tales for dreamers: an unexpected offering

The coconut was clearly washed ashore, but no one could tell where it had come from. It certainly wasn’t a native produce, that much everyone knew. Which means it must have definitely travelled halfway across the world. 

Where I come from, which is also halfway across the world, coconuts are used in worship. They are offered to Gods, especially in temples. They are smashed against a rock or any other hard surface and their flavourful liquid is poured over the deity or used to wash the idol’s feet. 

If you can ram it hard enough and break it cleanly into two or more pieces in a single blow, it is considered auspicious. Everything you pray for will come true. 

If it does nothing more than merely crack the first time, it means your prayers will not be answered.

I peer at the coconut closely, wary of touching it. It seems whole. No cracks mar its fibrous husk. 

What brought you here? I wonder silently but don’t say aloud. In this part of the world, speaking with a coconut is proof that one is certifiably insane. 

As if in response to my question, a voice replied. Crack me open, it said.

I jumped back. If speaking with a coconut is bad, then hearing its reply to your silent question is even worse.

I agree, the voice said. But let’s keep this between you and me. No one else shall be the wiser.

Alright! 

I was quite excited, and it was all very thrilling to have a little secret. So I picked up the coconut, rammed it against the largest rock. It didn’t crack.

Uh, oh!

Don’t worry. Those superstitions are just that. Often it takes more than a few tries to crack me open.

I looked around to make sure there were no witnesses to this exchange. Only the waters lapped against the rocky shore in a gentle, rhythmic manner.

I bashed the coconut against the rock and after several tries it splintered into two, but barely so. The two halves were still held by its thick fibres on one side like a hinge and I could open it as though it were an oyster bed. 

I ran my fingers along the cracked edges. A sudden sharp pain shot through me. Blood oozed from my finger into the coconut shell.

Even as I watched, my blood trickled down the side and disappeared into the centre of the coconut. 

I threw the cursed thing away with a yelp.

It snapped shut and sealed itself once more.

It’s alright, the voice said again. I was so thirsty. Thank you for your offering.

Last week's image info: There were no 'dangers lurking on the bridge' when I last crossed it on the Centennial Bike Path behind the Nelson Community Centre and soccer field. But that was then. Things might have changed by now. Who knows? Care to walk there and find out?