Excerpt from my novel FATE ...... 

                                                                   The Rains

                Where is all this rain coming from? It rained nonstop for the last couple of weeks. The rain was not your normal clap‑a‑de‑clap type of rain, but continuous rain pouring down with biting cold winds blowing squalls in from the northwest, with the subdued effect of lace curtains concealing a sun shining somewhere else, but not there. That very same sun also rises and sets there too. It's what it has been doing since Day One. It will never go away because it has nowhere to go and will be there long after the rain has gone.

 ''Isn't it lovely to think so. Where is all this rain coming from?''

 Farewell Sun.

       The persistent rain had stolen weeks from the whalers, though most had long since lost count. Days bled into one another beneath skies that gave no quarter, leaving the villagers unsettled in ways they could not rightly explain, except to feel it in their bones and in the silence that hung heavier after each passing day. Quotas mattered little when the sea itself had turned against them. The relentless winds, capable of draining one's energy, combined with seawater sprayed onto the shore day and night, saturated the fishing village with brine that never evaporated, leaving behind a slimy, slippery residue on all surfaces … including the village dogs.

       Seawater whipped up repeatedly by nature’s blender and carried back and forth constantly left behind a feeling of sadness and despair in its wake, like being wrapped in wet blankets to the point of strangulation. That biting cold bitch-of-a-wind felt like a thousand pin pricks on your face and hands. The muffled sound of thunder in the distance made its encore, as it did every evening at the same time, without fail, forecasting what the night would bring. Each morning arrived with a hangover-gray sky that stayed for the day. In fact, it never went away. It was always there, and the villagers forgot what the sun looked like.

       It was one of those skies that you could almost reach up and touch if you felt it was that close to you … bringing more rain that would persist throughout the day because nobody knew how to turn off the rain. Whalers who were caught out at sea when the storm broke, that same sea that gave them their livelihood, along with the knowing probability of a possible death by drowning, were saying their silent prayers that only God Himself could hear … and that’s if He wanted to.

       When the storm broke free from another world to unleash its fury on man and beast who would have tried to make it to the safety of land, or if they were not so fortunate, surrendered to their eternal sleep in a saltwater grave with silver fish-scaled mermaids guiding them home to Neptune.

 ''Where is all this rain coming from?''

 Farewell Sun.

      The relentless downpour showed no signs of abating, and the desperate pleas of the whaler’s wives to God Himself rose upward only to be swallowed whole by indifferent Heavens. Some women stood at doors and windows with hands clasped tight enough to whiten their knuckles, while others had already begun carrying the quiet dread of becoming widows before a body was ever returned to shore. The rain continued to fall as rain does, unmoved by prayer, grief, or human want. Each drop seemed to mock the hope that tomorrow might bring a clearing in the sky. But the rain was doing what nature does best ... ignoring humanity. The elements continued their course, unperturbed and resolute, regardless of human efforts. 

       Those onshore were unable to venture onto the sea in their schooners, barks, or brigs. It was not only perilous but also foolhardy, despite the whaler's deep concern for some of their family and neighbors who remained trapped in the storm at sea. The villagers grappled with the challenges of their safety on land and the well-being of those they cared for who were battling the elements. These were men who were not the stay-at-home kind for any length of time, but this storm was keeping them somewhat secure on land and out of the hands of their likely death by drowning that was waiting for them at sea.

       But maybe not today. 

      They were outdoor individuals who prided themselves as men-of-the-sea who had seen horizons that they felt they never could reach in their lifetime. But remaining under a roof on land other than to sleep was not in their nature, where four walls felt like closing in, suffocating the very life out of them. For them, the outdoors represented freedom, earning a livelihood, and a reputation as a man-of-the-sea. It was a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that indoor spaces often evoked for them.

       So, they would meet up in the Men-Only village bar, The One-Legged Whaler, which was, to some, a second home. They passed their time playing cards and telling heard-before-sea stories, but mainly debating the anticipated weather forecast, the damage it was going to leave behind after the storm petered out, and the odd male body, known or unknown, that might be washed ashore to find its final resting place in a hallowed ground that reverent saints have yet to walk on.

 ''Where is all this rain coming from?''

 Farewell Sun.

       All of this was accomplished during the important task of drinking black porter. The Bar, the very building itself, seemed to always be there. And it was. If you were to relive your lifetime in three lifetimes in the whaling village, it was always there, and if you were to come back in three more lifetimes, it would still be there. It was built originally as part of the living quarters of a Whaling Station, later converted into a family home, and then into a bar by Captain Emmet Meagher, which became known as 'The One-Legged Whaler'.         

       But that story will be told later on.

       The first people to settle in the cove ... Irish, Scots, and Norwegian were the whalers who came with their folklore and myths when the Whaling Station was originally built, and from that, the village grew into what it is today … a village of mixed blood with a Jinx that lives up to its vindication of true retribution for the killing of twin albino whales. A village of its 'mixed blood' that has no free will but to acknowledge the Jinx in its retribution for 'Crabbe’s Curse' stands on the very ground of its ancestor's mythologies that are firmly rooted in the village's history.

 ''Where is all this rain coming from?''

 Farewell Sun.

       People in the village could touch wharf stones cut from granite quarries from different countries around the world that were thrown overboard from sailing ships that were acting as ballast stones and now formed a protective lining along the shore. Some of the locals liked to think that they could name the ship after a particular stone that came from it, and others by the stories that were handed down to them by family members or whalers who would sit on them repairing their nets and harpoons.

       Stones that their very ancestors touched by hand and their jacksies.

       Stones that could recount the past if stones could only talk.

       Stones that witnessed the time of the local legend of the albino twin whales, their mother, and the infamous Captain Crabbe.

       Stones that might know where all this rain is coming from.

       And so, with no end in sight for the rain to stop … but if it did decide to stop, well, maybe it was just philosophizing gossip drifting on the wind to mock men who ask…

 ''Where is all this rain coming from?''

       Which was frequently asked in the village by the same people in the hope someone could provide an answer that would satisfy their concern.

       But nobody really knew.

       The only One who could answer was not answering.

       Him Himself.

       Him Above.

       So … despite the relentless downpour, the one positive thing that was happening behind gray clouds was that the sun always persisted in its attempts to break through, as it always does and continues to do so. It was simply their faith beckoning them into light and warmth, where the sun was always shining.

 ''Isn't it pretty to think so?''

       And the rains kept coming, and the sun stayed away.
       Adieu, my warm friend.

 

 

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