Abalone - Encyclopedia Phenomena
I don’t think I was ever good at many things. People told me I was good at listening, but really I just never knew what to say. But I did listen. Mostly just listened to the ocean and lapping of waves on the shore right beyond the porch, but I listened all the same. Now I wasn’t a stranger, I got along just fine with everyone in Port Leone, just never one for conversation and that was fair for most.
My Jules on the other hand, boy she could talk up a storm. Talking about the sun, or the rain, or the fish she caught, and the ones she didn’t. She just about filled every sound of my life with pleasantries, I reckon I’ll never hear another voice as warm as her’s for the rest of my days. Our affairs were simple enough, she went out to fish and I did little handy jobs here and there, and every night she’d fill my evening with all those lovely pleasantries. And, every once in a while, she’d bring home seashells, and we’d just hold them to our ears, trying to hear the sound of the ocean.
One of my favorite nights with her was one we spent in silence. She brought home a pair of abalone shells; I’ll never forget these, they were like big ol’ rocks, hollow in the middle. And they weren’t even pretty for rocks, they were hard and coarse and felt like rubbing your hand against concrete. But the inside was something...well, I think I’d call it fictional. You’d never believe looking at the outside of this ugly looking block that there’d be an absolute canvas of color inside, like a rainbow you could hold in your hand. It’s the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ll never forget what she told me because it was the only thing she said that night: “Jasper, I’m holding you in my hands.” To be honest, I never figured it out, wasn’t so great with words myself. But I listened.
And I listened to that shell, and can’t say I’ve heard anything like it since. The shell is lined with holes, uniform like an instrument. Under the right conditions, when I listened very carefully, it whistled. They say holding a shell up to your ear will play you the sound of the ocean, but I ain’t ever heard one with such clarity as that big ol’ rock, hollow in the middle.
I’ll never forget that first week after the accident. The quiet was so heavy, I felt like I was drowning in it. I didn’t think anyone could talk up a storm greater than Jules but I suppose the ocean’s been around longer. I’ve built enough of a life fixing small things to know that any one mistake could’ve been the thing to stop her from getting off that sinking rig, but it doesn’t help. I suppose I figured our lives were stronger than the little mistakes and problems we face every day. Ultimately, I can only account for mine: I didn’t tell her I loved her nearly enough, and now I never will. And I’m not strong enough to not hear her voice again. It’s a small thing that needs fixing.
I haven’t been listening for a little while now. It makes sense that my neighbors would worry, damn near tore apart the entire backside of the house. The nights have been cold, but I just bundle up where I can. And I’ve heard my share of complaints, I think that’s only fair. “Jasper, you’re scaring people” and “Julia’s not coming back”, and oh so many “Do you want to talk about it?” and I’m just not in the mood. I heard every single one of them, but like I said before. Haven’t been listening.
But hell, they’re probably right. This would be crazy by any stretch. I turned nearly half the house into...well damn, how to even describe. Told you, I’m not so great with words. See, our living area had a great view of the ocean, all I did was tear out the wall facing that ocean. On the other side of the room, I built a curling wooden rack, almost like I turned the whole space into a giant bowl with the opening facing oceanward. The next part was tough as nails, and also took a lot of them. For weeks all I did was gather abalone shells, much as I could get. I attached them to every wall and ceiling of that house, with the inside facing the opening. One by one, like a million small projects. Regardless of what you may think, I was of sound mind, I knew what I wanted. And I knew it probably wouldn’t amount to anything, but still I had to try.
They say you can hear the sound of the ocean in a shell. I figured, maybe with a big enough shell, I’d be able to hear her voice too, lost out at sea. Maybe I’d even get to say goodbye.
That first night was awful. I’m thankful that I went into this whole venture in the summer, but that cold ocean wind still blew right through me. It was cloudy and windy for a while, and no amount of bundling was getting me anywhere. My face and the tips of my fingers were the only thing exposed, but all the same they burned with the coldness of it all. I was ready to call it for the night, but right about then the wind died down for a while. Then I heard it. A quiet whistle filled the room, like the sound of someone circling the rim of a water glass just right. It sounded like one note for a while, but I decided to listen again. I really wanted to hear it, needed to hear all the way through. It’s stupid to think so, but maybe her voice was in there. But it wasn’t. I mean, there was texture to the sound, little scratches and sways -- that was probably my fault, I cracked some of the Abalone while putting it up -- but she wasn’t there. Then the wind came back, and that gentle whistling was gone. Hope was, at least for the evening, gone. Afterwards I just shambled into our room, into our bed, frozen and feeble, and wept.
I invited several people from the town over to visit, though if I’m being honest, I don’t remember that many of our conversations. I wanted someone, anyone else to see what I’d done, maybe to justify it. I don’t know, really, why I shared this with anyone. I was shocked that, when it was all said and done, not a single one of them criticized me for nearly destroying my house. A few of them actually thought what I did was beautiful. I think one person said dazzling. Bit of a strange word, that. It was nice though, having people over to share this with, even if I wasn’t completely listening yet. Maybe in a week or so, if nothing comes of this, I’ll rebuild the wall. Definitely leaving the shells though, hell of a story that'll be.
The second night wasn’t quite as bad. I found some of Jules’ mittens, and while they were a little stiff on my coarse hands, I’d still take them over that stabbing cold again. The wind was much more cooperative that night, and after a little while I heard the whistling come back again. It was even more beautiful tonight, a wider array of sounds flew through the room like a symphony all for me. But I just couldn’t enjoy it without her there. It felt hollow, like the shells. She was the missing instrument in my life; it was true before, and sure as hell was true now. But something new entered the picture before the end of the night. The clouds finally cleared up, and the moon came down. Before I knew it, my entire home filled with moonlight, reflected on those abalone shells. What lay before me is beyond description, beyond reason. A kaleidoscope of color splashed across the wall, tending and twisting like the ocean waves. The sound at once became clearer too, dipping in and out with the waves, and filling my life with pleasantries in an all too familiar way. Julia was in the room for a moment, I could feel it. I felt it so much that, being the fool I was, I called out to her. I called out to my Jules. And I knew she couldn’t respond because there was no way, but I called to her all the same. I spoke into the echo chamber, and added to the whistling. Only five words.
I love you.
I’m sorry.
As if on cue, the sound faded, and faded, and then nearly ceased but for the lowest hum. I was alone again, but maybe I always was. I wiped the tears out of my eyes, and started to walk away again, back to my room, far less defeated. And that’s when the impossible happened. The semblance of a voice caught my ear before I left the room.
...you...see me...
I froze again, not from the cold this time, before cautiously turning around, expecting to see someone. But of course there was nothing. Why would anyone be there?
Do you...see me...
No. No, there was definitely someone there, a voice underneath the low pitch in the whistle of the room. I dared not move, dared not disrupt whatever this phenomena was. I waited for a moment, and finally, the voice came through clean as ever, as if whispered in my ear. There was no doubt, it was her voice. It was Jules.
Do you want to see me again?
The sharpness of that voice brought me to my knees. I didn’t think about the insanity of the circumstance, or what it might have said about me. All I did was listen. Maybe this was it, maybe I just completely went mad and there was no going back. All I know is that I replied softly, and near automatically. Yes. Yes, of course I want to see you again.
There was a silence for a while, time for my mind to catch up with my heart. I had to re-calibrate a tad, take in the whole of the situation. But just as I was catching up with myself, a reply cut through me and I was again a broken shell.
Tomorrow...here...
It was hiding again, underneath the whistling of the shells, daring me to hear it. But I listened. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have.
My mind was ablaze for the whole of the day thinking about what might happen that night. Initially I decided not to leave the house, but while the spirit was willing...well, I was hungry. I hadn’t been eating much the last couple weeks and I think fatigue finally reared its ugly head.
Walking through town again, taking in the sights and smells of the wharf, it reminded me of when we were still together. The whole of the town smelled a little of brine, but mixed with the wafts of the various bakeries and storefronts it all created a sort of ocean breeze that draws you in and never let’s go. The beaches weren’t filled with people playing and digging sand castles, rather scrambled with people laying out driftwood for bonfires and cookouts. We went to a couple of those, danced in the moonlight while the fire was raging. I couldn’t dance so well, so Jules always took lead.
I decided to treat myself to some comfort food: asparagus soup with extra pepper from Bently’s down the road, with half a loaf of bread to eat on the walk back. I took Jules there for our first date -- back when I called her Julia -- and told her she had to try it. I’ll never forget her face when her face froze and the soup crawled out of her mouth; she told me it was the most disgusting thing she’s ever had. I’ve been eating it for decades and never thought about it. But she absolutely loved the bread, and I loved the walk. I just meandered up the road to my house, listening to her talk with bread in her mouth the whole way. I don’t think I could adequately explain why I loved her so much.
But now I’m walking that road alone, eating my comfort loaf with all the grace of a geriatric toad. I received so many wonderful moments with her, from having lunch at the wharf to sailing on her boat the first time, and the first time she let me call her Jules because “there was no treasure in this world greater than her”. She told me about her family, about her dreams of sailing the world some day, and her fears. I listened to every single thing and never forgot. And now here at the front of my house, I’m scared to walk in because, well I don’t know that I deserve more. What if she’s actually there, what if she really comes tonight, do I really deserve to be happy again?
And the sad truth is that I don’t deserve happiness, not again. There was nothing special about me, but Jules reached in and showed me the light. Like cracking open an abalone shell and seeing that incredible canvas of color the first time. I think I’ve been allowed to be as happy as anyone like me could, asking for more would just be greedy. What I need you to know is that I didn’t walk back into that room because I felt I deserved more or better. I was lonely, plain and simple. Surrounded by people and I still felt alone. No amount of good memories could stave off that loneliness. I wanted nothing more than to hear the sound of her voice again, no matter what may come.
On the third night, I waited. My body was cold, but I paid it no heed. I sat on the floor, and listened. One hour passed, the whistling of the abalone shells swirling around the room like a muted harmony. My face and fingers were once again shivering. Two hours passed, nothing of note. The sound of the ocean was well and truly alive in my house, with me at the center taking it all in. My mind raced with possibility, just trying to imagine what could even happen tonight. And then we reached the third hour, and the moon came to visit. The room lit up like a pale fireworks display, the sound escalating into a symphony of ocean hums. Trembling from both cold and fear, I rose to my feet and spoke into the shell chamber. Jules, can you hear me? Are you there?
There was nothing for a while, no response, no change. No Jules. Nothing. Just me, and the sound of the ocean in the echo chamber I built for me. I remember losing my grip then, remember falling to my knees. I may have even prayed; it was a blur of a moment. But there truly was nothing and I couldn’t stand it. Maybe if I had paid better attention, I’d have noticed the absence of whistling in the wind. Finally, a whisper forced its way through.
Call to me, so I may find you.
I didn’t think about it. I’ve always been soft spoken, but tonight I was unfathomable. I called her name, over and over, into the chamber. I shouted it, I cried it. I filled the house with desperation in the hope that she might come and swap it with pleasantries again. But there was nothing for so long, and after a scant half hour my throat ached from all the shouting and sobbing.
At that point, all I could remember was anger. I started ripping shells off the wall, sometimes nail in all, and shattered them like dinner plates on the hardwood floor. I made it about ten or twelve in before my body collapsed under the weight of it all. I wasn’t ever going to see her again, I knew that. But there was a hope, impossible hope, and it just completely consumed me, body and soul. What a damned fool Jasper Ardin is, kneeling before nothing, hole in the wall, surrounded by broken shells and broken hopes. But still I called out one last time.
Finally, she answered my call.
There you are.
Her voice hit me like bread and soup for the soul. I turned around, hoping to see my wife. But she wasn’t there.
There was something there, though. Where she should have been. I...don’t know what, exactly, but it was stretching out of the ocean. Arms, hundreds of them. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I could only listen.
Thank you for helping me find this place.
I watched its tendrils wrap around the whole town. They shone in the moonlight like the inside of an abalone shell. There were screams for only a moment, and then all of the town was dragged violently into the ocean. Buildings. People. Where Port Leone stood, only bits of rubble and the texture of dragged ground and sand remained. I still couldn’t move. When next it spoke, I heard many voices rumbling together as one; everyone I knew, back in the town.
Would you like to see her again?
I just watched as the tendrils slowly wrapped around my house, covering all in darkness as the moonlight slowly became harder to see. And there in the middle was me, on my knees, waiting to be cracked open. This was all my fault. I claimed to be a good listener, but I only heard what I wanted. Everyone just wanted to help and now...well, now I’m all alone again.
What was left to do? I said the only thing that made sense.
I want to see her again. I want to see everyone again. The creature listened.
Encyclopedia Phenomena is a collection of short stories, one for each letter
of the alphabet. They chronicle various incidents, mysteries, and fragments of time and space not so far from ours. Phenomena, all a bit mischievous,
and worth perhaps indulging for just a moment.
A is for Abalone, a marine organism that discards an iridescent hue of many colors. It has also been called an ear shell, the holes along the side allow wind and sound to flow freely in and out. What does the sound remind you of, I wonder.
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