Once upon a time there was an old traveling man who made his way through life telling stories. He was so good at telling short vignettes and even long tales that took days to finish. By the time he was done with some of the longer ones there would be a great big crowd and his bounty would be fat. Every so often someone would come up to the old man and tell him that his stories were so great that had he simply written them down he could be rich. There was but one problem, for this old man was cursed with no memory. Each morning he would wake with a tale in his head, and all too often he'd have no idea how it got there. If it were a continuation of one he told previously, chances were he couldn't tell. And so, as he were an old man, he simply looked at his patrons kindly, smiling, and nodding, "You're quite right."
Well there came a time when another man, not quite so old as our story teller, who followed our old man. He was but a poor fellow, who searched his life for meaning by watching others from his rags. He followed the old man from one town to the next until he learned the old man's plight. He didn't have to be especially careful about stalking the elderly tale turner, for the latter never recognized him. The moment of realization for the Follower occurred when he mentioned to the Old Man that there was fortune to be made from his stories. He received the same old look of vague understanding over-shadowed by an empty face of misunderstanding.
What a strange old fellow, the Follower thought to himself. So at first, he followed at a distance, sticking to the shadows and dusty alleys of the small towns and villages the Old Man wandered. Even from his donations, this Old Man must be making quite a healthy living, the Follower thought to himself, I wonder where he stores his money? So without cruel intent, the Follower kept watching the Old Man day by day, listening to his stories, and even writing much of them down. Peculiar, he thought to himself, why the king of these lands has not summoned such a wondrous creature to entertain him and his court. So he asked the old man one day why no one has hired him to do what he does so masterfully. The Old Man replied, "What? What do you mean? I just tell stories." Then it dawned upon his follower, he never can remember when he's been asked to appear for the humble highness.
The king of these particular land was loved very much. It was but a small island that he ruled, but the people all loved and cherished him very much for ruling with fairness and integrity. What a fortunate Old Man, the Follower thought to himself, that our king is so humble and undemanding! So the Follower followed the Old Man for a matter of time, traveling from town to town as he did. Never telling the same tale twice, nor visiting the same place twice. But this land was not all good and happy, and when the rains came, evil struck. The Follower observed the king's servants, who requested almost daily for the Old Man to visit, slowly stop coming so often. The Follower had made friends with the Old Man, but not close friends, for he had to work at it anew day by day. The Follower began tiring of the Old Man's forgetfulness, but his brilliant stories of love, fantasy, and adventure, kept him near. But as we discussed, the rains were upon the Old Man and his companion, the Follower, and with the rains, came a change in the Old Man's demeanor, and thus, a change in his stories.
The epic nature hadn't fluttered, but the subjects, and content slowly digressed into stories of killing, of death, of despair. It was about a month into the season of rains that the Follower began feeling very concerned for his beloved Old Man, but despite his efforts to follow him to the place he slept, the Old Man always managed to spin the Followers attention elsewhere, as if to transport him to another world, until the time he awoke from the fantasy, the Old Man was no where to be found, and he was sitting in some plaza with the moonlight shining upon him. Where could it be that this Old Man sleeps every night, he wondered. Does he find an inn? Or perhaps a peaceful nook? The Old Man certainly dressed humbly, but never looked dirty or malnourished. How could he be such a ghost? So the Follower devised a plan so as to avoid the Old Man's trance.
Taking up a couple pinches of cotton, the Follower stuffed his ears just as he was about to approach the Old Man one evening. He went through the regular routine of complimenting the Old Man on the excellent tale he had just shared, and finally conversation turned one-sided, and as the Follower watched tentatively, and observed the Old Man's facial expressions so as to gather an idea of a conclusion, the Follower acted as if his eyes were glazing over, and finally closed them half way as the muffled droning died down. He felt the Old Man touch his head lightly, lovingly, then as the touch drew away, he opened his eyes a little bit wider to see the Old Man sauntering away. The Follower carefully, drew the cotton out of his ears, and gave the Old Man a few paces before sneaking after him.
The Old Man journeyed through the night, the clouds encompassed the full moon, and before the Follower knew it, all was dark, and he could barely make out the figure not ten paces ahead of him. Thunder cracked through the night after a brief expression from Zeus that allowed the Follower to regain sight of his companion. The rain poured down in heavy pulses, like a heavy net catching then releasing him, pushing him, allowing make out the Old Man's back through the dazzling lightning. After hours of walking, the Old Man had reached the sea. How odd, the Follower, thought, he's not going to sleep on the beach?
But no, the Old Man did not stop at the beach. Instead, he paused at the water's edge, peering into the sea, as if waiting for something, perhaps someone. Hiding behind a bucking palm tree, the Follower watched in awe as small, sparkly lights began to emerge from the sea in front of the Old Man. The greenish glow illuminated the Old Man's calm, and almost indifferent. As the green lights in the water began to show more clearly and more brightly, the rain slowed to a halt, and the clouds shielding the moon passed. The scene in front of the Follower was now just as clear as day, but as if in a dream. There stood the Old Man, illuminated by the sea and the moon. He looked almost as if he were glowing. The Old Man slowly stepped into the water, which now seemed to be bubbling, though in a rather inviting nature, but as the Old Man submerged himself to the knees, a lunar eclipse began to take shape. The Follower nervously watched the eclipse and the Old Man, not wanting to lose sight of him. When he stood up his waist in the water, the moon was more than half blocked by the earth. The Follower thought quickly, if I'm to figure this out, I must follow the Old Man into the sea!
So the Follower leapt from behind his tree, just as the Old Man was about to disappear, and called out, "Old Man! Wait! Take me with you!" The Old Man turned to his old friend, water up to his neck, and smiled kindly, looking even, as if he recognized his follower. "Of course, old friend, follow closely, for the journey ahead shall change our existence." So the Follower waded in trying not to splash too much. He could feel the cool, soft sand beneath his feet and betwixt his toes. The surrounding water felt like a silk blanket, forever swirling around so as to be cool, yet warming. So the two descended into the green shadows into an underworld of fantastic reality. All the characters of the Old Man's stories - the mermaids, the seahorse-centaur men, the serpents, even the fairies floated around nonchalantly, easily. This is the Old Man's home, the Follower thought. He lives among these beings! He was awestruck, gawking left and right. He saw a merman with a transparent head speed by, chasing a beautiful mermaid with large breasts, taunting and teasing her follower. He saw sailors walking on the sea floor working on what looked like a wrecked vessel. They were hauling great big wooden kegs into a large cave. He saw lobster humanoids farming sea corn and sea radishes with hoes and tillers. The Old Man remained quiet until the pair approached a small cottage with a small porch light revealing a wooden door through which the Old Man opened, and ushered his guest into. The Follower was unafraid, and felt as though he were merely visiting an old friend's home. The Old Man sat down heavily, suddenly looking very tired, very old. "Come," he said, "sit down with me." And he produced a jug and poured two glasses of rum for his guest then himself.
"So, my friend, you have been by my side for quite some time now, and as you know, I've grown quite old, and my abilities to aid the king in keeping his citizens docile are diminishing." The Old Man indeed looked more exhausted than ever. He took a sip from his wooden cup. His companion did the same. The most soothing dose of rum dripped down into his tummy, filling him with a feeling of ambition. A small tremor of excitement quivered in his lower back.
At that moment a strong knock sounded from the door's exterior. The Old Man was already gazing at it as if expecting someone. He nudged the direction of the door with his chin and looked at the Follower, who thus opened the door, for his host looked almost unable to move by now. "Ah, thank you, my good sir," A large, dark-skinned and bald muscled man with tattoos of the sea stepped through the door, occupying the third seat at the table. He leaned a gleaming sparkling trident against the wall behind him, and rested his hand on the Old Man's shoulder in greeting, "Hello, old friend," adding somewhat jokingly, "you look awful spritely this evening," and chuckled before assuming a somber and deeply saddened look, "You've done well here in this land of Euneiro." The Old Man smiled and nodded in acceptance of his visitor's compliment. "Alas, it is time now, for you to enjoy peace, in all its glory," spoke the brown man, taking into his hands those of the Old Man, and bowing his head respectfully. The old man did the same, shimmering lightly, and then evaporating slowly into the night sky, with a unfaltering look of joyful calm upon his face.
Then only two guests of the Old Man were left sitting there. The Follower sipped nervously, yet anxiously at his cup until he noticed how dry it had become. The man who sent his friend above turned to him with the slightest hint of a smile, "Now you, my friend, shall take care of those who inhabit Euneiro, and it is you, who shall be the Old Man in the Sea.
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