Chapter 9 — Memento Mori
And thus begins Chapter Nine.
Now, children.
I was back on the boat.
Alive.
Unattached from parachute.
Risk assessment complete.
The Pimp Parasailing Initiative had successfully passed its first human trial.
Sample size:
one.
Subject:
Nuo.
Outcome:
survived.
The council nods.
Excellent.
Therefore
Hat’s turn.
Or so I assumed.
Hat looked at me.
Then at the chute.
Then
turned toward No Hat.
“Have at it, Samantha.”
Pause.
Children.
Legend.
Absolute legend.
The council erupts.
She had just watched me go up.
Watched me return safely.
Received the official Nuo Safety Certification:
“Yep.
Seems safe.”
And what did this woman conclude?
Not:
Wonderful, my turn.
No.
She required replication.
One successful trial?
Potential anomaly.
Two successful trials?
Now we’re building data.
Children.
Scientific method.
Observe.
Test.
Repeat.
Possibly sacrifice Golden Retriever.
The council nods respectfully.
Woman of science.
Perhaps she actually was a scientist.
Maybe engineer.
Maybe accountant.
Maybe professional butterfly collector.
I would not know.
Because, once again
I did not ask.
The council sighs.
Names?
Barely.
Professions?
No.
Countries?
Still no.
But mortality philosophy?
Discussed extensively.
Perfect.
Now.
There had been another development.
“Samantha.”
The council looks toward No Hat.
Government name acquired.
Yes.
No Hat apparently possessed a government designation.
Samantha.
Children.
Denied.
The Ancient Naming System had already ruled.
No Hat.
Golden Retriever.
The council stamps the file.
SAMANTHA:
REJECTED FOR ARCHIVAL USE.
NO HAT:
CANONICAL.
Thank you.
So No Hat stepped forward.
Or bounced forward.
Hard to know with Golden Retriever Energy.
The Pimp attached her.
Checks.
Harness.
Whatever procedure he had performed with me.
And then
boat moves.
Wind catches.
Up.
Children.
No Hat ascended.
Higher.
Farther.
Smaller.
Smaller.
Until
tiny person.
A little dot hanging in the sky behind us.
And unlike Nuo,
who had apparently entered silent angel mode
No Hat provided audio feedback.
The council hears distant joy.
Yes.
Children.
Based entirely on the noises travelling down from the heavens
she was having a wonderful fucking time.
No advanced psychological interpretation necessary.
The Golden Retriever had been given temporary flight.
Of course she was delighted.
The council smiles.
There are combinations the universe gets right.
Dog plus beach.
Nuo plus weird road.
Golden Retriever human plus parasailing.
Correct.
Eventually
descent.
Controlled again.
Pimp Version functioning.
No Hat returned.
Alive.
Happy.
Second trial
successful.
The council updates the dataset.
N = 2.
MORTALITY RATE:
Zero.
PROMISING.
Exactly.
Now
Hat.
No more experimental subjects available.
Children.
Her turn.
She looked at the chute.
And something shifted.
The confidence from shore?
Less.
The confidence that had allowed her to volunteer me?
Excellent.
The confidence that had allowed her to volunteer No Hat?
Flawless.
But now
she had to become the person attached to the parachute.
Different.
The council nods.
Fear becomes more persuasive when it belongs to your own body.
Exactly.
I watched her.
She hesitated.
Not dramatically.
No breakdown.
No:
Take me back to shore.
But I could see it.
That little pause.
That almost step backward inside the mind.
The moment where:
Maybe not.
begins forming.
Children.
She was on the precipice.
And
not on my watch.
The council turns slowly toward Nuo.
What did you do?
I stepped closer.
Raised one finger.
Placed it
on her forehead.
Pause.
The council stares.
Forehead?
Yes.
Children.
Like some wise old sage.
If the wise old sage had forgotten to groom properly
and looked vaguely homeless.
The council accepts the visual.
Hat looked at me.
I looked at Hat.
And said two words.
“Memento mori.”
Silence.
The council goes quiet.
That was all.
No speech.
No:
You only live once.
No:
Conquer your fears.
No:
Imagine how much you’ll regret this.
Nothing.
Children.
She knew what it meant.
That was the point.
Remember you must die.
Not:
Therefore be reckless.
Important distinction.
Mortality does not automatically command stupidity.
Sometimes fear is correct.
Sometimes backing away is wisdom.
But mortality does ask one useful question:
If the only thing stopping you is fear
is this one of the moments you want fear to own?
Hat understood whatever she needed to understand.
The council nods.
One finger.
Two words.
And apparently
enough.
Because she went.
Children.
I claim full credit.
The council objects.
Hat made her own decision.
Fine.
Fully caused by my intervention
after Hat independently retained complete agency over her own choices.
Happy?
Marginally.
Good.
Pimp strapped her in.
Checked everything.
Boat moved.
Chute caught air.
And
Hat flew.
The council watches.
Up.
Away.
The Woman of Culture now suspended above Kovalam.
The person who had first noticed my bracelet
now literally acting on the philosophy engraved into it.
Children.
Poetic?
Perhaps.
Story Nuo yesterday?
He probably just thought:
Ayyy she did it.
Protect immediacy.
Always.
Hat stayed up.
Came back down.
Pimp once again demonstrated impressive competence.
And when she returned?
Alive.
Obviously.
But more importantly
happy.
Children.
She had enjoyed it.
The hesitation had not predicted disaster.
This time.
That matters.
Because fear is complicated.
The council grows quiet.
Fear saves lives.
Frequently.
It exists for reasons older than language.
The body sees danger
and says:
Maybe don’t.
Sometimes that voice is the only reason you make it home.
And sometimes
the danger is sufficiently controlled,
the risk acceptable enough,
and fear simply robs you of a few wonderful minutes.
Children.
The terrible part?
You usually don’t know which situation you’re in
until afterward.
That is why fear is useful
and irritating
at the same time.
You decide with incomplete information.
Hat did.
I did.
No Hat barely appeared to acknowledge the existence of mortality,
but perhaps that is simply Golden Retriever privilege.
The council laughs.
And for Nuo?
My own relationship with self preservation has historically been
inconsistent.
Let us use that word.
The council approves strongly.
I am often more persuaded by:
This will make a great story
than any rational adult should be.
That is not wisdom.
It is simply part of the machinery.
And yesterday,
the machinery produced:
Go first.
So I went.
Hat needed a push.
I gave her one.
And thankfully
all three of us returned smiling.
Children.
That is the version where recklessness becomes anecdote instead of tragedy.
We were lucky enough to receive it.
Now.
All participants temporarily airborne?
Check.
Nuo?
Flew.
No Hat?
Flew.
Hat?
Flew.
The council closes the experiment.
PARASAILING SIDE QUEST:
COMPLETE.
The boat turned.
Toward shore.
Kovalam growing larger again.
The beach expanding from line
to place.
Buildings returning.
People becoming people instead of dots.
Wind.
Engine.
Water.
And eventually
shore.
We got off.
Collected phones from the Pimp Box.
Children.
Still there.
No missing electronics.
No surprise surcharge.
No kidnapping.
No death.
No hidden twist.
Pimp Number One had delivered the service.
Completely.
The council upgrades him.
PIMP NUMBER ONE:
Unexpectedly Competent Adventure Tourism Professional.
Bit long.
Keep Pimp Number One.
Fair.
We thanked him.
Genuinely.
Because whatever absurd path had brought us there,
the experience had been excellent.
And then
away.
Back toward Lighthouse Beach.
Home base.
The council pauses.
Home base?
Apparently.
Children.
A place can become home base very quickly.
One successful swim.
Two dogs.
One philosophical conversation.
Suddenly:
Return point established.
So we walked back.
Nuo.
Hat.
No Hat.
No government introductions.
No tourist schedule.
Just the trio returning from temporary flight.
And when we reached the beach
plop.
Children.
Again.
Sand.
Legs crossed.
No urgency.
The adrenaline was still inside us,
but beginning to drain.
The body transitioning from:
WE HAVE BEEN IN THE SKY
to:
perhaps sit now.
Good.
Then
dogs.
The council smiles.
Of course.
Eventually,
the local ambassadors returned.
One wandered over.
Then perhaps another.
Dog Protocol activated immediately.
No Hat
straight into it.
Naturally.
She pet them.
Played with them.
Golden Retriever tending to colleagues.
Children.
No explanation required.
And me?
One dog ended up on my lap.
Beautiful.
The council looks pleased.
Very.
Beach.
Dog on lap.
Fresh parasailing memory.
Hat beside me.
No Hat somewhere nearby with dogs.
The day had reached another plateau.
Hat and I talked.
Nothing dramatic necessarily.
Then she thanked me.
For the forehead.
For the two words.
For making sure she did not back out.
The council looks at Nuo.
Response?
Smirk.
Children.
Confident smirk.
Possibly deranged.
The kind of expression that says:
Yes.
I have once again interfered with another person’s fear response
and luckily received a positive outcome.
The council sighs.
No speech?
No need.
She knew.
I knew.
Memento mori.
Conversation already established.
No explanation necessary.
And I liked that.
Children.
Some phrases become larger once two people share the context behind them.
Had I said:
Memento mori
to No Hat?
Perhaps she would have understood.
Perhaps not.
But Hat?
She had been the first stranger to look at my bracelet
and recognize exactly what it represented.
So when I touched her forehead
and said those words
there was no translation step.
The whole earlier conversation came with them.
Mortality.
Impermanence.
Living while there is life to live.
Not because death makes every risk worthwhile.
It doesn’t.
But because death makes some fears worth examining.
The council nods.
And this one
in hindsight
had been.
Hat had flown.
Had fun.
Returned.
Now sat on sand.
That was enough.
No revelation required.
Then
quiet.
Children.
Adrenaline is strange.
While present?
Energy.
Laughing.
Movement.
Everything sharp.
Then it leaves.
And suddenly the body sends the invoice.
The council opens the bill.
EXHAUSTION:
Increasing.
Yes.
We sat.
The dogs settled.
The sea continued.
The day still technically young,
but light beginning its slow movement toward evening.
No hurry.
No next objective yet.
Tour Guide Nuo had completed:
Swimming.
Parasailing.
Crash testing.
Philosophical fear intervention.
An impressive first shift.
The council checks salary.
Still zero.
Incorrect.
I gained flight.
Fair.
Better compensation.
And there we stayed.
Hat perhaps looking toward the water.
No Hat with dogs.
Nuo with one on lap.
No need to fill every silence.
That easy quality remained.
Children.
I had met them because they asked where they could swim.
Hours later,
we had all been dangling above the Arabian Sea
because a pimp happened to own a speedboat.
That is a successful Wandering afternoon.
The council cannot dispute this.
And still
the day wasn’t done.
But we were slower now.
The morning curiosity had become afternoon companionship.
The initial stranger distance had largely dissolved.
We still knew almost nothing conventionally useful about one another.
Names?
One accidentally acquired and immediately rejected.
Nationality?
Still perhaps unknown.
Jobs?
No clue.
Yet I knew
Hat understood memento mori.
Hat could be afraid and still choose.
No Hat loved dogs.
No Hat loved water.
No Hat emitted enough joy to qualify as renewable energy.
The council approves.
And they knew things about me too.
Local ish.
Jingling bracelet.
Questionable navigation.
Will mock you about lighthouses.
Will hire pimps as adventure guides.
Apparently willing to go first.
Children.
Friendship profiles complete.
Why clutter them with surnames?
The council refuses to endorse this database design.
Fine.
We sat.
Sun lower than before.
Waves.
Dogs.
Adrenaline fading.
Exhaustion arriving.
And I remember being content.
Again.
That has been the rhythm of Kovalam so far.
Something happens.
Then
peace.
Strangers.
Then dogs.
Parasailing.
Then sand.
The Wandering surges
and settles.
Surges
and settles.
Like the sea itself.
Present Nuo thought?
Yes.
Story Nuo yesterday?
Dog heavy.
Leg numb.
Probably.
The council laughs.
Good.
Let him have that.
Thus concludes Chapter Nine.
The Successful First Trial.
Hat’s Immediate Commitment To Scientific Replication.
“Have At It, Samantha.”
The Government Name.
The Archive’s Immediate Rejection Of Said Government Name.
No Hat’s Flight.
The Distant Golden Retriever Noises.
The Second Successful Trial.
Hat’s Hesitation.
The Wise Sage Wearing A Homeless Man’s Skin.
The Finger On The Forehead.
The Two Words:
“Memento Mori.”
The Decision.
Hat’s Flight.
The Return.
The Reminder That Fear Can Save A Life
Or Steal A Wonderful Moment,
And That We Rarely Know Which Until Afterward.
The Completed Airborne Trio.
The Ride Back.
The Surprisingly Excellent Service From Pimp Number One.
The Return To Lighthouse Beach.
The Plop.
The Dogs.
The Golden Retriever Initiating Protocol.
The Dog On Nuo’s Lap.
Hat’s Thank You.
The Deranged Smirk.
And
The Adrenaline Fading.
Children.
Hat had watched me fly
and decided one successful test was insufficient.
So she sent No Hat.
Then,
when there was nobody else left to sacrifice,
fear finally caught up with her.
I touched her forehead.
“Memento mori.”
She went.
She flew.
She came back smiling.
And sometime later,
all three of us sat on the beach again,
surrounded by dogs,
the sky beginning to lean toward evening.
Nobody flying.
Nobody testing anything.
Just
plopped.
And happy.
