Colapesce: The Weight of an Island
The price of returning
The ring was worth a kingdom. Bringing it back would destroy one.
A simple order
On the harbour wall, the king pointed into the water. Cola had fetched anchors from deeper places. A ring should have been easy.
Before supper
His daughter held the cup to his lips. “Back before supper?” He nodded over its rim.
Below the daylight
He followed the little green flash down, past the last wreck, until there was no blue left in the water.
What holds a home
Three pillars rose from the seabed into the island above. The middle one was breaking.
The first fracture
A slab tore loose. Cola flattened himself against the rock as it fell past him.
Above the crack
On the harbour steps, his daughter gripped her cup. Water trembled over its rim.
The way home
Below, the ring lay beside the fallen slab. Cola closed his hand around it. Far overhead, a seam of daylight showed the way home.
One shoulder
The pillar lurched. Cola wedged his shoulder into the broken place. Stone ground against bone. Then it held.
No room to leave
He tried to stand. The crack widened. He sank back onto his knee, and the grinding stopped.
The other promise
The light was still there. So was the weight. Cola looked up once, then settled his shoulder deeper into the stone.
What he lets go
His right hand opened. The king’s ring slipped between his fingers and fell into the dark.
The empty place
At dusk, his daughter sat on the steps. The cup waited beside her. The water inside it was still.
Still holding
They say Sicily rests on Cola’s shoulders. When the island trembles, he is only finding a less painful way to hold it.
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