That's the long-awaited vacation. Have I escaped from this dusty, noisy urban Hell? I must admit, it was amazing to me then to realize how the soul was waiting for this solitude. Every cell of my body rejoiced, feeling the next wave hitting the boat, hearing the cry of a seagull, catching the smell of grass and flowers, brought and diluted by the wind. Probably, such moments are dear to everyone.
I remembered how I used to get to the island with a tablet, an album and paints and, having retired on the shore, I drew. What days of creativity and inspiration they were!
An unpleasant feeling of dampness distracted me from the vivid picture of the memory. Casting a fleeting, distracted, still clouded gaze at the bottom of the boat, I was stunned: water was coming from somewhere.
Then everything was a blur.
I remember my despair, fear, tears that squeezed my throat.
I remember convincing myself that hysteria won't help the cause.
And now I'm rowing back. How she grabbed the oars, how she persuaded herself to return, remains a mystery.
My soul was divided into two people.
Alone, he was convulsing with terror and was ready to commit suicide. He was constantly sobbing, whining, whining or laughing hysterically.
The other, cold-blooded, shoved the first one, shook him by the shoulders and demanded action.
My heart was beating wildly under the constantly repeated words: "Another jerk. Just a little more."
Every part of me was fighting for survival.
How strangely man is arranged. Recently, I was almost singing with delight: I caught every sound and smell, looked at water lilies, clouds, seagulls, and now, I no longer see anything but the shore, I hear nothing but the strong beats of my frightened heart.
"Another jerk. Just a little more."
I already hate this sunny day, my recent joy, this damned leaky boat, heavy oars, my hands trembling from tension and fatigue, burnt back, bare wet feet…
"No, this is not the end! I refuse to believe it. Another jerk. Just a little more."
…
The world has acquired colors on the shore. How did you end up on land? – I don't know. For a moment it even seemed to me that it was a dream, but my body, trembling with tension, quickly rejected this assumption.
Slowly I turn my head: people are sunbathing, swimming, children are screaming and laughing in the frog house. I hear voices again, catch smells, feel a carpet of grass under my back.
The world lives its own life.
No one probably noticed my struggle for life. It seems that only I know about what happened to me recently.
With a sigh, I wearily close my eyes and laugh soundlessly, and the fear I experienced leaves me with tears of happiness.
© Natalia Khomutoff, January 29, 2002
