Gifts From The Sea
I was wide awake when I dreamt. I dreamt of a fisherman who made his daily living from the sea. Sunrise, sunset, day in, day out. His father was a fisherman, as is he, as will his son.
The day came when he took a woman as his wife. The woman gave him a son and took care of the little one while he went out to sea. The sea that provided for his forefathers for generations will now provide for his family.
Years went by. The fisherman and his wife grew old. His son grew up and went to the city to find work. Life went on. But one day, at the brink of nightfall, when the fisherman hauled up his net, he noticed that there were barely a few fishes. Enough to feed him and his wife, but not enough to sell. The new net and boat would have to wait, the grey haired fisherman thought to himself.
But yet it continued. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Always barely enough. Then one day, it stopped. There were no fishes. In the fisherman's net, gleaming in the setting sun, was just a single pearl necklace. The fisherman almost threw the necklace back into the sea in anger, cursing the sea for denying him even his daily bread. But then he thought he might make a single pearl a present for his wife, for whom he has never given anything before, and brought it home that night.
He told his wife to pick a pearl from the necklace as her gift, and that he would try to sell the rest at the market and use the money to buy some food, and perhaps a new net or boat. Smiling, and deeply touched, she fingered the pearls carefully with quivering hands.
When she at last chose one, the fisherman saw that it was the ugliest pearl of the lot, a little off-colour, a little malformed. Curious, he asked his wife her reason for choosing that particular pearl. She replied, saying this.
' There is no beauty in perfection. Every pearl in this necklace started out the same way, a speck of sand on the sea bed, but this one chose to grow up his own way, to be different from the rest. And when I see this pearl, I will instantly know that this pearl is mine, and it's the pearl that I chose, and I'll know that it's the pearl that you, my beloved, has given me.'
On hearing that, the fisherman wept. In the wavering lamplight, her face, lined with wrinkles and framed by the occasional strands of grey hair that escaped her bun, never looked more beautiful.
From that day forth, whatever his catch was, it was just enough, and they lived happily ever after. And the fisherman never forgot to be thankful, for the sea and the gifts it brought him.
