Burn the Sea
The little girl with big brown eyes peeked out from behind the trees and stared at the man at the cave’s entrance.
Beads of sweat ran down his face, tracing his profile before they dropped off his chin and disappeared into the parched earth below.
He hardly moved, except to sigh, as the sun rose higher and higher.
Waves of heat beat down on him relentlessly, but he remained at the entrance of the cave.
Waiting.
Abbakka bit her lip nervously as the man sighed again, his spine curving lower with every breath, as if the sun’s rays were weights being piled onto his back.
She turned to the hulking green lion who lay beside her, hidden from the cave by the lush, purple-blossomed trees in front of them. “Matanta, he has been waiting for so long.”
“What do you know of time, child?” Matanta blinked sleepy eyes at her. His ear twitched, sending the adaiman into the air as they chittered angrily at each other. The lion paid them no mind and closed his eyes again, resting his head on his paws.
Abbakka ducked behind a trunk in case the man looked over because of all the noise, but Matanta did not move.
“He’s sweating so much, and he’s been there since morning.
” Abbakka was sorely tempted to poke the winged lion on the nose, but she contained herself.
“My uncle says that we can faint if we’re in the heat too long.
Or even die. It’s why we always carry coconuts with us when we’re on journeys without shelter. ”
“Then he should have brought a coconut. It is not for me to compensate for the shortcomings of others.”
Abbakka sat against a tree with a huff and turned her shoulders away from the lion as she picked up a fallen purple blossom and studied its petals.
“You have not answered my question, little one.” Matanta’s low voice hummed, unbothered but persistent. “What do you know of time?”
The young girl turned back to him and sat up straight. “I know that it always moves forward whether I want it to or not. It moves fastest when I’m riding horses or playing my tambura and slowest when I’m sitting in the temple or with my deportment mistress.”
Matanta’s deep laugh rumbled as Abbakka’s face soured at the thought of her lessons.
She continued. “I know I will never have enough time to do all that I want. And I know I can’t move it backwards.”
Her voice faded as she stared down into her lap. “No matter how hard I pray.”
The lion’s expression softened. “There is much you do not know, but perhaps you do not know nothing.”
Abbakka looked up at him and blinked, her mouth agape. “That is one of the nicest things you have ever said to me.”
Matanta cocked his head as he looked at the little girl, and Abbakka stared into the yellow eyes that were almost as big as her head. “Then you should remember this moment.”
He spoke solemnly as he continued. “Time is what we make of it. We can turn it into an eternity when we don’t use it, and into a blink of an eye when we do. When you have lived as long as I have—”
“And I can’t ask how long that is,” Abbakka chimed in. Her eyes danced with impudence even though her voice was solemn.
“Indeed you cannot,” he said with a self-satisfied smile. “And don’t interrupt. As I was saying, when you have lived as long as I have, you understand the importance of time. If you want to live a full life, you must do what you need to do when you are meant to do it.”
The girl thought for a moment before she spoke. “But I can’t always know what I am meant to do at every moment.”
“You must figure it out; otherwise, you will pay with time both in your present and your future. That man up there came too early. So now he must wait.”
Abbakka pursed her lips and looked up to Matanta’s cave. “I hope it is his time soon.”
“Your time is not well spent worrying about him.”
The little girl’s eyes filled with tears. She understood what Matanta would not say.
The green winged lion continued. “You must control your time, or time will control you. You cannot rush to your destination or neglect it. If you do, time will have the upper hand and you will be trapped in the destiny she chooses.”
The little girl with big brown eyes nodded solemnly.
Matanta stood and shook his muscles loose from head to tail. He extended his wings and stretched them outward, keeping his eyes forward as he made his way back toward the cave. His last words were little more than a whisper, carried on the breeze of his wings.
“And time is a cruel mistress.”