The boy lifted his hand to catch the sweat dripping from his straight strands. Shading his eyes, he looked up over the wide expanse of the Flats. As far as the eye could see, there was only the reflective surface of the water, hiding the salt underneath. The air was salty. The boy’s arms were crusty with it. He breathed heavily from his mouth.
“Gramps!”
“Yyyes?” came the slow response from the boy’s left.
“Can we head back now?”
“Ho! My boy, it’s only noon!”
“But… it’s getting spicy! Why is it spicy?”
Now a hand cupped the boy’s shoulder, taking him by surprise. He could barely see the man’s silhouette in the glare. “Sometimes the salt’ll do that to you. You’ll get used to it.”
The boy sniffled and puffed out his lower lip, careful not to put his gloved, salty hand in his eye as he rubbed away the tear that had welled up there.
Like the countless others working the Flats which spread until the horizon, the two trudged through their pool, scraping away at the thick crust lining.
The boy, thinking that perhaps he wasn’t cut out for this after all and that he should give up, was about to turn to the man again. He put his hand behind his back and stretched himself forward and opened his mouth. Just then, a shout echoed from the distance: “llllluuuuuunnnch!” The bellow was echoed by many a-worker to propagate it further down the Flats. The boy pulled his best serious face and sauntered up to the man, who had already stuck the spike of his shade umbrella in the salt and begun unpacking his neatly wrapped meal.
The two sat side by side for a time. The old man, seeing one man struggle to find his umbrella, waved him over, and then they were three.
The lunch break, welcome as it was, suddenly seemed far too long for the boy. The man, sensing the boy’s squirming, spoke gently: “boy?”
He looked up quickly and then turned his head back down a fraction before realizing that he had already looked eager and brought it back up. “Yes?”
“Do you know why we mine the salt?”
“Because we… need salt?”
“So you’re a bright one, huh?”
“…”
“Why did we need the salt, then?”
“Weeelll…” the boy began in his small soprano boy-tones, “it’s so we can pay the duke, ain’t it?”
“Hm. Perhaps. But if that’s the reason you’re thinking of, and you’re looking like you are, then maybe I’d ought to tell you a story.” The man smirked. “Maybe close that mouth of yours while you’re at it. I can barely hear myself over your mouth-breathing. Don’t you have a nose?”
The boy wasn’t deaf to patronization. His chest puffed out, swinging him forward into an upright cross-legged stance. “I don’ need no story, and I don’t need no nose! I’m bringing the salt back for my parents, just like my sister and older brother!” He smiled devilishly. “We’re gonna be the best miners ever.”
The man let out a low whistle and elbowed the guest he’d invited to sit. The boy saw him chuckle and decided he didn’t like him as much as the man. “Well, well! Good for you three then. What makes you think you can bring back more White than the rest of the men here? Some of them have been working their entire lives.”
The boy looked him in the eye. “Because we all promised each other.” His gaze dipped. “Ya see…?”
The man was quiet for a moment as he took a bite of cucumber and goat cheese on crustless white. His eyes skated over the countless umbrellas peppering the salt.
Then, “Yes, I do see.”
The boy’s eyes came back up to look at the man, who still looked out, chewing as if on relentless cud. Sensing he’d made a mistake, he quickly crossed his arms and stuck out his chin. “Well, good! So it’s decided. We’re gonna be the best!”
No response.
The boy deflated and took a bite of his meager store of celery, savoring each moment he had something to keep in his hungry mouth.
Eventually, he broke. “So. You said somethin’ about a story.”
——
Long ago, when there were still mountains of Cumin and trees of Clove-spice, the ocean was friends with the sky. The sun would heat the waves and the ocean would allow water to rise up into the air: a friendly message to the sky. “Hello!” The ocean and sky had agreed to call those bits of liquid Rises, and the bits that the sky sent back down would be called Drops. It was a lovely arrangement.
Since the ocean and sky were such good friends, the ocean would send up some salt in the Rises. It knew that the sky loved the salt as it did - the salt was simply lovely for having a good conversation. Salt had no qualms with becoming intimate. It would ask you about your deepest cuts and place itself gently there. And sometimes, it would sting, but so gently did the salt speak that whoever it spoke to knew that the pain was of a good and healing sort.
One day, the ocean and sky were given the difficult task of producing a great storm. One so great that it would be written about in books known far and wide for all time. A storm that would cover the world with waves that would swallow birds and winds that would slice dust. It would be a dance between the sun, moon, sky, and waves, perfect and ordered to maintain the beautiful earth. This would be a team effort - but the ocean was scared. It could not imagine bringing about such waves. The ocean was great, but was it great enough?
So the ocean spoke to the salt. They spoke and spoke, the salt with its soothing words from twilight to twilight.
But it was never enough. When the sky came to ask the ocean about their plans for the storm, the ocean lay in doldrums, speaking in private to the salt it now hoarded.
“You must help me, salt, please. I do not believe in myself.”
“I am here for you, my ocean. But know that I can only do so much - why not speak with the sky?”
“…” The ocean stood still in shame.
“You do not wish to show weakness of some kind?”
Now the ocean spoke. “I am not weak.”
“I agree. So go forth and make the waves.”
“…” The ocean tried to freeze, but the salt kept it liquid: “why not the moon, then?”
“… the moon is too far away. She does not understand me.”
“But she is your mother, ocean!”
“Even so.”
“And the sun?”
“He does not care for me. He only angers me. He tries to take you away from me in the Rises.”
“You should speak to him. I can only ease so much of your pain.”
“Only you understand…”
And so it went. The sky saw no salt in the Rises and so its Drops were clean, pure, and cold. There was no intimacy in those Drops.
The time for the great storm came. The ocean was obliged to make the waves, and so it did - but they were messy and mangled. It was in synchrony with neither sky nor parent. The world was devastated.
This failure only dug the ocean further into blue depths. And the sky worried, but did not reach out, for it had no salt to encourage it.
——
“… and so today, our tears are salty, so that the sky might have some salt to console it. Even if for only the moment our tears are Drops, falling back to the earth. We hope that one day it will be brave enough to settle things with its long lost friend the ocean, so that the storms might become ordered and natural once again.”
The boy stood placidly, his mouth shut tightly.
“And in the meantime, we hope to not make the same mistake as the ocean, and share our tears, so that we know that we share the salt with those around us and let our feelings ring true.”
There was no sound of breathing from the boy.
The man looked over. If the boy noticed, he made no motion to indicate it was so.
The man sighed. “Maybe you couldn’t hear me over that mouth of yours. Did you get the story at all?”
The boy began to tremble.
“Come on, boy. I’ve seen your type before. You can’t be more than six, out here on the Flats. That just ain’t right. Don’t be a hero.”
The boy continued but still said nothing. So the man sighed again and gave him a hearty box on the shoulder.
Clutching his shoulder, the boy righted himself off the salty crust with his opposite arm. His mouth was open, his breath given a chance to run free.
The man held his gaze for a long moment, and then extended his hands towards the boy.
And the boy, crusty, scarred, and with aching arms, slowly fell between them. Enveloped in a stranger’s hug, he let the sky taste the salt.