William Blome
The Verge of Utterance
Silas was a once-upon-a-time sailor who aspired to be another Sinbad, and he hoped each dawn might trigger a set of bright hours—lucky hours—whereby a jasmine-fragranced ocean would finally crest the dikes of Savannah and deposit a freighter at or about his feet. To be sure, he stood his ground every day alongside an abandoned iron ore pier, but nothing happened for over four years. Then, in year five, a talking mallard swam into the harbor and addressed by name two young and nearby female bystanders. (These were two pre-teens Silas had seen before; like Silas, they stood their ground at the iron ore pier, but unlike Silas, they never seemed to be waiting or longing for anything. Rather, they continuously pretended to cast out artificial lures on nylon lines, into deep water north of the pier, and then to slowly and carefully reel them in. “Fruitless fishing of a kind I’d never indulge in,” Silas told his wife one evening, but she undoubtedly must have thought, hey, is it so different from a fool who keeps waiting for some boat to float in atop the liquid of a smelly sea?)
Actually, Silas’s wife thought Silas was a fool for several reasons, all of which she kept to herself. She had no fear of Silas, but she didn’t think talking with him about his follies would ever wring or rinse any of them out of him. However, she must have unconsciously displayed enough general displeasure or disgust that Silas was discouraged from mentioning anything at all about the mallard. At first he was bursting to tell her about the talking duck with the shiny green head; he wanted to relate what he’d overheard the bird conversing with the girls about, and he especially wanted to voice the fact that the mallard (without so much as a greeting or physical gesture from Silas) had at one point turned toward him and mocked his Sinbad aspirations and denied that a jasmine-scented ocean could be found anywhere in today’s world.
Well, during the months that followed, Silas had to more than once catch himself on the verge of utterance about the duck. But catch himself he always did, and gradually the desire to share his experience waned, and eventually, Silas’ wife went to her granite-headstoned grave without ever knowing anything about the talking mallard.
Actually, Silas’s wife thought Silas was a fool for several reasons, all of which she kept to herself. She had no fear of Silas, but she didn’t think talking with him about his follies would ever wring or rinse any of them out of him. However, she must have unconsciously displayed enough general displeasure or disgust that Silas was discouraged from mentioning anything at all about the mallard. At first he was bursting to tell her about the talking duck with the shiny green head; he wanted to relate what he’d overheard the bird conversing with the girls about, and he especially wanted to voice the fact that the mallard (without so much as a greeting or physical gesture from Silas) had at one point turned toward him and mocked his Sinbad aspirations and denied that a jasmine-scented ocean could be found anywhere in today’s world.
Well, during the months that followed, Silas had to more than once catch himself on the verge of utterance about the duck. But catch himself he always did, and gradually the desire to share his experience waned, and eventually, Silas’ wife went to her granite-headstoned grave without ever knowing anything about the talking mallard.