9 The Happy Event #2
After a half-hour trip, we landed on an island whose inhabitants lived mainly off fishing.
If someone had told me we weren’t in the Maldives, I would have believed it without hesitation: the island looked different from the ones we’d seen.
Life was bustling, and the silence we’d grown accustomed to during our vacation seemed like a faded memory. Shops lined both sides of the main street.
The shopkeepers weren’t all men, and this piqued my curiosity. When I asked the guide who was accompanying us, I learned that some women were involved in business, particularly widows who had had to roll up their sleeves to make ends meet.
In addition to souvenir shops for distracted and curious tourists, there were grocery stores that sold just about everything, as my grandfather used to say: “from needles to mattresses.”
The merchandise on display didn’t offer much variety, and it reminded me of certain countries where ice cream changes color but not flavor.
We turned onto a side street and visited the village’s small mosque, surrounded by a large garden where the gravestones of the deceased stood.
At the top of each gravestone was a turban carved in stone, the size of which indicated the wealth of the deceased during their lifetime.
A little further on stood a school, but it was closed at that moment for summer vacation.
We entered a spacious and spotlessly clean classroom, every bit as good as those in American colleges.
The guide informed us that in the Maldives, students study until they graduate from high school, and to pursue university studies, they are forced to go abroad.
In front of the school stood large silos for collecting rainwater.
As we continued our walk through the village’s narrow streets, we passed by several homes. Most were single-story, but some had two stories; the latter belonged to wealthy residents. In addition to standard furnishings, they also had washing machines and irons—further symbols of wealth.
When we reached a large square, we noticed that a wooden plaque bearing the name of the owner—who had the right to sell the coconuts—was affixed to the trunk of each coconut palm. In the center of the square stood a massive baobab tree over 150 years old.
We shook hands in silence without saying a word, aware of how much life had given us and how often we had taken it for granted. The powerful emotions we were feeling prompted us to step up to the doorway of the mosque to offer a silent prayer for those poor people.
The trip was drawing to a close, and finally they showed us the damage caused by the tsunami that had struck Indonesia years earlier but had also reached as far as the Maldives.
Many homes were, in fact, under renovation and had sustained damage due to the composition of their exterior walls, which were made of shells mixed with sand.
The time had come to return to our luxurious Maldivian island.
What we would never forget—and what wasn’t at the resort—were the dirt roads strewn with pieces of coral and shells of every shape and color.
That trip had enriched us spiritually, and we were certain there were still many aspects of that nation—destined to sink into the sea within twenty years—yet to be discovered.
In fact, the Maldivian government was already making every effort to purchase land in neighboring countries where the island’s population could be resettled.
We watched the fishermen’s island recede into the distance with a touch of melancholy, leaving a trail of salty bubbles in our wake.
It had been a truly special day—a full immersion in another dreamlike reality.
Back at the resort, we strolled silently along the shore, each lost in our own thoughts, while a dying sun painted our faces as we watched the crabs—which looked as if they were made of talcum powder—scatter in swarms as we passed.
We sat on a two-seater wooden swing, our hands intertwined, gazing at the last rays of sunlight piercing the expanse of the sea.
I feared what you were thinking, but at the same time I didn’t want to break the silence.
You felt distant and almost absent. You were breathing softly, as if not to disturb the stillness of the moment.
I stood up, letting go of your hand, and dipped my feet into the water.
At that moment, I felt useless, but I knew that just one word from me would be enough to rouse you from the state of subtle unease into which you’d slipped. Summoning all my courage, I went back to you because I sensed you needed help.
Unfortunately, you’d been through some terrible times, and it was only natural that you’d sometimes retreat into the shadows; still, I didn’t want you to stay there for long.
I climbed into your arms, wrapped you in my embrace, and closed my eyes.
My gesture seemed to rouse you from your momentary oblivion, and you hugged me back, apologizing.
Without answering, I pressed my lips to your eyelids and cheeks, your nose, and the corners of your mouth until your lips sought mine.
We stayed there, swaying on the swing, until dinnertime.
As we walked past the bar, we absentmindedly glanced at the program board, and I stopped instantly, as if struck by lightning.
Too busy admiring my behind, you didn’t notice my sudden stop, and you bumped into me, knocking me to the ground.
Luckily, the floor of the bar was sand, and you laughed as you hurried to help me back to my feet, jokingly asking why my brake lights hadn’t worked.
Forgetting all about the fall, I hugged you euphorically and started whimpering, “Please, please, say yes, love, please!”
You thought I’d gone crazy, but I pretended nothing had happened and continued my pleading chant, swearing that I’d explain everything only if you agreed to my request for help.
Playing along and knowing I wouldn’t give up so easily, you replied that whatever I had in mind would be fine with you too.
Pretending not to notice your fingers clasped behind your back, I told you that we’d be camping out that night.
You agreed right away, even though you didn’t have the faintest idea what I was proposing. It was obvious that you needed one of my crazy ideas to take your mind off things. I dragged you into the room and called the front desk to make arrangements.
We hurriedly packed our backpacks and ran toward the pier, where a traditional Maldivian boat called a Dhoni was already waiting for us.
I felt guilty for not having explained the plan to you in every detail—including the fact that the camping trip would last two days; I was sure that if I’d told you that, we wouldn’t have gone.
We boarded with enthusiasm and decided to spend some time fishing from the boat’s deck.
Curiously, many fish of the most varied colors took the bait, and the crew offered to cook them for us on board.
The adventure seemed to have started in the best possible way; the only thing missing to make it perfect was a quick look around one of the cabins downstairs.
Not having the courage to suggest it, I simply lay down on one side of the deck to watch the first stars appear.
You lay down next to me, resting your head on my stomach.
The cool sea air was relaxing us, and for a while we lay in silence, gazing out at the expanse of the sea.
After a couple of hours of sailing, we reached an uninhabited island. The Dhoni’s crew unloaded a couple of crates onto the beach and said goodbye to us. Soon the boat disappeared from view, leaving you somewhat pensive and perhaps even a little worried.
Trying to play it off, I asked you to help me open the crates, but you turned me around to ask where the dhoni had gone and when it would return.
I could no longer hide the truth from you, and I knew you’d flip out.
Holding your gaze, I replied that we’d see it again in two days and that, for now, we were two castaways.
Your eyes widened so much that I feared they might burst. Maybe this time I’d really messed up, and, fearing your imminent reaction, I began to back away imperceptibly, even though my legs didn’t seem to be holding me up.
You stood motionless, a strange light in your eyes.
I panicked, turned around, and started running along the shore until I’d put enough distance between us to lose sight of you.
I kept running for a few more minutes, then stopped, out of breath, and lay down on the sand.
I was sorry you hadn’t liked the surprise.
I’d thought you’d enjoy being alone with me on a deserted island.
I’d been a fool—the usual daydreamer with her head in the clouds, chasing fantasies and idealizing love.
I wondered how I could have been so wrong in judging you.
I felt uneasy, so I started running again, glancing over my shoulder.
I had an overwhelming urge to get as far away from you as possible, but when I turned to check that no one was following me, I didn’t notice that you were right in front of me, and I ran into you with such force that we both ended up on the ground before we even realized what had happened.
I started trembling and crying, begging you not to touch me. This time you seemed genuinely concerned about my reaction, but that didn’t stop you from dragging me into the warm water of the sea, where you gently picked me up in your arms.
Looking at me with a contrite expression, you began to shower me with kisses.
You knew that the contact with the water and your arms would make me lose track of time.
Every time I tried to speak, you kissed me passionately, and I surrendered to the intense love I felt for you, even as I continued to tremble.
Taking advantage of a moment of hesitation on your part, I managed to slip out of your embrace and was slowly making my way back to shore.
I felt sad and had the sensation that I was no longer by your side.
My mind wandered as if I’d become a shadow of my former self.
I walked along the shore aimlessly, avoiding looking back so as not to see you.
Not even a minute had passed when I felt two strong arms wrap around me and pull me to the ground.
I looked in amazement at the expression on your face—so sweet and yet so determined.