"That little monster!" That's the first thing I remember saying as I recounted this story to my old friend Vulko a couple of years ago, not long after it happened. In fact, those were the exact words that came to mind when the incident occurred...well, at least at first. This was definitely my strangest encounter ever, and that's really saying something considering the many adventures I'd had even at that point in my young life. Strangest of all, at the time I wasn't even looking for trouble for a change.
At the time this event took place I was swimming along, minding my own business. I suppose I was quite self-assured; maybe self-absorbed was more like it. And why not? I, Arthur, King of the Seas and known to the dry world as "Aquaman," answered to no one and presumed it to be my responsibility to care for and be the master of all I surveyed. I was sure of this, or why else would I have been given the so-called "curse" of telepathic union with the creatures of my domain? On this day, however, I found there was one creature on whom this gift of mine was lost.
Strangely enough, I'd passed that huge clump of tall sea grass which lay before an unexplored cave innumerable times; I'd never noticed any curious activity in that direction. It seemed I remembered hearing in years past from some passing school of fish that the remains of a human woman lay deep within the cave, but I had long ago dismissed this as a tale passed on by simple-minded creatures. No woman would have ever been out in this area, far away from any of the great cities of the deep. Still, there was something curious about this place. On this day, the grass seemed to be stirred by an undersea whirling dervish. Moving forward, admittedly with a bit of trepidation, I decided to investigate. It wasn't as if I had any pressing engagements...
A walrus? Hmm...what was a baby walrus doing poking around in the sea grass at this depth and without its mother? Maybe the mother was ill, possibly wounded, and resting in the thicket. The baby didn't seem particularly agitated as I began to approach it, but the closer I came to the tall grass, the more it seemed to be trying to alert its guardian, swimming hurriedly in circles and barking warning signals. I tried to calm it telepathically but seemed to only upset it further.
Upon reaching the patch of grass, I could see something stirring, and while it didn’t appear to be another walrus, it didn't appear to be anything else recognizable either. As the tall blades slowly undulated in the tide, the creature hiding behind the grass took notice of me. It was clearly displeased.
Having been dubbed a "hero" by the people of the upper world gave me a new sense of duty which, mixed with my normally casual indifference to much of what surrounded me, caused me to become almost cavalier at times. Maybe I should have had enough sense to just turn around and swim away. After all, whatever it was could be of no consequence to me; I had the entire world's sea life to mind, no less. However, if the creature happened to be wounded, wouldn't it be its King's responsibility to help it and see that it was cared for?
My first tenuous moves forward caused a commotion behind the grassy barrier. I decided to try to communicate to whatever the knoll was sheltering by telling it to call out to me if it needed help. Normally, a telepathic message I've sent is answered immediately. A king expects nothing less from his minions. This particular minion seemingly didn't know its place, as I received no answer to my query. I was not used to being ignored.
"I've had quite enough of you," I bellowed, with the appropriate arm gestures to display my disgust. "Come forward! Your monarch commands you!" Still nothing. I suppose it was a combination of anger, insult and a bit of conceit that then forced me into a furtive attempt to extricate the creature from its hideaway. Somehow, said creature would not have things my way. There is no way but my way. I decided that a frontal assault was best. My curiosity piqued, I had to see this abomination, however fierce or frightening it might be. I'd thought I saw something that appeared to be a flipper. Reaching forward, I attempted to gently take hold of this "limb," hoping the animal would realize I was trying to assist it.
I rarely admit to being wrong. This time, though, I was more "off" than a land-bound TV weather forecaster usually is.
Whatever I had hold of was endowed with an iron will and resolve equal to that of my own. As I pulled this "thing" forward, thick, matted hair, black as ebony, began to swirl wildly above the tops of the grass blades. The "flipper" I'd grabbed began to pull back violently, lurching crazily and forcing me forward. As I tightened my grip, the creature became more frantic. At this point I wasn't sure whether it was worth my time and effort to continue this confrontation with what was undoubtedly a stupid and ungrateful thing. Just as I'd thought to release it, it made a serious error. One of its other limbs made contact with my chin, cracking my head backward. Having not expected that shot, my neck and the base of my brain began to throb intensely. This animal had just made the biggest mistake of its misbegotten life: it had made me very angry.
I no longer cared if it was injured or had acted out of fright; I was hurting and I wanted it to hurt as well. I squeezed the limb or fin or whatever the fleshy thing was and yanked as hard as I could---so hard, in fact, that I could see the hair jerk forward, then backward in the exaggerated manner water causes it to do. I pulled this creature through the grass and up close; I wanted it to see the hit that was coming, because I meant to do damage.
I dragged this thing over into a more amply-lighted area. As angry as it had made me, I wanted to see what it was that had been foolish enough to defy me, its sovereign. It squirmed and kicked but could not escape my grasp; I tightened that grasp just the same, determined to make it sorry for hitting me. Time for pay back, to be taught a lesson it would never forget. I then took a look at my captive.
Under the mass of hair was the olive-complexioned body of a small boy, about the age of eleven or so, as naked as the day of his birth. A quick yet indiscrete survey of his marginally emaciated body revealed that he'd been having a hard time of it, as he was covered with scratches and several sizable bruises. I thought him to be a hideous-looking little thing; no wonder someone chose to abandon him rather than to nurture him. I realized in a moment why I'd received no answer when I'd spoken to him: this child was feral; no words from me would penetrate his ignorance. He had no words. Even my telepathic impulses had not been heeded by him, and those transcend all language barriers, though I admit that fear alone might have prevented him from coming forward as I had commanded. Moved to pity, I began to relax my hold on him. Just then the little monster lunged forward and bit me!
"That's it, minnow! Now you're gonna get it!" Grabbing both of his arms above the elbow, my large hands easily encompassed both of the child's triceps. Then I did something that I now know I never should have---I shook him severely. Instead of continuing to fight me, the child seemed perplexed by my actions. His face screwed up into a question mark, and he stared at me as boldly as one who had honestly thought he was being wronged.
Which surprised me more I'm not quite sure: the look of reproach on his dirt-stained face, or the bizarre hue of his eyes. Lilac. Huge lilac-colored irises, staring out from beneath that mass of black curls and knitted eyebrows. And freckles---cheeks speckled with freckles. The face of a cherub attached to the body of a little demon.
His expression became noticeably different as he processed my bewilderment at his eye color, his face making the segue from righteous indignation to one of an acknowledged shame. My impression was that he didn't want to shift his gaze from me, for I was probably the first other human he could consciously remember seeing, but he was seemingly compelled to do so. "Yes," I remember thinking, "it’s clear to me." Without effort, I had tapped into some dark recess of memory which held the horrors of other looks of derogation because of those eyes. His face communicated an instilled self-loathing, as if my stare incorporated with it a message of derision he knew all too well at some time in the distant past. His eyes diverted downward from mine in a manner relegated to the inferior when in the presence of a superior.
While analyzing my stare, the boy had also realized my grip had loosened. Taking advantage of this, he pulled away, never once taking those curious eyes off of me until he was a good few feet beyond my reach. He was getting away, swimming slowly at first, then more swiftly, beckoning his little walrus friend to follow in his getaway. He never once looked back at me, his "superior," floating dumbfounded and mouth agape in the brackish water, with a throbbing headache and a head full of questions.
I'd let him escape, the sad little thing, but not for long. As self-reliant as he might have believed himself to be, he needed guidance, sustenance and protection, just as I had when, in my youth, I had been much the same, due to my own abandonment in infancy. He needed me, and as much as I hated to admit it, maybe I needed to be needed in that way. I'd follow him at a safe distance, determined to do my duty and take on a responsibility it was obvious no one else wanted. With a little time and some coaching from the learned Dr. Vulko back in Poseidonis, I'd find a way to reach out to the boy. But just then, I was letting him go.
"That's not the way it happened at aaalllll, Arthur! Tell Mera the reeeaaaal story this time!" The innocent, wide-open lilac eyes framed by ebony curls are beseeching me, as they often do these days. I try to look at him sternly but can't, as my attention is more drawn to surprised recognition of the fact that his gangly frame is beginning to show signs of impending manhood. My flame-haired bride laughs and tousles his unruly curls as the boy continues his silly harangue. "You've never used the word 'extricate' in your whole life, Arthur! Tell it all over again!" I give him that "...why, I oughta..." face and accompany it with the customary gesture of drawing my arm back in a mock expression of ire. "That's exactly as I remember it, Minnow, but it's your story. Tell it your own way."
------DB