Chapter 3: The Fishmonger

The old soul found itself immersed in a past life unbeknownst to it, witnessing the unfolding tale of a village besieged by famine. Ashwood, nestled alongside the shimmering waters of the river, was home to Hadriah, a humble fishmonger, and her family. Following the passing of her husband, Hadriah took up his trade, striving to provide for her son, known as the village simpleton. Recognizing Sadah's unique nature, Hadriah often brought him along to assist with the day's catch, hoping to both keep him occupied and impart some semblance of a trade. Lost in the rhythm of the river's flow, Sadah's gentle demeanor and distant gaze spoke of a world beyond the village's confines.

Approaching Sadah with a warm smile, Hadriah beckoned, "Come, my dear. It's time to help haul in the fish."

Sadah nodded silently, his eyes reflecting the dancing sunlight on the water's surface. "Yes, mother. I will help."

As they toiled side by side, Hadriah's affection for her son shone brightly with every glance exchanged. "You have a gentle soul, Sadah. The river speaks to you, doesn't it?"

Sadah nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Yes, mother. It whispers secrets of another time."

Hadriah paused in her work, studying Sadah with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What secrets does the river whisper to you, my son?" she asked gently, her voice tinged with both affection and apprehension.

Sadah's distant gaze focused on the shimmering surface of the water, as if seeking answers in its depths. "It tells me of a time when the land was lush and bountiful," he murmured softly, his words carried away by the gentle breeze. "Of a time before the famine, when the fields were ripe with harvest and the people lived in peace."

Hadriah's brow furrowed, a flicker of sadness crossing her features. "But those times are long gone, Sadah. They are merely fables told by grandparents of a time when there was plenty," she said, her voice heavy with resignation. "We must focus on the present and do what we can to survive."

Sadah nodded, his expression solemn. "I know, mother. But if dreams could become reality, we would all be fat," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, when I listen closely, I can almost hear the laughter of children and the songs of the villagers echoing in the wind. The sea carries memories, water never forgets. On its currents there is so much colour and song."

Hadriah's heart ached at her son's words, knowing the burden he carried within him. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You have a gift, Sadah," she said softly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "A gift to see beauty and hope where others see only despair. Hold onto that gift, my son, for it will sustain you in the darkest of times."

Sadah smiled faintly, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thank you, mother," he whispered, his voice filled with love and appreciation.

Together, mother and son continued their work, their bond strengthened by the unspoken understanding that flowed between them like a river. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow upon the water, Sadah couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. “Look mother, I placed a fish into the basket!” He beamed with joy for not letting the slippery fish escape his grasp.

“That is wonderful! You will become the best fisherman in the village soon.” Hadriah smiled encouragingly.

Life in the village of Ashwood was a constant struggle, especially for Sadah and his family. Each day was a battle against hunger. It was a good day. Normally, the mother and son would go on fishing for a weeks without finding anything. During times like these, Sadah would venture into the woods to forage for whatever scraps of food he could find. Usually, it would be leaves of bushes or random roots of trees half dead.

Meanwhile, in the village square, whispers of a different kind filled the air. The villagers, with their narrow minds and harsh judgments, cast wary glances at Sadah as he passed by.

"Simpleton," muttered one, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Possessed, I tell you," added another, crossing herself for protection.

The children, fueled by ignorance and mischief, trailed behind Sadah, their laughter piercing the tranquil morning air, circulating like a toxic cloud.

Ignoring the mockery that came his way, Sadah smiled at the air, happily greeting some unseen force that passed by with the wind “Greetings.”

"Look at Sadah, lost in his own world!" one child exclaimed, his words laced with ridicule.

"Let's play a prank on him!" suggested another, eyes gleaming with mischief.

The children, emboldened by their herd mentality and fueled by the desire to assert their dominance on one who is different, concocted a scheme designed to ruin the good mood of even the most cheerful disposition. They whispered among themselves, their laughter tinged with malice.

The cruel sounds of laughter faded as mother and son walked on. Crossing an intersection into another street behind his mother, Sadah hummed to himself, happy to be carrying the basket of 5 fish.

“Wait here.” Hadriah told her son as she took the basket in front of the local tavern. “Don’t go anyway. Just sit here.”

“Yes mother,” Sadah smiled and sat on the steps, smiling at a passing fly, oblivious to the danger that lurked nearby.

Once the door closed, the children surrounded Sadah with a sudden burst of energy. Their laughter rang out like a chorus of mocking birds.

Bolder than the rest, the Village Chief’s son stepped forward, a wicked grin plastered across his face. “Hey Sadah, look what we found!” He exclaimed, brandishing a crude caricature of Sadah drawn on a tree bark. “It’s you, looking like the village fool!”

The other children erupted into fits of laughter, their voices echoing off the walls of the nearby huts, jeering and pointing at the gangly Sadah, “Yeah! You’re such a simpleton, even the chickens laugh at you!” Mocked another, his words punctuated by the shrill cackling of a nearby hen.

Sadah’s heart sank as he stared at the caricature, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He felt the sting of humiliation burn hot against his cheeks, his chest tightening with the weight of their cruel words. But even as his spirit wilted under the onslaught of their mockery, a flicker of difiance sparked within him.

“Leave me alone,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the din of their laughter. “My mother loves me.”

“Ha! Your mother is just a coward who is too afraid to have blood on her hands.” One of the girls with pigtails slapped Sadah. The sting of her hand reddened his sunken cheeks. “I am sure she wishes you dead, you good for nothing!”

Desperate to escape the torment, Sadah turned to flee, his heart heavy with sorrow. But as he stumbled away, his foot caught on a loose cobblestone, sending him crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and dust.

The children laughed even harder at Sadah’s misfortune, their gleeful cries echoing through the square like a chorus of demons. They pointed and jeered as Sadah struggled to regain his footing, their cruel taunts driving his tears to blur his vision, his body bruised and his spirit broken.

Unable to escape his assailants, Sadah lay motionless on the ground, listening to the gentle hum of the sea that could be heard even through the sand and mortar. He switched his focus, clinging on to the peace that came through the crashing of waves on the shore.

As the day waned and the sun dipped below the horizon, the children grew bored as the object of their malice showed no response to anything they did or said. One by one they turned to leave until Sadah was alone once more.

“Sadah, what are you doing on the ground?” Hadriah called out as she picked her son off the ground. In his mother’s embrace, the teenage boy found solace, and in from the depths of his being, he smiled brightly at his mother.

“Let us go home. We can have fish stew with fried lard tonight.” Hadriah showed her son a single fish head. Its neck unevenly cut with a dull blade. Proudly, the single mother also showed her son a semi-solid white cube no bigger than the nail of her thumb.