The Seawall...a short story by Hilath Rasheed

Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. Water. Everywhere.

No. Not water. The sea. He was in the sea.

He jerked back his head and realized that the water that he had been swallowing was far from sweet. How come it had tasted sweet a moment back then?

And what was he doing in the sea?

He realized he was in his swimming trunks, and although he was not moving his hands, he stayed afloat, as his legs were kicking on its own… purely on reflex.

A sense of dread engulfed his body, and he almost choked on water when he tried to take in a deep breath to stuff his oxygen-starved brain. He now clearly remembered why he was in the water, half-conscious, seconds from drowning.

***

Taking a fag out of the crumpled cigarette packet that he always kept in his trunks (swimming was no exception not to smoke), Hilmy looked across the horizon. Not much horizon to look at; the view was completely blocked by the grey tetrapods that separated the shallow strip of water where young men and women normally took their afternoon swims.

As he drew on his smoke, he spied a figure propelling himself quietly under water.

Only Ihsan could hold breath and cross the 25-meter distance between the inner and outer seawall.

Hilmy had tried that earlier but he always came up halfway, out of breath.

Now as he watched, Ihsan surfaced.

But he made no effort to swim to the platform. He stayed there… just stayed there.

Hilmy squinted and looked closely. Ihsan was opening and closing his eyes in quick succession, his head bobbing in and out of water, his mouth open, gasping for precious breath.

Without a split second's hesitance, Hilmy jumped in.

***

He heard a splash, behind him. He was sprayed by foam, made in the wake of whoever had jumped in.

He turned around. A head surfaced, and he observed the young man, gasping, trying to say something to him.

"Ihsan! Are… you… alright?"

It took a moment for him to realize who was speaking to him.

"Hilmy…" He spoke the name quietly, as if unsure he recognized this person.

"I'm… alright…I…" He could not continue any further. He was tired. Very tired.

***

Hilmy drew in a deep breath and slowly, gently, let out the smoke.

Ihsan seemed to love walking on the tetrapods. Hilmy caught him wandering over there yesterday, well away into the afternoon.

"Don't you want to swim?" Hilmy had asked Ihsan. Hilmy wondered why Ihsan did not do his ritual swim today.

Ihsan said nothing. Hilmy did not want to press the matter, especially when he sensed that Ihsan was not his usual self. Not that he knew Ihsan much.

Ihsan was quiet. He hardly spoke, except to point out some interesting fish or unusual coral. Hilmy was surprised why any coral or fish for that matter grew in this closed water strip which was chocked by oil slicks, excreta, rubbish, you name it.

Ihsan continued his stroll, hopping from one tetrapod to another. He was wearing a grey T-shirt, ragged, and grey shorts, tattered at the edges. He looked one with the tetrapods he was walking on, all grey inside and around the edges, and could easily have been part of the seawall, invisible to any uncaring eye.

Did Hilmy care?

Ihsan seemed not to have a care in the world, a quiet fellow sitting on the inner seawall, everyday, every afternoon, without fail.

If he did have a care in the world, he did not show it.

Which disturbed Hilmy.

Hilmy met him on one of these afternoons, on the day he, for no apparent reason, decided to take up swimming as his regular exercise.

Ihsan was good -- no, great -- at diving. Hilmy envied him. Ihsan could jump up, hang in in the air, suspended as if defying gravity, the very laws of this physical world, and then plunge straight into the water, like a fish which belonged in there.

Hilmy was at first embarrassed but later appreciative when Ihsan, for reasons Hilmy still could not understand, offered to teach Hilmy how to do it the proper way.

From his vantage point, Ihsan gave only short, crisp tips. "Bend a bit." "Give a push."

Weeks later, Ihsan still spoke in monosyllables, but Hilmy did not mind. He was intrigued by Ihsan, this quiet young fellow who seemed not interested in anything, anybody, except the blue water which he always looked at longingly.

Ihsan did not even offer the obligatory smile whenever a newcomer to the thoshigandu said "hi" which perhaps was the reason why they left him to himself; the boy on the seawall.

But as weeks passed, Hilmy slowly learned what ticked Ihsan, which was few. The sea being part of it.

Hilmy now regarded Ihsan as his swimming "guru" though he never voiced it. He held firmly to the need to keep a distance as Ihsan seemed to want to.

***

Today was different. Hilmy did not know why but he sensed it. Sensed it when Ihsan gave one of his rare smiles.

Ihsan surprised him again later when, towards late afternoon, he actually offered to catch an octopus that had lodged itself under a concrete stone, pushed itself halfway into the muddy floor when this "artificial" beach area was constructed.

Hilmy felt a thrill when Ihsan suddenly emerged from the water, and held the spear with the octopus -- a small one -- stuck fast onto it. Was there pride on Ihsan's face? Hilmy could not be sure. But if it had been him, Hilmy would have been proud and joyous and conscious of the applause of the children who reveled around their newfound hero.

Now as he observed, Ihsan handed over the spear and the octopus to one of the children, and swam away, over to the outer seawall.

Hilmy knew what Ihsan was going for; he was going to cross the stretch under water, holding his breath.

***

He came up behind Ihsan now, who slowly turned towards him.

Ihsan could have been dead. He looked it.

Hilmy almost crawled out of his skin. He came right up to Ihsan and tried to say something but it would not come out.

Calm down, his inner self seemed to say to him.

But he could not calm down. "Ihsan! Are… you.. alright?" he managed to gasp.

Ihsan whispered something, perhaps his name, but Hilmy was not sure.

"I'm… alright…I…" This time Hilmy heard him clearly.

"Let's get you out of here!" Hilmy grabbed Ihsan by the arms and dragged him to the platform.

***

Ihsan sat quietly, deep in thought.

Enough excitement for one day, he decided finally.

Hilmy sat beside him. A concerned look on his face.

Ihsan looked at Hilmy, and wondered what would have happened if Hilmy had not pulled him to the safety of the platform.

He saw himself choking on water, his lungs getting filled, until there was no more breath, and no more reason to live.

His body would jerk back to life, in one final desperate attempt, but it would be too late.

Hilmy kept observing Ihsan, as if expecting Ihsan to say something.

Ihsan said nothing. He was tired. Very tired.

And very sleepy. Was that what death was like?

He acknowledged a nod towards Hilmy, but did not offer a smile.

Picking up his shirt, he turned to go home.

He walked quietly.

Hilmy was not sure whether he should follow. He kept sitting on the seawall, looking at Ihsan who now had his back turned to him. Was he coming back?

FEEDBACK

Email me your feedback

@ "As Sharif Ali has said, this one, like Hilath’s last short story (Midnight Prayers) is strictly for the thinking audience. I myself like a little vagueness and hinting at answers as much as the next guy but I prefer a story to end with the scales tipped in favour of one direction or another instead of being perfectly balanced on edge. But if that was the case, the story probably will not work. Either way, this is another interesting story by Hilath and showcases his command of the English language to good effect. I do hope he doesn’t make a habit of it though unless he is trying to perfect this particular brand of storytelling. By the end of the story I am wondering if what Al and Sharif has said is true or if the truth was something that they haven’t even brushed against. I think that it could also be a possibility that Ihsan likes to live on the edge -- to see how far he can take it before coming back! Nice to see more of Hilath’s stories on his site again."--Hursheed, Maldives, 18 Feb 2003

@ "A sibling to Midnight Prayers i.e. two guys trying to come to terms and the overall air of vagueness, Seawall dips deep into the concepts of isolation and escapism, ambiguity and curiosity, and hazy friendships. The most notable thing here’s that the two characters are confined to the inner and outer seawall, which signifies they’re trapped in their own little world. Whether Ihsan intended to commit suicide is a matter of debate, especially since there’s not enough evidence to suggest he has lost faith in life. That’s one way of looking at it but Ihsan might have as well put Hilmy to test; a lesson of alertness like that of diving, or else he wanted to see how concerned Hilmy was about him. Anyway, this is a very challenging work that’s almost unfathomable and hence an absolute delight for the thinking audience."--Sharif Ali, Malaysia, 13 Feb 2003

@ "Yet another work in which Hilath continues his by now familiar thematic preoccupation with alienation, and ambiguous male-relationships. Ihsan and Hilmy (Hilath?) are fellow loners, who appear to have rejected mainstream society (or been rejected by it) and are looking to nature and, possibly, each other for escape. Lovingly etched details like diving, underwater swimming, and spearing the odd octopus, evoke a sense of yearning for lost boyhood, or the now extinct hunter instinct. Far from indulging in saccharine-sweet nostalgia, however, the writer problematises the desire for escape by introducing the idea of suicide. Exactly what aspect of contemporary society is so unbearable, that even death is preferable, is never quite made clear. This, and other questions raised by The Seawall are disturbing, but pertinent in the light of
the recent spate of suicides in the Maldives. But the best thing about this story for me is that Hilath has valiantly resisted the temptation to wallow in pessimism offering, instead (and literally, I should add), friendship as a possible saviour. But will it last? Another very adult and uncompromising story as subtle as it is rich in meaning."--Ali Rasheed, Maldives, 4 Feb 2003