacon that was her growing presence -- and his ultimate discovery.

Had it been possible he would burrowed further beneath the seat, but a round object blocked his way. He pushed with all his strength, attempting to roll it to one side, but it was jammed. Consuelo's voice drew nearer, and in one final desperate attempt Sebastian wrapped his arms around the, now, softly glowing object and pulled with all his might; and as he did, Sebastian also wished he could hide in a place where he could never be found.

When Consuelo reached the boat and searched it, she saw nothing except a small round ball beneath the seat. At first glance she thought it was glowing, but looking again she saw it was probably reflecting the lamps, which had not yet been extinguished. Satisfied that he was not in the boat, she turned away. "Sebastian, where are you?" she called out, walking into the darkness.

One by one in her search for Sebastian, she found and named each of the other players, then enlisted them to help with the search. They spread out, checking all the known places, and then those places used by young lovers seeking privacy. And, one by one, they returned shaking their shaking their heads at his ability to any of them on such a small isle as San Sebastian.

At first, Marta was amused when told, so she joined in the search. She laughingly called out to him that he had surely won the game; but now it was past his bedtime and he must come in. Then her laughter turned uneasy and her voice drew less soft when he did not step away from the shadows where he hid. Her coaxing became a command for him to present himself. When he still failed to appear, Marta's voice lost its edge as concern crept in. "Nino, she cried into the night, "por favor, answer me.!" But her straining ears caught only the sound of the ocean breathing its way onto the shore.

Manuel did not desire to be disturbed from his glowing moment in the cantina; and it took Marta's tearful pleas to make him finally understand that Sebastian was not to be found, only his bare footprints leading down to the water's edge, ending at their boat.
Buried deep within the tequila's warmth, Manuel felt a sudden coldness spilling into his intestines, freezing them. The boat! What was the thing he needed to remember? He wiped his eyes, trying to clear the haze from his mind.

Later, after the cantina had cleared and the men stumbled through another search, Manuel knelt at the boat, tears once again coursing down his face. He ran his fingers lightly over the slight indentations that were Sebastian's footprints. The same prints that had led their way into his heart. He raised his head, looked into the boat where he could see the round object beneath the seat. Was it glowing...or merely mocking him? The coldness that had earlier invaded his intestines had now spread throughout his body, numbing him to all but his sense of loss.

Earlier, before the tequila had overtaken him, when he had been at that fine balance between drunk and sober, he had realized the truth: Something other than San Sebastian heard his prayers! How else could he explain all that had happened? Staring at the round object afraid to touch it, he knew! He knew! Just as he knew where the fish would be plentiful, just as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. Just as he knew, also, that he could never share this terrible secret with Marta.

He wiped away his tears and hardened his heart against the truth, vowing to return the cursed object to the sea at first light of dawn. If he went this night, he wasn't sure if he wouldn't also throw himself overboard as penance for his pride and vanity. Then, hearing Marta's sobbing cries drawing closer, he crept away, seeking a private spot where his grief could empty itself upon the sand. And he found such a place around a small bend, not far from the boat, but away from all else except the stars shining upon his grief.

By now the village had grown dark, with everyone inside. Except for Marta, who wandered aimlessly, calling softly for her lost child, her beloved Sebastian; her sobbing pleas picked up by the breeze and carried to the waves, where they gently sighed the name: Sebastian. Sebastian.

Her search carried her down to the shore where she collapsed exhausted, her back against the boat. Heart aching, she felt as if she had been plunged into utter darkness, and she kept asking herself, how could such a thing happen? How could a saint be so merciful as to provide her with a son, and then take him without justification? Sebastian had been loved as much -- if not more -- than any other child in the village.

Why? Por Dios...why? She looked at the stars, at the heavens, hoping to see the answer miraculously written across the face of the night sky. But there was nothing. Only a shooting star that traced its glowing passage, then faded and disappeared.

Driven by some impulse, Marta looked inside the boat, where she should barely make out the round object beneath the seat. Although there was no moon, it seemed to have a faint glow and her curiosity took hold. Overriding her immediate grief, she climbed into the boat for a closer look.

It required all her strength to dislodge the object from its place, and she quickly discovered it was much heavier than she first thought. The glow she had noticed had disappeared, if there had even been one. But she remembered something Manuel had said earlier, about a second catch that might be worth money, and decided this object must be it.

She sat there for many minutes, holding the round object like a worry stone, softly rubbing its smooth surface. As she sat, she pondered the day's event, and the events that must come the following morning -- the feast day. And the more she thought, the more she realized that she did not care if morning ever came -- for any of them. A part of her was now dead, and with its death, came the death of any love she might have felt for the village or its people -- and especially San Sebastian who had played such a cruel joke on her.

Meanwhile, around the bend, Manuel dozed, the tequila blanketing his mind, numbing it, if only for the moment. He could not have heard the words Marta uttered, and he could not have seen the faint glow that suddenly burned from within the object she held. Only in his drunken dreams did he sense the sudden lightness that coursed through him.

Sometime during the night a sudden storm blew up, sending waves to tidal level. One of those extraordinarily freak occurrences of nature that find their way into books on strange events. And it happened so suddenly that all the villagers were taken in their sleep. At sunrise only debris remained -- scattered hints that the village of San Sebastian and its inhabitants had ever existed.

The only thing to survive was the boat and it only briefly. Lifted by the tide, it moved out to sea for several miles until swamped by a giant wave. As it sank, the small round object slipped its mooring from beneath the seat and floated just beneath the surface...glowing softly...waiting only to fulfill its possessors' deepest desires, such was its programmed missions, followed for eons upon eons, had it but a memory to recall the passage of time.