December 26, 2004

Chapter 1

 

Aallotar

Aallotar didn’t like to listen as much as she liked to talk, not unusual for a twelve-year-old girl except she was from Finland, where it seemed everyone but her practiced the art of quietude. "Listen to the animals," her papa would say, a man who spent his free time hunting for moose and doing exactly that. Today, in Thailand, he relaxed by the poolside in board shorts and shades, and Aallotar hardly recognized him. Momma always had her “listening” for other kinds of things. Opportunities. To learn, to excel, to help others.

​

Now that she was more grown-up, she called them Mom and Dad. Mom stood behind dad’s chaise lounge and draped her arms across his shoulders. She looked happy, waiting for Aallotar to capture the moment. The blue-roofed pagoda filled the background. Her older brother slid into the frame, dripping pool water. Aallotar dropped the ancient family instamatic in disgust. “I’m waiting for Aatami to quit scowling.” Aatami laughed at her, and despite his antics, complied with a conventional camera smile. Snap. The film, still undeveloped, emerged from the camera box, appearing hazy. Aatami snatched it, but a gust of wind blew the memento into the pool.

​

“We’ll take another later. Let’s go to the beach,” said Mom. “We only have a week in paradise.”

​

“I will follow you anywhere, my dear,” said her overdramatic dad, who defied anyone’s ideas about engineers. He called them both “his girls.” Aallotar spent many evenings building bridge models with him in his home office. On the weekends, he took her and Aatami hunting with their dogs. Dad even trained the hounds to listen. Except for the need to stay quiet, she enjoyed the adventure in the woods.

 

This vacation was the first time Aallotar had ever seen the ocean, much less dipped in it. Thailand had mild water, unlike the frigid lakes in her country. Only forests surrounded her hometown in Finland, and they were often blanketed with snow. Especially now, with Christmas around the corner. When Mom unpacked, Aallotar saw their embroidered stuffed stockings had made the trip, too.

 

Yesterday, they all went snorkeling, her mom’s dream since childhood. One thing she believes in, and says over and over, is, “Follow your dreams.” Aallotar intended to do just that; win a gold medal in the Winter Youth Olympic Games, for cross-country skiing.

 

Dad and Aatami hoisted the chairs and towels over their shoulders and headed the hundred meters to the shoreline. Their walks are ‘cut and paste.’ Aallotar laughed at her own cleverness. She and her mom looked alike too—at least Grandma said so. Mom slathered sunscreen on Aallotar’s face and insisted on braiding her hair.

 

“Hurry Mom, let’s catch up with Dad.”  Mom sighed, stopped twisting midway, and quickly secured the hair band.

 

Aallotar called out, “Dad, don’t leave us!” Hair streaming, she bounded through the warm ivory sands of Phuket Island on the second day of their family vacation. She squealed when a sand crab clutched her heel. Aallotar gingerly picked up the shell, being careful to avoid the wriggling legs, and placed it safely among the mangroves for protection. Recalling her father’s beliefs, did the crab have something to tell her?

 

She headed towards the aquamarine sea, lured by its inviting waters. The palm trees near the crescent-shaped bay swayed gracefully, resembling hula dancers under the cloudless sky. A shimmering ripple appeared on the horizon, something she hadn’t noticed yesterday.

 

The air stilled as a faint hum filled the atmosphere. Lizards hissed and scurried from the mangroves while birds flocked over the wetland trees, creating a clattering sound like rain on a metal roof. Distracted by the activity, she and her mom lagged behind Dad and Aatami, who were placing towels near the water's edge. She halted, unsure why. Mom tilted her head like an alert dog. Their attention shifted to the sea as the sound of lapping waves subsided. Beachgoers yelled in various languages.

 

“Look at that!”

“Mitä!” [What!]

“Putain de merde!” [Holy shit!]

 

Aallotar's muscles tensed as she tried to keep her balance on the shifting sand, and she stared in wonder as the ocean receded. Like her, most people gazed at this strange sight, all of them glued to the beach. How can a wave retreat from the shoreline? Her only reference was the parting of the Red Sea. The ocean’s absence exposed the rippled seafloor; sand studded with flopping fish, clumps of seaweed, and a coral stand.

 

The distant wave paused, built up energy and rose higher. Aallotar couldn’t tear herself from the scene as the colossal wall formed, growing taller and taller. Like a cavalry, it charged towards the shore. The wave carried boats, bouncing like toys over the top of the crest—the powerful swell headed her way! Fishermen in the distance shouted. Birds squawked. The deep rumble intensified. As the avalanche approached, the shore vibrated, and her teeth rattled.

 

Mom’s scream startled Aallotar into action—“Voi vittu [Finnish expletive]. It’s coming!” Flight impulse flooded her, and she twisted from the spectacle towards her mom, unsure where to go. Mom grabbed Aallotar’s hand and shouted, “Run fast!”

 

In unison, they dashed from the fast-approaching wave. It roared like a locomotive now. Scattered by a stampede of shocked vacationers, sand flew, forcing them to squint and pitting their skin. Water sprayed everywhere. They grounded in each other’s fierce grip as they ran.

 

“Hold on,” her mom shouted as the surf crashed over their heads, crushing her like a boulder. Their bond broke. The sparkle from her mom’s ring flashed and died.

 

“Momma!” Her mouth filled with saltwater.

 

The churning cauldron launched Aallotar from the shore towards the hills. She still sensed the ghost grip of her mother’s warm hand. The ocean took over and forced itself down her throat. It sent her to the bottom before releasing its hold. She emerged from the watery depths seconds later to gasp her first breath and retch. Beachfront hotels raced by. The agitated air whined and bellowed. Blinded by saltwater, she reached for the belly of an overturned car, but it was gone. A hard object submerged in the turbid froth struck her right foot. She cried out. Heads bobbed above the turmoil, kids screamed for their moms, and moms screamed for their kids. She joined them in their hysteria.

 

“Mom!”

 

Sucked under again into a black whirlpool. Her body spun like a top before she shot up, gulped for air, and opened her eyes to glimpse light. The crunch of rubble was the last sound she heard. Another tumble downward.

 

She dropped deeper, below the turbulence, and pressure increased like an elephant on her chest. I can’t breathe! She flailed her arms and legs. Which way is up? Her lungs burned, she stopped fighting, but her mind still struggled. I can’t die. Time disappeared. Her lifeless limbs were spokes in the cold black vortex that continued to churn her like space debris.

 

As her eyes opened without sight, her initial terror turned into peaceful acceptance. A thread of light enveloped her in a warm embrace, and she wanted to succumb to the beacon. Then, her best friend, Elli, appeared in a vision and lifted her from the snow. Aallotar planted her ski pole and hoisted herself out of the drift.

 

Once again, a weight crushed her burning chest. Adrenaline flowed through her core, bringing her back. Hold on. Look for light. Kick! Lungs about to burst, she shot to the surface, coughed out the ocean, and greedily sucked life-giving air. She turned her face up and tried to float on her back. Still, the waves kept crashing.

 

Kicking and thrashing, she fought to keep her head above the raging swell. Aallotar peered through her burning eyes as treetops with vines and red flowers flew by in a haze. Images flashed by in a kaleidoscopic blur. Bam! A searing jolt of pain. Roughness burrowed into her side. In a single motion, she removed the woody bark. Despite feeling as if every bone in her body was broken, she flailed for a hold. As the ocean lost momentum and released its pressure, she managed to grab a branch that had just emerged from the depths. Aallotar discovered herself perched high in a tree, too terrified to budge, still catching her breath amidst coughing fits.

 

The wave rushed back to the sea, snapping tree limbs. The forest drained and the water’s passage shook and whined like a jet takeoff. Leaves shed raindrops over her. She gripped the slippery branch with her remaining strength and pulled herself into a crevice between the branch and the trunk. Aallotar looked everywhere. Am I alone? Just above her, a pitiful cry resonated. The curious brown eyes of a monkey wondered why the ocean had invaded its forest. When the monkey's cries subsided, she heard her own thundering heartbeat.

 

“Where’s my family?” she asked the monkey. He tilted his furry head from side to side. Aallotar wanted to get down but was too high to jump and didn’t trust her trembling legs. Staring at the now-exposed muddy ground, she whimpered and draped herself over the vine-covered bough. Don’t fall. She slapped her face until her vision cleared and climbed to a sitting position.

 

Hidden birds squawked. Her monkey tucked his chin and lifted his brow as he screeched indignantly. The faint rumble grew louder and stronger until it reached a roar. More water arrived; it rose to just below her bough. The crunch and groan of wood and concrete twisting sounded like a wave digesting all of human creation. She shrieked as a face-down body rushed by, shirt streaming behind him. Dad? No, he never wears purple. She shuddered. Several bobbing people stretched their arms out as they passed. Aallotar reached for them but was too late; they were gone, their screams trailing. Coughing, she became dizzy and clutched the vines.

 

What’s coming? Color patches, then a loud crunch. A red and blue boat lodged against the trunk. It was only a few feet away, but how could she reach it? She took a deep breath, and grasping leaves, tiptoed across the slippery limb and jumped into the rocking vessel. Her ankle lit up with burning pain as she plopped onto the bench, trying not to get thrown overboard into the rapid current. She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. Three dazed fish flopped around, secured on a fishing line. No fishermen. No paddles. Aallotar pushed off from the tree and the boat accelerated into the strong current.

 

This second surge pulled them farther inland, revealing a patchwork of village rooftops; some made of palm fronds, others rusted metal, with frightened families huddled atop. The shifting flow line was below the roofs. Anchoring against the bench, she yelled for help as she shot by them. Something hit the boat and threw her into the bow, landing her face in a pool of turbid water. The briny taste seeped through her nostrils onto her tongue. With one eye above the puddle, she spotted the coiled fishing line on the deck. She grabbed it, and attempted the basic lariat loop her brother had taught her, but she couldn't remember the steps, her heartbeat hammering out logical thinking. The boat raced by the village. It crashed into a large floating creature, catapulting Aallotar over its swollen black-and-white belly into the soup.

 

“Aaaah!”

 

Her head plunged into the slosh and hit a submerged object. The current slowed, paused momentarily, and then reversed. It carried Aallotar—tangled in seaweed as if in a floating coffin—semi-conscious. Her will to live seeped into the murky current.

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Cos

Cos and his grandfather were headed downhill to the market in their horse-drawn farm wagon when they heard yells and the crash of toppling trees and witnessed the last of the surf receding through the upturned jungle brush. Wide-eyed, Cos knew water should never be there.

 

“Grandfather, what happened?”

 

The farmer usually had a simple answer for everything, but not today. Cos surveyed, contemplating the source. It isn’t raining. Doesn’t seem like it flowed from the mountains. It must be the sea—but how? There were trees leveled on the downhill side of their route, covered in thick sediment. It resembled the dried lava flow he had witnessed while visiting Hawaii with his father. He made out a partial bedframe, a child’s bicycle, and a splintered fishing boat. Rivulets of water were still streaming across the muddy road. Most of the scrap was piled on the high side of the road, where it appeared the water had stopped just before their arrival.

 

The fruit stands ahead had several stunned vendors perched on their shed tops. Watermelons were busted open and scattered, mixed in with the mush of vegetables and debris. It looked like a giant stir-fry. Alarmed voices screamed from a distance. He glanced at his grandpa’s face, etched with endurance, and Cos tried to maintain a calm appearance.

 

“Grandpa, there’s so much mud and junk on this road I don’t think we can get our fruit to the market.” With a flick of the old man’s wrist in response, he urged their horse on, encouraging the old bay to pull the overflowing watermelon cart through the sticky mud. The horse’s hooves made sucking sounds each time he lifted his leg.

 

A row of fish next to a stranded boat grabbed the boy’s attention, as one of them flopped on top of the trash.

 

“Look, Grandfather, I see a hand next to that boat!” Cos jumped from the moving wagon, surfed a few feet across the mud, and removed seaweed and splintered wood from around the still, small hand. He struggled to move the boat aside and gasped when he revealed a petite girl immersed in a puddle, her awkward limbs and long half-braided locks strewn about. A wisp of hair, untouched by the mud and muck, shone blond—clearly, she was not from this neighborhood. They were at least three kilometers from the beach. She seemed to be the same age as his younger sister, maybe eleven or twelve. The fourteen-year-old despaired and turned to his grandfather.

 

“Is she dead?”

 

Grandfather spoke for the first time. “I’ve seen this before. Yama has taken her and probably many others, but the ones who live still need to eat. Thank Allah, he spared our village. I’m sorry, Cos, but there is nothing to do for her.”

 

Cos gently touched her face and started towards the cart. He shuffled a few steps before he turned for one last look. Just then, she stirred and launched into a coughing spasm. Cos shot his arms in the air and ran to her. Grandfather eased off the cart and stepped over to lay the girl on her side as she spewed water from her mouth. Cos helped him and lifted her head from the puddle. The girl was bleeding and seemed delirious as she mumbled and tried to open her eyes. Cos cleaned her face with the water bottle hung over his shoulder. “Please, let’s take her into town with us to look for a doctor. We can put her in the back.” Cos laid a cloth over the watermelons, and they hoisted the semiconscious girl into the cart. He wiped hair out of her eyes.

 

They both sat on the worn coachman’s seat and urged the horse forward. He had just gained momentum when a trike-riding woman crossed the road in front of them. The old man pulled back on the reins. Grandfather shouted at the cyclist, “Whoa, look out where you’re going!” She stopped in the middle of the street.

 

Her mouth pursed as she observed them. The woman had an ageless look—her shiny black hair pulled into a bun framed an angular face. Her eyes shared nothing, but her lean, taut calves and forearms told the story of a person who worked for a living. She was so different from the memory he had of his round-faced mom, Cos thought. After greeting her with the traditional bow, Grandfather said, “Ma’am, we have an injured girl on our cart who came in with the tide and needs some attention. Is there anyone in this village who could help her?”

 

The woman stared at the stirring heap atop the watermelons. Cos followed her gaze. The girl’s head moved side to side. She winced and unstuck her skewed limbs as if they were plastered to the fruit. With what looked like great effort, she raised her head to meet their gazes and mumbled in a strange language. Then her arms and legs seemed to reconnect with her body as she pulled them in. Her movements surprised and delighted Cos. Beneath the mud and blood sparkled a blond-haired, blue-eyed impish-looking girl who threw her head back as if to defy her circumstances. He sensed her confusion mixed with defiance and imagined her thoughts based on her expressions: Who are these people? Where am I? Get me out of here!

 

“Alas!” [down] the girl demanded in her language.

 

No one moved. They stared at her. Surprising everyone, she slid off the side of the cart and flinched as she landed on her feet. A watermelon tumbled and splatted, jolting the air with a sweet aroma, partially masking the earthy smells of the horse and the mud. She steadied herself on the cart running board and stared at them. Cos sensed she was a survivor.

 

“Grandfather, we can make room for her up in the front with us.”

 

The woman’s eyes suddenly came to life. “I’ll take her,” she said.

 

Cos tilted his head to the side and squinted.

 

“I can clean her up, let her rest, and a doctor comes through my village once a week.”

 

Cos asked her, “How will you get her to your house? I’m not sure she can walk.”

 

The woman paused for only a moment before answering. “Do you want me to take her or not?”

 

The farmer jumped back onto his wagon and picked up the reins. “Yes, please take care of her.” Cos lowered his head and frowned. Dragging his feet, he climbed aboard and sat beside his grandfather, who urged the horse forward. The young man looked back and opened his mouth to speak to the abrasive adult, but he didn’t know what to say. He kept his eye on the girl until they rounded a curve.