On Certainty

It had been ten minutes since he drained their last drops of fresh water. Or maybe an hour. It felt like a year.

A man lies flat on the deck with his right knee up, pointing at the sky and its lazy clouds. As the boat rocks, his head rolls like a glass bottle. The sun stains his face a hearty red. When he opens his mouth, it seems to crack.

“It all looks the same.”

His friend draws up his chin, then settles back against the deck.

“Seriously.” The man insists. “Identical. All the same.”

His head rolls side to side, and nothing changes.

The men drift back into silence. It is stillness, and it is the dizziness of heavy, scintillating sunlight.

That night, not the next night, a few hours later, or more, the man couldn’t sleep.

“Did you see the sunset?” He whispers.

His friend couldn’t sleep either. Without shifting, he whispers back.

“Yes. I was here. Next to you.”

“What did it look like?”

His friend frowns before he remembers how to tell a story.

“Everything was blue. Then everything was golden. Now everything is black.”

The moon nor the stars gaze on. It is quite close to black.

“But what did the sunset look like?”

The friend croaks a dry sound of frustration. “I already told you.” They fall asleep.

It must have been some days before, more than one and less than four. The sun was setting, and they both found beauty in it. The man steadied his head and pointed his gaze where the sun leaned into the horizon. The two friends sat shoulder to shoulder, and it appeared to one of them to tell a story.

“Have you heard of the King of Swallows?”

“No. Never.”

“The world of the Swallows is a world not much like our own. It is full of twists and turns and crimps that cannot be straightened. If you tried to walk in a straight line there, you would be whirled and spun around like dry cotton in the wind.”

“How do you get anywhere?”

“Most don’t get to choose where they go. Except for the King of Swallows. His steps flatten the whims and the wisps of the atmosphere. Only he can get from here to there when he wishes.”

“But how come?”

They looked off at the place where the sun had been.

“Is that what makes him King?”

A minute later, or three, the man’s head drifted back, his eyes drawn like magnets to the stars.

“It used to be that every swallow moved with the whims and the wisp. They darted and swirled. They knew no landing. They had no King.

“Then came a swallow who happened upon a strip of gold. With his beak, he bent it into a ring and wore it on his head. The swallow sat with his ring, waiting to be wisped away. He fidgeted impatiently, fixing his gaze on a patch of berries. Hunger tightened his stomach. The swallow wished to be at the patch, and soon he was.

“From then on, that swallow was King, crowned in gold.”

The men wake up from their sleep while it is still dark. One croaks and cracks and sits himself up. His throat burns and itches with thirst. Slowly, he parts his lips.

“Do you remember my wedding?”

His friend opens his mouth, but no sound escapes.

“I wore a gold ring. You were there. Don’t you remember?”

His friend faces the water. The ocean pulses in its ceaseless motion. All of it. The men watch. The sun, stretching and yawning, begins to rise.

“I got married, and I wore a gold ring. You stood beside me. We danced, remember?”

His bottom lip twitches. His brows tighten as if drawn together by an invisible stitch. The man waits for his friend to turn, head backlit by the sharp and low rays of the rising sun.

“My eyes are watering,” the friend whispers. His speech is small, almost still. “This is the brightest orange I’ve ever seen.”

“But it isn’t gold.” The man leans forward, head heavy over shoulders. “I’m sure of it. Don’t you remember?”

The friend parts his lips. With the last moisture in his throat and the liquid slipping from his eyes, he begins to speak.

“That was a long time ago. You wore a gold ring. I stood beside you. I’m sure of it. It is more true now than it was then. Now it is cast in gold. You and I, we cast it in gold. You were so happy then. You cast something very good. When you stepped, the ground came up to greet you. I stood beside you, and it was the highest point on earth. It was gold. And it twisted around your finger like a ring. The sky was the brightest blue, and then it was like gold.”

“Yes. That’s what it looked like.”

The men lie flat, suspended between the soft rays of the early morning sun and the slow breath of the ocean. Their heads roll gently side to side.