Allawe

She first spotted it while smoothing the coconut oil onto her legs. As she breathed in the tropic scent, she watched the object ride the crest of the oncoming wave. The water washed over it and carried it back out. With the next application of sunscreen to her shoulders, she saw the curious article heading back to the shore again. This time it made it a little closer but the receding water took it back out again. She cupped her hand into a salute against her forehead and squinted at the object, a small box of some sort, washing right in her direction. It was early in the season and the nearest sunbathers were reading their paperbacks or lying in the sand enjoying the return of the warm sun. Two small children raced back and forth building a Gaudi-like castle then protecting it with buckets of water in the surrounding moat. No one else seemed to be following the course the object was taking. It looked to be heading directly to Marla, like a carrier pigeon bearing an important message. “Well, I'm sure not going into the water to grab it,” she said to a curious sea gull, who was also watching the approaching box with interest, perhaps assessing it as something to eat. “What?” muttered Vern, half asleep next to her on the blanket. “Grab what?” “Look at that little box out there,” she said. Marla was not one for going into the ocean. Her fear of sharks, which had never attacked anyone on the Delaware beach, fear of jellyfish, which were seldom in these waters, and her fear of getting caught in a riptide kept her on her blanket or on the sand at all times. But she was entranced by the little boxlike object and watched the waves bring it in with a gentle swoosh, take it back out, and bring it back until it finally beached itself, riding atop the grating stones and small pieces of shells. Then Marla pushed herself up from her blanket, left the uninterested Vern there where he had fallen into an uneasy slumber, and walked over to the water’s edge. She leaned over and picked up the box with both hands, grabbing it before the next gentle wave could carry it back against the whispering line of pebbles and fragments. The wooden box was big enough to hold four decks of cards, and was mounted on a base that had words carved into the sides. She hesitated before returning to the blanket and looked around to see if anyone had noticed her retrieving it. She turned the box in her hands to read the words. They seemed to be a riddle. Allawe was carved into one side, My peace, on another, Sorry on the third side, and Irie on the fourth. She ran her fingers across the words, absorbing them as a blind person reading a Braille museum plaque. They spoke to her, the words telling her this was a very special little chest. The lid had a milky finish, the varnish having become waterlogged, and the reddish-brown wood grain showed through. It looked like it should lift open and reminded her of the tiny Lane cedar chests manufacturers gave graduating seniors when her mother was a high school student, but this lid was glued completely onto the skillfully-crafted box. She went back to the blanket, cutting her eyes toward the other sunbathers. Still no one was watching her; they were all dozing or reading, except for the rambunctious children, who were now drowning the castle and beginning to re-build. She settled into the shaded area under the umbrella. Vern began to snore softly. She thought about nudging him and making him examine this treasure with her, but Vern always had all the answers. This was a mystery that she wanted to figure out herself. The box was heavy but clearly not a solid cube. She tried again to lift the lid, but it would not budge and had no visible hinges. In some spots, the varnish had totally peeled away, exposing the natural wood’s rich reddish-brown color. It had been darkened by the exposure to the water, probably from being adrift a while. But how long? The little sea-going vessel had been sanded and smoothed by a true artisan. No rough edges, just smooth transitions at all corners. The mitered sides of the box fit perfectly, articulating into a tight seal. Marla turned the container upside down and saw fragments of tiny felt circles at each corner, barnacles nestling around one of the fragments. “Damn flies!” said Vern, as he turned and swatted with one easy motion. He sat upright and reached for the Cutter’s insect repellent. Slathering it on, he groaned again. “Damn it! This is sunscreen!” “Hmmm, pretty funny; that’s exactly what the bottle says,” Marla answered and tossed him the correct bottle. He scowled at her sarcasm but was attracted to the mystery box. “Is that the thing you were watching a while ago?” “Yeah, what do you think? It looks like a mini-jewelry box, doesn’t it?” “Looks like a fence post cap to me,” he said and reached for it with a “gimme” motion as he stood, escaping a persistent green-headed fly. She reached toward him with the box, her slender body stretching to keep pace with his rising. Vern swatted the fly with one hand and grasped the box with the other, but his hands were still greasy from the lotion and the little chest fell. “Look what you’ve done!” Marla cried as the box bounced onto the blanket with a dull thud, landing on one corner and then onto the sand, the awkward impact jarring the lid off and exposing its contents. She was both upset and surprised that it had actually opened. She reached for it and saw that a plastic bag was wedged inside, full of a finely ground gray powder. What the hell is this? she thought. “Ashes? Somebody’s ashes?”