Moby fills the air. You see an arm stroke with each piano key as the trees slip by the car window, protected by their shade. Water is still dripping down your back wetting your t-shirt, although some drops prefer the generous outline of your nose to slide until they rest on your lips. You thankfully swallow it, its salty taste reminding you that until moments ago the roles were switched.
At the end of the avenue the tarmac takes a turn and again your pupils dilate losing themselves in the horizon you just visited. What does that line have that you can never resist chasing it? Your own ingenuousness makes you laugh out loud: since you were a child, the serrated horizon of the mountains, the fields’ winding one, the dawn’s vague one and especially this particular one that separates sea from sky has always called you to find out what is hiding beyond.
But there is never enough. There is always a “beyond” beyond the one beyond.
The street turns away and you reluctantly leave the sea behind.
Two seconds is enough to trigger in you a strange mix of happiness and sadness together, as if it had been centuries since you parted with the sea. You consider turning around and going back, but your human condition, always your annoying human condition, kidnaps you in order to comply with your human obligations.
The longing is emphasised by Moby’s soothing and welcoming music.
Longing for that moment when the May’s coolness of the Mediterranean suddenly absorbed you, sending an almost seismic pulse through each cell of your skin. Water leaking inside your swimming cap to finally conquer your mind. Longing for those first easy, smooth strokes, the rhythmic pulse of the Quims accompanying you at each side, the knowing look under the water, even the happy childish subaquatic chuckle you let out.
Longing for the coast getting smaller at your feet, today that the day called for a perpendicular, before summer ruins the landscape filling it with killer boats.
Longing for the calm stops, the looks back, the shrinking town, the mountains standing out, the wide gaze, clear, distant. Nine hundred metres and that moment, oh, that moment when the faded green tone of the invisible depths slowly bids goodbye only to drop deeper, even deeper, taking with it the reflection of the sun on the sand.
Two kilometres and the town is only a blurred line and the bottom of the sea is so far away that then it happens. Yes, what you had come to seek embraces you.
The blue of the perpendiculars.
An indefinable blue, better, a void where the sun beams make themselves visible falling from the sky and piercing the surface like fishing birds, only to get lost in the depths reminding you of the reflection of a church’s stained glass windows.
Columns of light that surround you from all sides that become unachievable with each arm stroke. That is what keeps you going.
Seeking beyond, forward, always forward.
Nosy seagulls fly over you again and again skimming the surface, almost touching you. And they go. And they come back. And they leave. Where are you going? Look for dolphins and let them know we are here!
Two and a half kilometres. Pictures with the Quims; marine hugs.
The look skimming the surface, the horizon is still as far. And in the opposite direction, the town is now the horizon, an almost imperceptible white line.
And then the underwater look, to the depths, the one I can’t miss.
The three-dimensional blue splashed with light and a thousand nuances, the blue that darkens, free of boundaries, it hypnotises you, clean, pure, stunning. You dive into it, a notch, as much as tiredness and swimming goggles not up to the task allow you.
Perpendicular achieved, it is time to go back. You are not dolphins.
Swim, glide, flow, a trilogy that has accompanied you for years and which powerfully comes back today. All three of you fall into a magical and spontaneous synchrony. Arm strokes match, as a perfectly coordinated ballet, breaths to one and other side. You diverge, you converge, diverge, converge.
And land approaches and the process inverts itself.
Pushed by the waves, the bottom is getting nearer, and you place your feet on the sand.
A pork and ham sandwich and a beer with the Quims remind you that being human is not that bad. One last plunge, as a treat.
Listening to the last Moby notes in the car as you take off the keys, the memory of the perpendicular’s blue still water your eyes.
You turn the memory into a promise.
Beyond. Further beyond.
Tomorrow. Or maybe the day after tomorrow.