The Death of Nessie (By Joe DiMino, who retains all rights)
I am a simple man. Simple, because I choose to be! Just give
me basic things, uncomplicated: like a day of fishing, followed
by "Catch of the Day" frying in a skillet over an open
fire. And while many individuals prefer parlor-games, when the
thought of escape enters my mind, I seek the outdoors. But even
when away from it all, I am far from peace within my heart. Many
questions about life, in particular, the apparent undeserved suffering
of some individuals, continue to trouble me. So when I had the
chance to leave the States, and travel to a rural community in
a foreign country, it seemed only natural to me when I was drawn
to the homeland of my ancestors, the "Goidels" (a branch
of the Celts). The ancient Goedels were a complex race; who, like
myself, though deeply concerned with the problems of the world,
sought solutions while quietly listening and celebrating the voices
and pictures of nature.
Sunlight poured over the hills and swaying wheat in tranquil folds
of valley. Standing atop one of the higher points of vantage,
I pleasantly circled, my scan running up and over graceful folds
of countryside. Imparted was an illusion of motion--sort of like
being in a rowboat, with a cold can of beer in hand and a favorite
sweetheart snuggling close to a grateful shoulder. Although it
was my first trip to Scotland, even back at the airport, when
first descending from the plane my footsteps echoed a comfortable
familiarity. I'm certain others have had similar experiences...like
entering a room possessed with familiar vibrations. Yet that is
impossible, never have been physically in the remotest vicinity.
Still, the drapes and carpeting are the same...as they were then...whenever
it was? Puzzled as I was Scotland and I seemed old friends--if
not lovers. And as I later strolled the glorious countryside approaching
Loch Ness, my destination, that same easiness continued.
Instead of the mysterious atmosphere one might expect, seeing
how the lake was rumored to be inhabited by some ancient or mythical
creature, all was serene. The black waters appeared to me more
emerald green, thriving with game. I saw several bass break the
surface while I was still some distance away. At the shoreline,
while searching the shallow pools I found the waters teaming with
spearing and other bait-fish. Though this all seemed contrary
to the scarcity rumored about lake, I remember vividly, as I dozed
off that evening, snug away in my sleeping bag, a shell toss from
shore: "Tomorrow promises a fishing experience to be savored!
Yes!" I euphorically growled as an addict might after smoking
a particularly potent blend. "Indeed, tomorrow promises,
a forty year old bachelor who has sunk his hook the world over,
a cherished fishing experience; a rare symphony of bait, prey,
and sportsman...never to be forgotten."
I was awake at dawn--needing no alarm--the sun and my internal
clock stretching in unison.
Shortly, I was anchored a good distance from shore...and within
my first hour of venture had bagged four, plump, bass. If any
of my readers are fisherman, you already know that, pound for
pound bass are formidable fish to challenge--a ten pound bass
pulling better than a forty pound tuna. But the brilliant sunshine
that had greeted the day was short lived. Soon intruded a slithering
fog; clouds of confusion saturated with a red hue the likes of
which I had never before encountered. My tiny craft was quickly
surrounded, the foul mass seeming to compete for the very air
I was breathing. A suffocating deluge, that left me gasping! Prior
to my trip, having read up on Scottish superstition flashed through
my mind a Kelpei (mythical Scottish Demon) whose flying cousin
had passed over and dropped an enormous veil of perplexity. One
moment I was bathing in glorious sunshine, thinking myself the
closest yet to Heaven. Then, with little warning, I could hardly
see my own groping hands searching for the oars. I began to feverishly
row in the direction I guessed shore to lie. The thought had come
to me--where I was, in my flimsy, inflatable craft--with visibility
as poor as it was the possibility of my being scuttled by a larger
vessel increased with the passing of each bewildering second.
Then I heard it! At first not certain of what I was hearing? Oh,
it was speech All right...good old American! And quite intelligible--but
the voice had a quality far from anything human that could be
compared. A certain metal, or synthetic twang to it...and tortured,
as if hot coals were being poured down the throat of some poor
captive--the human utterances we are all so accustomed to are
quickly replaced by spastic convulsions. However, absent was the
telltale delirium one would also expect under such insufferable
circumstances.
"Help! Over here!" the voice grated again--with an excess
of pain apparent.
At first I rowed toward the voice, then a dark blotch in the dreary
entanglement. Enormous it was! And like nothing I had ever seen.
I hastened to close distance between myself and it--whatever it
could be? And several moments later pulled my dinghy up onto the
boggy shore.
I'll explain only briefly what I was confronted by, but will take
special care with detail, wanting you, the reader, to be just
as awestruck as I was:
The thing's head resembled that of a tiger--much larger though--yet
absent was 'The look of the Beast." Instead, there gleamed
a remarkable keenness, not at all different from the shrewd glint
common to the calculating glare of a businessman. As for the torso,
it had the appearance and texture of an elephant, excepting legs.
While proceeding from the posterior was a thirty-foot serpent
that slithered in great "S" spirals through the wine
colored air illuminating the creature, eerily free from fog.
"What the Devil!" was the first thing it heard me mutter?
"I say, English!" it was quick to respond. And, mind
you, how confounded I was to hear such plain discourse from...from...whatever
it was.
"Come closer," it squinted, "so I can see you."
I summoned up courage and bravely ventured a bit forward. And
then collected enough courage to reply, "American. I'm American!"
and more than a smidgen of national pride was apparent by my robust
but shaky voice.
"Damn!" the creature bellowed, startling me. "I'm
forever mixing up the two." Its voice sincerely apologetic,
putting me at ease. "You see, I've had to learn my twenty-seven
languages, sometimes under the least conducive of atmospheres.
You know, between the splashing of oars...chatter of gulls...and
splatter of wind."
"Twenty...how many?" I replied, awestruck.
"Or is it thirty-seven? Let me see...there's the Romance
Languages: Ah--Cherchez La Femme! Not to less appreciate the Italians--those
robust tenors! Amore dripping from every sweet tone! Yes--and
those tantalizing aromas filling the air, exquisite seducers from
over-stuffed picnic baskets! Ah! And the English Writers--Keats
enigmatic poem, 'Beauty is truth--truth beauty, that is all.'
And then there is Shakespeare--can there be anything greater?
By far the preference of lovers! And I've swooned with so many...countless
thousands of times. Though I do hate to eavesdrop--but my anatomy,
of course, made it imperative that I kept out of sight. So I was
forced to educate myself, and take my entertainment as well over
the torrent of an ill tuned motor struggling with the tide. Why
just imagine me slinking onto a college campus...I can see it
all too nervously clear." At which time I noticed a wide
gash, hideously deep, across the top of its leathery back.
"You're hurt!" I exclaimed, instinctively approaching...surprised
at my own lack of fear. In fact, in me arose a fondness, a sense
of human affinity that I haven't the slightest explanation for.
"Those blasted speed boats!" it moaned. Cough, cough.
And came another groan. "Unintentional
I'm sure--but that does seem to be the way of you humans...doesn't
it?"
"Us humans!" I replied, oddly disturbed by the association.
"Of course...you're absolutely right...does neither of us
any good to 'throw stones' or 'cry over spilled milk,' expressions
I've so often heard."
I thought the cliche' brave ones--for what was flowing from the
wound in its back at an alarming rate was something far more precious
to life than milk.
My voice filled with urgency, "Please, tell me how to help
you!"
"No--no: earlier I had thought...perhaps...but now I realize,
it just wouldn't work." The pain was now a dominant wavering
in its voice. "I couldn't bear that--to become a sideshow...a
freak to be ogled at by processions of chattering morons! An oddity,
to be taunted daily by cruel, insensitive children! No--I think
I prefer the bottom of the sea--a fate I have avoided for the
past five thousand years.
"Five..." I echoed, not certain I had heard correctly.
"To the day," glancing at the wound on its back with
an embarrassed smirk. "At my age, one should think, I would
have been more careful."
"But surely, there must be something I can do!" I offered
help with the compassion one generally reserves for a best friend
at his death-bed.
"I did hear the boat coming." The first signs of delirium
were now present in its fading voice. "Perhaps...I no longer
care. Tired...so tired." It continued to rattle on feverishly:
"Seen so much...so many wars. Needless suffering! Good men,
eyes glaring, as if to say: 'How can this be happening to me?'
Endless streams of blood! In primitive loin...armor...khaki...all
the same! All the same! Dying, with an expression of complete
bewilderment! Well...it doesn't matter now, does it? Still, if
it wasn't for that Palfry!"
"Palfry?" I asked.
"A seaweed that can be chewed for its spirits. I suppose,
it could be compared to a good bottle of port, but not quite as
dry. Always been my weakness.
With quakes of faintness...firm in its intention, it began to
pull itself, foot by agonizing foot toward the water's edge. I
recall, never having felt so helpless.
"Surely it doesn't have to end like this!" I protested.
"Perhaps there is just one thing you can do for me...or answer,
rather."
"Anything! Anything!" I hurried my words, sensing the
end near.
"Just tell me why?"
"Why?" I repeated.
"Rather, what? What's it been all for? You...me...the rest
of the world...and the endless suffering?"
"All for?" I pondered. Then it spoke one last time before
submerging:
"I mean," (cough, cough) "You would think, after
all these years I could have figured it out. I'm talking about
life! You know...when its all over...and you look back...you really
haven't changed the world a whole lot. Not really in a way that
matters! Oh--I guess you could blow it up...but not really change
it." And it was gone in a whirlpool of churning bubbles.