Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 93

The Sea's Song
Heep Yunn School, Tsui, Yu Hei Iris - 14
I believe that the sea can sing.
Sitting on the shore, I put my hand out into the water. The water tugs at my fingers, as if trying to pull me
into the ocean’s welcoming arms. The waves ripple, breaking the smooth surface of the ocean, crested with white foam
that sparkles in the setting sun. The golden rays of light dance on them, caressing my cheeks gently.
I close my eyes, and everything recedes. The sea whispers, speaks in its haunting tongue; the ripples of the
waves playing out its tune on its own silken strings. The notes rise and crash at my feet, and I am home.
~
“What do you think it is saying?” my father asked me once, when I was eight.
“I don’t speak Ocean,” I protested.
“One day you’ll understand what it’s saying.”
“How do you know?” I asked without opening my eyes.
My father’s hand ruffled my hair. “You were named after the great Mohamed, son,” he said, “and you will
discover Allah’s greatest gift.”
I can taste the salty sea spray on my tongue as the gulls swoop around me. “Tell me again about your last
voyage,” I said.
“Again?”
“It’s my favorite story.”
I could feel him heave a laugh, though there is something deeper, a reluctance to it.
“The day I went to Mecca was a fine summer day,” he said. “The stars were my only guide, but they were
enough - enough to guarantee a map in the skies, veiled by the clouds, wreathed by moonlight. Such beauty!”
“What did you do with that map?”
My father’s smile waned. “With sheer power of memory I committed the map of the stars to paper. It will
guide any seafarer who is of my blood. It tells of the routes of conquest – and even more. It guarantees victory in battle
to whoever can read it. If that map is in your hand, if you are worthy enough to decipher its wisdom – there is no war
you cannot win. You have no idea – the map of the stars has power none can withstand; all men would flee before the
wielder’s face, for his wrath would then become terrible to behold.”
“Where is it?” I asked, entranced.
“Gone,” said my father. “The new emperor of the Ming dynasty tried to take away my creation. He wanted
conquest - he wanted to use it to conquer the lands beyond China. I told him that a wise warrior always avoids the
battle but he didn’t listen. So, to keep it out of their reach - I placed it in the protection of Tianfei.”
“Where?” I said.
My father smiled. “The map tells of a treasure, a secret even deeper than the road to conquest written in the
stars. A secret very few have ever come to possess.” he said. He paused. “I destroyed the map.”
“ What? ”
“Yes, son - I tore it into pieces - seven pieces. In that way, only a great seafarer of my blood will be able to
find it, for it is protected by the power of the oceans. Scattered all over the seas, it awaits the day be put together again.”
~
TWO YEARS LATER
He is gone.
I try to smell the salty sea air that is miles away, try to feel the tremor of the ocean waters that is world away,
try to see the rays of golden sunshine dancing on the waves. I am Ma He. I am the son of Ma Hajji. I am ten years old.
I am a son with no father.
Hands bound, eyes darkened, I keep reliving those last, terrible moments of my father.
I remember the clash of the Mongol and Ming armies. The shouts, the cold rings of steel in the air, the blood
flowing - the rising of the red sun.
I remember glimpsing my father as he shouted aloud, his face glowing in the light of the rising sun, the fading
stars wheeling above him, crowning his brow.
I remember the cold Ming blade that went into him, the blood that spilled from his stomach to the floor.
I remember my cry of anguish to the heavens.
And I know, in that instant, that the moment will always be branded into my mind. I can’t see the ocean
waters. But I can hear them, whispering in my mind, a lament of torturing, a grief of no ends.
~
His name is Zhu Di. And I am his slave, named anew, by the name of Zheng He.