CAIO, or the boy of the seas

The snowy sea-foam draped the shore as the sky’s fiery orb hid behind the purple sky. Caio sat by the burning logs, looking at the weaving waves coming and going.

The great night in Toque-Toque slowly began to come down onto the village.

— “Camarão! Dinner’s ready” A voice called out in the distance.

His parents had called him Camarão since his birth — as a baby, his small, thin body, and cotton candy skin made him look like a shrimp.

Through the years it had darkened, becoming a shining caramel colour.

Caio was part of a long-time family of fishermen. From the tales he was told growing up, his great-grandfather, Manuel, had laid the foundation for the village upon the beach of Toque-Toque. Once inhabited by most, the last decades brought a wave of families from the state of Sao Paulo, looking for an escape from the metropolis and slowly, communities emerged from the ground, just like that.

For years, Toque-Toque was divided into two, Pequeno and Grande — little and large. Caio’s family was part of the former; their village, composed of four families. There were the Lopes, with Leão and his wife Maria. The Vieira’s, Jorge and Luna, and their son Mateo. The Santos, Julio and Renato, and their adopted daughter Clara; Finally, Caio’s family, the Amoroso’s, with his parents, Felipe and Gabriela at the helm. They rarely met-up with the families from Toque-Toque Grande — it was not a question of rivalry or animosity, but rather the workload prevented them from hosting large gatherings, except once or twice a year. During rare religious celebrations, they’d all come together and feast, drinking cold Brahma and eating leftover Cacão fished during the week.

— “Camarão!” The scream was louder than the first one. This distant voice kept calling upon him.

He did not want to answer. He could not answer. His eyes crystallised upon the disappearing lavender sun, petrified in place as the crackling sound of the roasting wood embers seem to lose their meaning.

Tomorrow, he would turn twenty. He repeated those words in his head. For the fishermen, twenty was a number of upmost importance. Twenty meant an entrance into the realm of adulthood — and for that, a trial was held. A trial that Caio had prepared for his entire life, without always knowing. Every child born on Toque-Toque would have the same fate, the and parents and family taught the kids since a very young age skills that would be useful during their quest. Which berries to pick, how to fish, how to build shelter — these sorts of things.

Not far from the shore of Toque-Toque stood an island. The villagers named it the Buried Island. An island draped with a dense forest of palm trees and silky seas of sand. Unlike most islands, this one had, in its centre, a perfectly circular pond of fresh water. How that was possible, no-one ever knew — no-one wanted to know; the magical aura around it set basis for countless tales told by fishermen for generations. According to Caio’s grandfather, a powerful spirit lived deep inside the pond. The God of Seas, he called it. It was this spirit that, in the beginning, brought all water to the world. It had been asleep since then. Caio often dreamt about the God of Seas.

But aside from the legends, the pond contained a unique species of catfish. Catfish found nowhere else in the world. Tomorrow, Caio would have to venture to the island and, like his elders before him, catch the catfish. Only then would Caio become an adult. A respected fisherman amongst his community. Tomorrow, at dawn, Caio would start his trial.

As the night flies buzzed around the dissipating fire, the palm trees waved gently in the wind. A calm whistle blew across the bay. Caio wondered whether it would wake up the white-crabs from their sand pits. He believed they lived in an underground kingdom. He had always wanted to dig a hole, deep into the ground, and unveil a hidden world where thousands of side crawling crustaceans worked together, building fortified sand-castles. This story also came from his grandfather. But tonight, he had much more on his mind; there was no space left for crabs.

Caio stood up and walked into the dark veil of night, the moonlight now shining bright upon the silver sea behind him. Tomorrow, he would turn twenty. He thought about it one last time. This thought, he knew he’d never have again in his life.

…

At dawn, he woke up.

The subtle breeze emanating from the waters entered the room, caressing the soft white curtain. It felt like any other day. But it wasn’t. Today was his twentieth birthday, and today he would have to catch the catfish. He couldn’t fail — no one had ever failed. He put on his pair of blue shorts and raced downstairs. His parents, Felipe and Gabriela, sat around the table, a large wooden bowl of fruit between them. Mangoes, papayas, and bananas draped the bowl.

— “How did you sleep Camarão?” Asked Felipe.

— “Fine” he answered, sitting down on the remaining empty chair.

The three remained silent, only the soft chewing of the fruits filled the room. The calm before the storm, some would call it. They all hoped there wouldn’t be a storm today. Caio looked at the shore from the small opening in the kitchen. The sea seemed tranquil; the waves’ song soothing — no hint of a storm in sight.

Out of the left side of the opening, a brown tom-cat straddled through, marking the sand with drawings of its paws. There were many cats around the island. They were owned by no one, although they belonged to everyone; they belonged to Toque-Toque. Caio had befriended many cats in his lifetime, feeding them leftover parts of fish or yuca roots. As the cat disappeared behind the wall of the house, Caio rose from his seat, grabbing his empty plate. He opened the faucet. The sounds of the dripping water fused with the rocking sound of the sea.

— “Don’t worry about this Camarão. You have a trial to prepare for. Go get ready.” Gabriela calmly said, grabbing the plate from his hand.

Caio nodded silently and made his way out the house and onto the beach.

Since the first men inhabited Toque-Toque, the trial never changed. It began on the outskirts of seven in the morning. Repinque drums launched the ceremony. They were played by those who had gone through the past trial. Village elders sang a song as the family of the champion pushed the boat towards the sea. And only then, the trial commenced. Looking across the bay, Caio breathed in the salty air into his lungs. The faint sound of drums emerged from the nothingness.

Upon the beach stood a pair of silhouettes. Deep vibrations emanating from their drums echoed through the horizon.

The time had come for Caio. Today he was twenty, and today began his trial.

He walked calmly towards the dark figures; their faces clearing up as he got closer. Mateo Amado and Clara Santos; they were only a year older than Caio. Their eyes were shut, red paint from their forehead bled out onto their cheeks. Their movements were synchronised.

One broke into song — and the others followed. The song was the same for every one.

Caio knew it by heart but it wasn’t in his right to sing along. He stood on the cold morning sand as he was showered by the songs and the drums of the people who came before him.

“Deus dos mares
Senhor dos peixes
Graça e paz
Graça e paz
Ó Deus dos Mares
Senhor dos peixes
Abençoe quem
vai se juntar a você
Através da
Mar Brilhante.”

Before he could jump onto the boat — Caio closed his eyes and dreamed of the Island. The song had brought him in a trance. He knew he would see it soon, but his mind wandered through series of beautiful scenes. The long golden shore, the shining emerald leaves of palm trees; they were much brighter than here on Toque-Toque, they shone, shone so powerfully that Caio felt his eyes burn from them.

Caio never dreamed anymore; this was the firs time in years he had. Before, his dreams were full of angst and anguish; dreams of tempests, whirlpools, and leviathans that engulfed the whole of the earth before his eyes, taking his parents with it. This was the first time he dreamed again, and there was no sign of storms or water-monsters.

He opened his eyes as the songs had stopped. Looking behind him were his family and the rest of the Toqueiros. It was time to go, it seemed. Caio took a long last look at the bodies around him, he nodded silently — any noise would have ruined the perfect moment. The sun-light shone upon the wooden boat. Gathering the small bag he had filled with a series of items to sustain the voyage, he jumped onto it. The bag was small in size but its usage could not be limited to that. Indeed, the space within it was surprisingly large. Inside it were four apples, three oranges, five bananas, two large cans of beans, a loaf of brown-bread, and a fishing net folded into six. The food should sustain Caio for a few days — and in the case he ran out, the net would come in handy.

Caio took a long last look at the beach behind him. His family and the rest of the villagers looked upon at his drifting body, a large smiled draped upon their faces. In just four, or five days he would see them again — but he could not help but to be sad. A small crystal tear slipped down his cheek and onto the floor of the boat. He turned around and faced the wide, open, sea. The calm surface was coloured lightly, the fragile blue of the sky reflecting upon it.

This was not the first time Caio would be alone at sea. Until his sixteenth birthday, he would ride the waters with his father — learning rowing and fishing techniques. He also went through a series of lessons about finding directions: where was the North, the South and so forth. Caio could tell from the winds if the sea would be calm or angry. Again, the winds today foresaw a calm voyage to the Island. But after then, he was often on his own. He never went too far from the shore, as his elders warned him. The sea becomes a vast hole of dangerous mysteries and unknown creatures once its colour grows with opaqueness. Caio had caught a few small fishes, some shrimps, and a whole lot of waste. It seemed that trash from the big cities found ways to come back to Toque-Toque’s waters…and that was happening more-and-more. Caio had saved a small turtle stuck within a wrapper of peanuts a few years ago. He befriended it and hoped it was still alive, all grown-up, having kids of her own.

Still thinking of the turtle, he had come to realise the boat was being carried solely by the current. Needing to turn, he grabbed the long paddle and thrusted from front to back pushing the boat forward with speed. The water on both sides of him creased up as the front-nose pierced the thin facet in front of it. The waves had not begun to form yet, the morning breeze delicately falling onto the calm-surface.

Caio looked up ahead as the singled-out lands of the sea began to form in the horizon. Today, he was twenty, and soon, he would catch the catfish.