Man of the Isles

[Lost Coast Chanties]

Man of the Isles
by Edward C. Riggs
​

I MUST ADMIT, I rarely get sentimental. The only times that I do is when it comes to things like love or home. Fortunately, this is not a story about love, which you could write a whole book about if you wanted to. No, this was a wholly different affair. You see, the Isles were my birthplace, and it’s been over half a decade since I left City Two behind. When I finally got back, it was hard to describe exactly what I felt, but then again, I wasn’t too keen on trying. I suppose it was certainly with a tint of sadness - my home has aged as well as I did. But, of course, none of that really matters. After all, this isn’t a story about me or my return home, for as with many other things in life, it only ended up as a catalyst for a few interesting stories.

ONE OF THESE INTERESTING STORIES happened on my train ride to City Thirty-One. It was one of the standard passenger trains with spacious carts, so you could easily see everyone else who was on board with a simple turn of your head. Most of the people were sitting silently and rarely moved, as if stuck in deep thought. Of course, that's what I presumed at the time. Perhaps they were simply staring at the nearest wall with nothing else to do. In any case, I wasn’t doing much better myself, only I looked at the passengers instead of plain old walls. I found that it was often hard to tell the difference between the two.

IT WAS DURING one of these staring sessions that I was surprised by a sudden appearance of a new passenger. He walked into the cart and looked around, seemingly trying to pick a seat. For some reason, he picked the one that was opposite of me. He was an older gentleman, so I assumed it was the window view that he was interested in. I personally didn’t care much for it - the Isles were very bland this time of year. Instead, I gave the new arrival a few side glances, but it didn’t reveal anything that I didn’t already see beforehand. An ordinary old man with bushy eyebrows and dry grey hair. Still, he could make for a good conversationalist. Old people usually do - it comes from a lifetime of experience that they can’t help but share with others.

IN ANY CASE, I was in a boring mood, so I decided to take my chance while the opportunity was still there. I was never great at starting conversations, however, and the beginning was rocky. I began with the same intrusive question that always comes to one’s mind during transit. “Where are you heading?” I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting him to even notice my inquiry, I know I wouldn’t have. Yet it seems I was in for yet another surprise, as my ears picked up the dry gravelly voice of my cohort.

“North… Heading for far North.” he said, still looking out into the county. “I assume… You’re out for the city, yes?”
“That I am.”
“I figured.” he quietly answered, before finally turning his head to look at me. “Are you a worker?”
“I was.”
“Hm…” He gave me a small lookover, as if trying to figure out who exactly I was. “Well, don’t see why you’d wanna be there if you weren’t a worker. Air there is nasty, feels like razors when you breathe in sometimes… Real industrial city that one is, a real one.”
“I take it you have been there a few times then?”
“Oh, I have, I have,” he nodded. “There’s a lot of work to do there, lots and lots of work.” At that point, I could see that the old man seemed largely engaged in our conversation.
“Interesting. Mind if I ask you what you’re looking for in the far North?”

THE OLD MAN looked around as I finished my question. His eyes strayed off and locked with mine, before his body followed suit. I knew immediately that the answer would be either unusual, long-winded, or perhaps even both at the same time. I have heard enough confessions to memorise exactly how they start, and this was definitely going to be one of them.

“Well… I suppose you’ve heard of the forest? The Caledonian one?” The old man perked his eyebrow as he mentioned the last part. “They say it grew overnight, just… swallowed it all up, all the planes, everything.” He threw his hands to the sides to emphasise the word “everything”.

AS IT HAPPENS, I have, in-fact, heard of the Caledonian forest. The Coille, it was sometimes called. I was there in the Isles when it, as my cohort said, “swallowed it all up”. I still remember the talk, how it was the second XMZ and how we’d all be consumed. In any case, their worries were for naught, the “enchanted forest” stayed just the same. I’ll admit, I never gave much thought to its existence, even now, as I was heading closer to it than ever.

“What of it?” Seemed obvious to me that I didn’t really need to answer his question.
“Well, that’s where I’m heading. The Caledonian Coille…” He leaned back to his seat. “It’s a strange place. And, you know how it is… We always try to find out more about strange places. So I’m heading there. For an expedition.”
“I see. And who is this “we”, exactly?”
“It’s a collaborative effort… I’m just an old man who wants to make himself useful, that’s all. Besides, not like there’s many other ways to get to where I want.”
“And that is?”

THE OLD MAN gave a dry chuckle and, for a moment, took a look out of the window. I suppose he was debating whether or not to share such details with someone who was, essentially, a complete stranger to him. And even I must admit, I don’t always look like a person who you could share a secret with. In any case, he seemed to make up his mind rather quickly, as he turned back to me only a few seconds after.

“There’s something out there. Something out there that I want to see.” I could see a small smirk appear on his wrinkly face. “Have you… Well, you must’ve had a home at some point? Unless you grew up in the cities or… What they call those kid facilities.”
I answered with silence.
“Well… I had one, my home village. It was a nice place, right there in the highlands, a small patch of hills that made for an amazing sight. The houses were of an old design, but sturdy and pretty. I’d say that’s what matters most, you can agree. We had a very, very good one there, ripe for the whole family. Plenty of rooms, and we decorated it with all these old things - photos and the like. I always kept a lot of them…. Oh, and we had this garden in the back. I used to keep some plants there, took care of them, the stuff. Funny to think how they would look now… And the neighbours were happy people, I remember them telling us about their kids, how they were doing. We always found time for neighbours, you see. Had this nice, elaborate table in the backyard. Perfect for conversations… It was a quiet, but very good life.”
“And I suppose, this village of yours was in the Coille? ”
“Yes… The forest consumed it. Or, so I think… We lived there for quite a while after the first storms hit. Just didn’t want to leave, I guess. But eventually, we just had to. At one point, you just have enough of those… And how your neighbours would disappear one day. Sometimes they’d tell they were leaving, but normally, you just had no clue. It just wasn’t safe anymore. Not a place to live peacefully, and we figured the cities would be better. And it was, for the most part. Even if there were crowds of people who were just like us. But then, well, you know what happened… After that, relocation got us split, and now… That village is the only thing I have left, funnily enough.”
“So you want to take a look at it last time?”
“I do. With all my heart. May it be rotten to hell and consumed by the roots, but I want to see it, at least one last time. I want to walk into my house and imagine it like nothing ever happened, like the world never forced us out. I want to walk up those creaky stairs and think to myself, “I really gotta get those fixed”. And then I want to get into my bedroom, and look outside to what used to be my garden, and think of how I will water my flowers in the morning… As I said, I’ve got nothing else, so that’s what I want. A last moment of peace. A last chance to look at what I had, and smile.”

I LOOKED AT THE OLD MAN for a while, before giving a simple nod. I understood, and I wanted him to know I did. I find it better to never say that outloud, just make it obvious that you do. It always feels more genuine, and, perhaps, the old man would agree. After all, he stayed silent himself, and simply turned his head back to the window. I figured that I had already fulfilled my curiosity. I knew we were getting to the end of our ride, anyway.

I COULD BORE YOU with a few other details I noticed during my trip, but frankly, I know those wouldn’t be that interesting to read about. The whole encounter was done with, and that was the end of it, although I admit it did stay in my mind for the rest of the trip. Perhaps I found the old man’s story close to heart, although I knew it couldn’t have fully resonated with me. Maybe, you’ll find it close to home, but to me, he was but another man of the Isles. And the world is just filled with them.​

 

[Fredemund]

I'm Riggs' biggest hater