Vol.9,
No.50, 2006 Dig
This Clam! By
Elizabeth Symon
A
long long time ago there
lived on this island, I’m
told, a fisherman whose name
was Clam. His wife’s
name was Pearl, and their
three children were called
Sea Urchin, Sea Star, and
little Sea Anemone.
Every morning Clam put out
to sea in his wooden boat
(weather permitting) and
in the evening returned home
with his catch.
For
many years Clam was content
with this daily routine
but after a while he began
to feel something was missing
from his life. Instead of
attending to ‘bites’ he
would be lost in a daydream.
Surely life had something
better to offer him than
this sunrise to sunset job!
He could be great! He could
be famous!
Clam
was no longer content with
fish and chips for supper.
That was not good enough
for a future man of fame!
He now demanded baron of
bream, halibut à la
King, or Emperor style sole.
“All this rich food
will give Clam even stranger
ideas,” Pearl said
to herself one day. “Oh
dear, what’ll he think
of next?”
Just then the children came
tearing into the house, yelling
and shrieking in excitement.
“Papa’s going
to fly! Papa’s making
wings.”
Pearl
threw open the window,
and there was Clam busy
attaching sides to his
little rowing boat and
a giant propeller to the
prow. No, they weren’t
sides, they were wooden wings!
She
knew he shouldn’t
have had all that rich food.
It was driving him crazy!
“Clam!” she
called, running out on to
the beach. “What is
all this nonsense?”
“Quiet!” roared
Clam, who had had three platefuls
of turbot tournedos for lunch. “Can’t
you see I’m busy?”
And he continued to transform
his boat into a rudimentary
flying machine. (Remember,
in those days, no one had
heard of airplanes. This
all happened a long time
ago.)
“Will this contraption
help you find more fish?” asked
Pearl. “Your catch
has been down a bit of late.”
“QUIET!” roared
Clam. “I told you I’m
busy! And I’m not going
to fish any more!”
Pearl gasped. No more fishing!
They would starve! Or she
would have to use their resources
of dried fish, and how long
would those last? And who
could prepare gourmet dishes
from them?
Wide eyed and silent, the
children watched Clam till
long past their bedtime,
as he added feathers to the
wings of his flying boat.
He worked well into the night
by the light of flares, and
Pearl made him a swordfish
sandwich snack to sustain
him at his task. As it grew
later in the night, his temper
grew shorter. Pearl and the
children crept quietly home
to bed.
At
last the sun rose and so
did Clam’s family.
The children gathered on
the shore, silently, and
Clam’s wife brought
him breakfast of King Crab
Krunch which he gulped down
in one mouthful, so keen
was he on completing the
last finishing touches on
his flying machine.
By noon the extraordinary
contraption was ready. Clam
climbed aboard. The propeller
whirred. The wings flapped.
A lot of feathers dropped
off. But slowly the craft
rose up in the air.
“Oh, do be careful,
Clam!” cried Pearl.
While
the children raced about,
chasing the feathers, she
watched in amazement till
Clam and his flying machine
were just a speck in the
sky. Then she went slowly
back into the house and
searched in her cookbooks
for something suitable for
a birdman’s evening
meal.
At sundown the table was
set and Pearl proudly took
the caviar pie, her latest
masterpiece, out of the oven.
But there was no sign of
the returning birdman, and
that night Urchin, Star and
even little Anemone had second
helpings.
The next morning the wreck
of the flying boat and a
very subdued Clam were found
stranded on Guano Rock. Neighbours
had to row out and rescue
him, and tow the flying boat
back to shore. Now Clam had
to rebuild his boat, which
was not nearly so exciting
as making it into a flying
machine. He realized that
it was back to the old sunrise
to sunset job for him, and
no more flying again, it
would seem. It was also back
to plain, ordinary meals.
Now
it happened that a few
weeks after this that Clam’s
wife was hanging fresh laundered
sheets out on the clothesline.
“There’s a good
breeze today,” she
said to herself. “They’ll
be dry in no time!”
Clam
saw her from the beach
and raised an oar to tell
her he was setting out for
the day’s fishing.
At that moment a great gust
of wind tore one of the sheets
off the line and tossed it
down to the beach. It flew
straight to Clam’s
upraised oar and clung to
it like a limpet.
Another
gust of wind blew and Clam’s
boat skimmed across the
sea faster than he had
ever rowed.
“Wow!” he cried. “I’ve
found a way to move on the
sea. It’s almost like
flying! I’ll be famous!
I knew it! I knew it!”
He secured the sheet firmly
to the oar with fishline,
and it was believed that
he was the first person to
have a sailboat in this part
of the world. (Remember,
this was all a long time
ago.)
In
honour of his wife’s
help with this invention,
he named his sailboat Pearl,
and sometimes took the whole
family fishing with him.
Clam
was happy now flying across
the water in his sailboat,
I’m told, and never
tried to fly in the sky again.
Perhaps
one day you’ll
come here and find an old
old rowboat with wooden wings
and see the name on it is
Pearl, and remember all that
happened here a long long
time ago.