Sandcastle

“I thought I might find you here.”
What do you mean? You brought me this time, didn’t you?
“I didn’t really want to go along on this one, but when I realized I wasn’t staring at the ceiling anymore, I discovered I was standing on the beach. I was hoping to not dream at all tonight, my dreams just keep repeating old broken wishes.”
Then, you should take advantage of getting stuck in what must be one of mine.
“Not really the loveliest day you’ve chosen.”
I didn’t get to choose that: the storm wasn’t because of me. I'm pretty sure this is you.
Pause. "Sigh."
Want to talk about it?
“I’m going to take a walk, see what’s washed up on the waves, by myself. I’ll meet you back here later. Don’t look at me like that, I just need to sort myself out. Here, I’ll need to come back for these.” You pull off your shoes and hand them to me.
(“Wait, looking at me like what? You weren’t using the eyebrow on me were you?”
Actually, I wasn’t aware of looking at you in a particular way, I thought I was just listening. Anyway, you’ve turned to head along the beach now, so the expression you can’t see seems like an unnecessary detail.)
Okay, I’ll stay here. I’ve got another project to work on. If you need anything out there, send me a message in a bottle, and I’ll write it in for you.
(“You’re going to let me go all windblown like that? How about something to keep the hair out of my eyes?”
Good call. Let me take care of that now before you get too far.)
Hey wait! Take my cap.
“Thanks.”
I watch you head down the waterline, waiting a bit to see if you turn to take a look back. When you’ve gotten small enough for me to hold in my palm, I head up toward the dunes where there’s a place to sit, and I pull my notebook out of the backpack. I chew on my pen cap for a minute sorting the ideas while looking out over the whitecaps. Then start scribbling…

·······
The Sandcastle

Dramatis Personæ
Princess, sovereign of the land
Captain, master of the Old Guard

Act I.
Scene I. The Walls. The outer edge of the castle defenses. The sky is filled with dark, fast-moving clouds. Many of the structures are damaged, the flora bent and tattered by the wind, and the streets full of washed-up debris. The CAPTAIN walks the wall looking out over the sea. His uniform is soaked, and it’s clear that he has been busy during the storm. He leans heavily on the wall and takes a deep breath.

Captain The storm seems to have passed, though that sky still threatens rain. At least the tide has turned back. He turns to look inside the walls. Nothing seems to be ruined, but there’s much damaged and broken. That was quite a storm, and struck by surprise. It would sure feel good to turn in now, hope nothing else happens. The storm’s efforts to sap these outer walls has sapped me as well. Too much of what needs to be done seems pressing: some portions need to be propped up, the cracks need to be quickly patched, communications need to be restored. He motions to the people coming out onto the street. They are scared and anxious murmurs run through the crowd. Things will only return to normal if the protectors can provide an image of steadiness and ability. The castle would not stand long without some cohesiveness. And the castle must stand.

The CAPTAIN walks heavily down the stairs off the wall. He pulls off his gauntlets to clasp his hands together to warm them and squeeze the fatigue out. Then he rubs the sand out of his whiskers, and rolls his head around over his shoulders. He stretches his arms out to the sides, but his mail doesn’t give enough for a full stretch. He closes one eye, closes the other, closes both. He starts to sway, nearly floating,…and suddenly he shakes both eyes open and he stands stock still.

Captain Something’s not right, something nagging me about this moment. A shiver pulls me back to now. I need to keep my center and stay sharp. Maybe it’s nothing, just the warm sweat meeting the cold mist at the base of my neck. He goes to wipe it off. As he does, his eyes are drawn up to the heights, where they are drawn into focus by a flicker of movement. A white feather flag flies from the upper tower. That can’t be right: why surrender now, after surviving the worst? Something is wrong up there. Snap to legs, be tired later. The princess doubts, so that flag is where I must be. He tucks his gloves into his belt and starts running. He takes the shortest route, going over rather than around obstacles. People in the street step back into the doorway or jump aside to avoid being run down as he passes without pause. His legs falter where the pavement shifts, but he either survives on his momentum or throws himself back up from his knees.

Scene II. The Parapet. The wind rushes across here, at the highest point in the realm. The PRINCESS stands facing the sea. Her head is bowed, her hair blowing wild behind her. Her eyes are shut tightly to the wind, though it drives sand-crusted trails of tears from their corners.

Princess The castle has become a prison of memories. Every view looks backward. I give it up and would have it destroyed before I have to look on it again.

The CAPTAIN enters. He winces as he takes a knee. He is out of breath and unable to speak. The princess’ eyes remain closed, and she does not notice his arrival.

Princess I will seek my freedom by destroying my prison. I will leave nothing standing. She circles the top of the tower blindly, swinging her fists and destroying each crenellation in turn. Sprays of sand fill the air. She nearly stumbles over the CAPTAIN. Be gone. I release all of my subjects – flee this cursed place before I bring it down upon you. Go now, every one of you must go. She pushes his shoulders. He offers no effort of resistance, but she cannot overcome his inertia. She turns back away to begin again at tearing down the walls. The CAPTAIN reaches up and catches her wrist when she draws it back for the next swing. He does not resist as she pulls free and swings through, bringing down the next portion of the wall, but the rage leaves her face. She reaches back again and pauses, and hesitantly he again catches her wrist. They remain motionless, without struggle. She turns to face him, eyes still closed, and he releases her wrist. This time, it is she that catches him, by his withdrawing hand. Recognition is reflected in her features. Captain,… how did you get here?
C. It doesn’t matter, I am here now.
P. It was good of you to come, but you find me at the end of my reign. My very domain has been turned against me in every piece.
C. Impossible. It is all here for you – look at it.
P. I can’t look – every view pours in symbols and reminders of what I’ve lost. Everything has become loss for me. I leave sight behind, and by adding that to the roll of what’s lost I can lessen my sense of it.
C. All is loss?
P. Everything. I have become estranged to everything.
C. Even me? How can my arrival signify loss?
P. I’ve never been able to see you clearly – you may be my lone exception.
C. Then use your exception as a sea-glass talisman: show it to your loss and reintroduce your self.
P. No. It’s too soon. I can’t look – the memories’ claims on me overwhelm my claim on them.
C. Then look at them through my glass: let it filter your loss and magnify your power.
The CAPTAIN releases the PRINCESS’ wrist and stands. Her hands drop to her sides.
C. Offer me your hand and I will guide you where I know how to go.
Long pause. The two figures stand still as the wind picks up.
·······

“Hey you”
Hey yourself. Have a good walk?
“It was okay, it’s a relief to lose myself in searching the sand rather than sifting through my own doubts.”
Yikes. Must not’ve distracted you enough. Find anything interesting?
“Some shells, some empty seed cases, a beer fossil.”
A what?
“Nothing, just a piece of sea-glass. I was trying to make it sound interesting.”
D’you come back to talk?
“Don’t push. My feet are tired, that’s all. Thought I might sit a while.”
(You want a chair or a blanket?
“What do you mean?”
Couldn’t decide if you’d rather sit and read or lie down and read.
“Blanket probably. I might doze off – I’ve been doing a lot of sleeping recently. You going to let me read what you’re working on?”
Now you don’t push…)
Here, I brought a blanket if you want it.
“I should’ve brought that book you lent me at the beach.”
(“Or, again, you could let me see what you’ve got right there in the notebook.”
Just wait till it’s finished, I’ll give me something else for you.)
I just finished a short one, easy to read. It’s still in my bag here. And a sweatshirt, you want that too?
“Yeah, it is chilly. How’s that piece coming along?”
Flawed, of course. Really unsure about what happens next.
“Sounds like something I know – lend me that book? Is it something cheerful?”
Hopeful at least. Here you go. I’m gonna get back to work. Feel free to interrupt.

·······
Act II.
Scene I. The Parapet. The PRINCESS and the CAPTAIN stand apart, inert. Their hands hang at their sides. The PRINCESS’ head is down. The CAPTAIN is attentive. This pause goes on a beat too long. Finally, her head and arm slowly raise, and he catches her hand in his. Her eyes remain closed.
C. Your hand is cold from being out here. Take these. With his free hand, he takes his gloves out and puts them to her free hand.
P. Pushing the gloves away. No, I don’t wear gloves now – my hands will get used to being cold.
C. Be cold when you must, but here are gloves for you. They’re not cardinal, nor trimmed with bright clean fur, but they know how to be useful.
P. You misunderstand me, these gloves are fit for any princess. Sometimes it’s the princess that does not fit.
C. The only true test of that is for her to put them on. He puts a glove on each of her hands. They are much too big, and their worn and marked leather sharply contrasts with her fine linen and brocade.
P. These are just right. My hands and I thank you Captain.
C. All of you are welcome, now take my arm and we shall tour. He places her hand on his arm and guides her to the stair. The wind whistles at the doorway.
P. This weather is to spite me. Sand bites at me, blown by a cold wind out of a cloudy sky. A harsh contrast to days so recent of sun on my face.
C. When the smile returns to your face, a warm sun will be back to admire it and leave a kiss upon your cheek. Circumstances are as changeable as the weather. The smile will always be at your command.
P. The smile is as imprisoned as I by the past. Hearing the whistling sound of the wind used to remind me of departures to joyful meetings and arrivals of a fond friend. These reminders are now painful in the same measure in which they were treasured.
C. When you told of them before, they were untarnished treasures – have they lost all their luster?
P. Before now, the travel of the past held the promise of future travel together. Where shall I go now? And who will arrive for me?
C. The wind could carry your fancy where you will, the happiness you have to take with you. For now, travel with me close to home.
P. For now, then. Lead on.
They descend the circular stair. He switches sides to give her the wider end of the tread. On the final steps, his knee protests and he missteps and has to let go. The princess carefully descends the rest of the way alone, and holds her hand out, seeking.
P. Captain? Are you alright?
He straightens himself up and retakes her hand.
C. Yes, fine thank you, pay it no mind. Let us continue.
P. First you must find a place to sit. I won’t go any further until you do.
C. Well, since you insist – here, let’s take this bench.
He guides her back up against the bench and she takes a seat. He leans forward and rests, hands leaning on his thighs.
C. You look thoughtful and distant.
P. One of the happiest moments of my life was being carefully observed on a bench such as this. The same height, the same contour, the same temperature, the same feel of the edge. Even the conversation is still in my ear. I remember it, but as if it were someone else’s memory. And I feel like I have faded now those eyes are gone.
C. My eyes see you now, and you are not faded. You are genuine, and because of that, your presence exceeds your silhouette and fills the room.
P. Still, I feel my spirit detached from the room and drawn toward that other, phantom bench. Sit with me Captain, and secure me to this present bench. She makes room, and he sits. She reaches, and he takes her hand once more. They sit quietly in the present, but now and again a tear escapes as the past intrudes. He notices, wipes the first tear with his free hand, and adds it to clasp hers.
·······

“Psst – Can I get the backpack from you? Sorry.”
Yeah, sure. You done with the book already?
“No, just too restless to read anymore. You got a shovel somewhere in that pack of yours?”
Why? Re-entrenching?
“Cute. But way too early for you to try to make jokes out of it.”
I know, sorry. That one slipped out before I could catch it.
“Yeah, well now I’ve got the shovel, you might want to be more careful or you might ‘catch it’”
Lo! She is woman with tools. Hear her – Fear her.
(“’Lo’? What’s that all about?”
Wow, I really said that? The dialogue of my characters is bad enough, now I’m starting to do it.
“Yeah, and can I use that ‘Hear her – Fear her’ as my new slogan? That’s sure to bring them running from every corner.”
You know what? You leave that here with me in the shop for a while. I’ll polish it up a bit, make it shine, maybe take the sharper edges off…
“Could I get a trade-in instead?”
I’ll have to talk to my manager…)
You need any help with that shovel? I could come along.
“Don’t worry, li’l ol’ me can handle digging some sand. You get back to the notebook, and I better not come back and read anything like ‘Lo’ in it. I’ll be right down near the waves. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of the backpack.”
You’d better, I’m still holding your shoes as collateral.
You walk out, and, after a dozen steps, look back to make sure I’m watching. Not a smile there exactly, but at least your eyes seemed playful.

·······
Act II.
Scene II. Interior Castle. The PRINCESS and the CAPTAIN still sitting on the bench.
C. There’s still much to recover.
P. You’ve won me back the bench.
C. At least some small part of Bench, whatever part this moment is worth.
P. Maybe we should be content to have Bench. Isn’t Bench enough?
C. I admit that a part of me rebels; it would be so much easier to stand down. I could be content with this bench alone and find it a happy kingdom if you could open your eyes to all of it.
P. I cannot, I am marooned on this island kingdom of Bench with you. My cruel jailer has surrounded me with a sea of painful reminders in every direction.
C. Then I renounce this throne and set out on an expedition across the threatening sea. I’ll trade this grand kingdom for the return of your freedom.
P. I’m ready then. She stands and pulls his hand for him to rise.
C. A moment. Just a moment.
P. Are you hurt?
C. No, quite the opposite. Just wanted a moment more to enjoy my brief small empire of rest. He stands, and they set off down the hall. The first door they come to is the library. They enter.
C. Rows upon rows of stories. Some of them must still be happy.
P. So Much writing back and forth. In some ways we had become writing to each other.
C. Show me your favorite line.
P. Show me some way to know when they are sincere.
C. I know a great deal about words, but I’ve never found a formula with which to measure their truth.
P. If there is no way to know, how am I to return to words?
C. You can’t calculate the truth, but you can know it.
P. How do I know?
C. Read them, the words harmonize with you according to their truth.
P. I don’t understand – find me a true line and read it to me.
C. Here are some at the very first page of this one:
When they write my obituary. Tomorrow. Or the next day. It will say, LEO GURSKY IS SURVIVED BY AN APARTMENT FULL OF SHIT. I'm surprised I haven't been buried alive. The place isn't big. I have to struggle to keep a path clear...
P. Must you use fiction as an example?
C. From memory:
Something begins, and already it is no longer the beginning, but something else, propelling us into the heart of the thing that is happening. If we were to suddenly stop and ask ourselves, "Where are we going?", or "Where are we now?", we would be lost, for at each moment we are no longer where we were, but have left ourselves behind, irrevocably, in a past that has no memory, a past endlessly obliterated by a motion that carries us into the present.
P. I can find no surety in that, find me work by another writer.
C. Here is an obscure one:
When I arrived, it was clear I had overestimated the formality of the occasion. I was looking forward to meeting Maupassant – I had been told he was interested in sharing ideas about the short form. Pierre-August, who had invited me, had also promised to share his thoughts on the strength of brevity in description and depiction.
P. I remember,... perhaps there’s some possibility for words…
C. Come now, we’ve should build on that with our next advance.
At the end of the hall, they stop at the door to the kitchen. Sounds of meal preparation come through the door.
C. It’s been a long day for you – you should eat.
P. I can’t. I haven’t been hungry.
C. Smell that, and see if it doesn’t return your appetite.
P. I sense only the aroma of other meals. The first one, the one prepared together, choosing the ingredients, the one at the favorite place, the stove and the oven, the flowers or candles, the smoke off the pan when I got distracted.
C. Let me open the door then , and give today’s kitchen a chance: today’s ripe produce, the freshly baked bread, the newly started fire… From within the kitchen, he pulls out a loaf of bread and a small bottle. He breaks the bread and the steam rises up to her. She breathes it in. He breaks a piece off, and she lets him put it in her mouth. He opens the bottle and puts it in her hand. She holds it uncertainly.
C. In an apologetic tone. The kitchen may be accustomed to keeping a bottle handy for me, just not a glass.
P. Take care not to admit too much. She takes a drink from the bottle and hands it back to him. This is yours I believe. He takes it and takes a longer drink. She leans against the wall. No more, there’s no escape for me there either. This wine only tastes like that evening, and that outing, and that visit, and,… that toast together. She pulls away and feels along the wall until she finds another door, and pushes out into the courtyard. He starts out after her, dropping the bottle, it breaks when it lands.

Scene III. The Courtyard. The PRINCESS enters. She runs blinly across the courtyard to the opposite wall and leans against it. The CAPTAIN follows, slower, stopping at arm’s length from her.
C. Princess,…
P. Still, it’s every moment. The sand under my feet is a distant sand. This wall is another distant wall. How can I ever escape? The prison holds me on the outside, and binds me also within. It constricts my breathing, it stings my eyes, it muffles my voice. My movements are strained under spectral chains. My neck and shoulders ache from hammering rocks seen only by me. I can’t hold up against it. She trembles, the wall is not enough to hold her. Her hands drop, the gloves fall off her hands to the ground. The CAPTAIN steps in to catch her by her elbow and waist.
P. Let me fall.
C. If you think I could let you fall, you must not understand what it is to be the Captain.
P. This prison is enormous and complete. Who could build such a thing. The Builder must have such power at their command. How can I hope to ever change it or break free?
C. Come with me and I will show you that the Builder is indeed powerful. She leans heavily on him, and he helps her towards the base of the tower. Lend me your hand. She lifts a hand to him, and he holds the back of her hand in his palm and draws it across the wall where it has been smoothed out. Her fingertips fit exactly in the channels as they walk along the wall. At the base of the tower he takes her other hand as well. At the base, where it has been patted solid to stand, he places her hands into each pair of hand prints. Here,…and here,…and here,…and here,…and here,…and here. This is your castle. It draws the attention of all who pass. Everything that’s good about it came from you. Everything else is within your power to re-make as you would like. He releases her hands steps back and kneels. She remains standing with her hands in a set of imprints. She scoops a handful of sand out of the tower and squeezes it into a ball in her hand. She passes the ball from one hand to the other back and forth several times before smoothing it back into the wall.
P. I may need some help.
C. Opening his arms wide. There are many people willing to provide it.
P. Captain, please take me back up to my tower.

Act III.
Atop the tower again. The wind still blowing, but now snapping a red banner in the place of the feather flag. The PRINCESS stands by herself at the crumbled edge of the wall she brought down. The CAPTAIN enters carrying two large buckets of sand.
C. Here they are, as you requested.
P. She turns and looks at him. Place them over here by me, then leave me to my work.
C. I look forward to gazing up at the results.
P. I had this idea for adding something new…
·······

Raindrops begin to strike the page, making the handwriting even blotchier. Damn, guess that’s that for today. I fold up the notebook, grab up the odds and ends and head down to find you. You’re brushing your hands off and pulling the umbrella out of the backpack.
You’ve been busy. That’s quite the sandcastle you’ve got there. Let me get a picture before it washes away.
“You like it?”
I do, but do you?
“Some parts of it”
What’s that at the front gate.
“Just a figure of a knight I found in the sand. He stands at the gate in case the castle gets threatened.”
Looks like this rain’s gonna bring your castle down.
“That’s fine. I’ll just use what’s left as the foundation for the next one. It’s really starting to rain hard though. Why don’t you get yourself under the umbrella here and let’s walk. Just a sec’, let me grab the Captain there, he’s coming along.”
The Captain?
“Just what I decided to call him. Maybe we could see if there’s someplace to sit down out of the rain.”
Good idea. I think there should be a coffee shop or a pizza place on the boardwalk down there.
“Well, let’s get going”
You’ve got something there, a concept in your sandcastle I wish I could capture. Some sort of hybrid between ‘life being in the living of it’ and ‘the process of becoming’.
“Or,…the Transitory? – the part of sandcastling that is knowing that it’s temporary?”
Yeah, that’s part of it too. Each castle may be temporary. Then what you said about building another one – the builder’s Continuity that transcends each individual castle. The Builder builds a temporary castle in the sand, but the better the castle, the more permanent effect it makes within the Builder.
“Even the Builders are temporary though, so even the ‘permanent effect’ is temporary”
How about: Once you realize you live in a castle made of sand, the importance of living well in this moment becomes clear.
“That’s close to being something, not sure you’re quite done working on it though.”
Yeah, well, that’s just it, isn’t it?
“Speaking of ‘working on it’, did your story in the notebook work out alright?”
Some of the meanings escaped me, or were too ponderous. I don’t think I controlled the themes like I wanted. And, I’m pretty sure I overemphasized the male lead.
“Men usually do”
Ouch. Maybe I oughtta do some pre-editing before I let you read it then?
“Selfish, and so rude, drag me along for this one and then you don’t even share it.”
You seemed like you needed some alone time.
“Yeah, maybe I do, but I’ve come to expect a story.”
(You mean, ‘look forward’ to a story?
“Don’t get to ahead of yourself putting words in my mouth.”
So, you don’t look forward to them?
“Didn’t I just ask for a story. Sheesh. You might talk to the Captain about being a bit less wishy-washy.”
Alright, next time he’s around, I’ll have a talk with him.)
The ideas for the next one are pretty well formed.
“What’s the next one?”
Let’s go in here to warm up and dry out, and I’ll tell you over some tea.