THE OCTOPUS – FIRST LETTER
2022 JANUARY, 16.7883° S, 150.9889° W, HUAHINE
Usually around seven in the morning, the Octopus starts thinking about breakfast.
That’s when it slips out of its nest and begins its search for food. It’s how we first met.
Samantha’s shoreline is reinforced with a low cement wall, and the Octopus lives in one of the crevices. It has collected all sorts of treasures in front of its home – things it finds on the seabed that catch its eye. Strangely enough, it clearly has a thing for batteries – old, discarded power sources. I wonder if it gets high on them. Do they go to its head, assuming it has one?
I once read that octopuses are so unlike any other creature on Earth that they could be from another planet. Clearly, whoever said that hasn’t watched one swim. After seeing them in action, there’s no doubt about it – definitely from another planet.
A living painting, or a sculpture in progress, still searching for a definite shape, its colour, material and texture undecided. A changing, morphing creature trying on different outfits, never satisfied with their choice or settling on just one – a work of art that will never be finished.
Once, while diving, I stumbled upon that Octopus perched on a chunky, round coral. The Octopus was a vivid, dark purple – its major Elton John moment. I was totally into that look, and just hope I managed to convey my feelings – too bad I can’t communicate through skin tones the way it can.
This particular Octopus had a roommate. It lived with a tiny blue fish – a goldtail damselfish. If the Octopus was at home, so was the fish, always darting about right in front of the den. What could they have been talking about? The sea urchins living nearby perhaps – the ones that only came out at night.
But they were definitely talking about a particular Monday – the most Monday-like day an octopus could experience.
On that particular day, the Octopus had brought home a girlfriend. Or a presumed girlfriend – I’m not an expert on octopus’ gender, mating or sexuality. But there they sat, tentacle in tentacle, at sunset.
Seeing the couple made me so excited that I had to call the rest to come over and see. Naturally one of us accidentally dropped tiny bits of coral sand into the water, which upset the girlfriend, and she quickly darted off to a nearby coral mound to sulk.
It wasn’t exactly difficult to interpret her feelings, her entire body covered in a red zigzag pattern, with spikes sticking out of her skin. Let’s just say she had a rather passive-aggressive way of handling emotions.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“NOTHING, why do you ask?”
After the others had left, I stayed behind to observe. I was embarrassed, it had kind of been my fault after all.
After a while, the Octopus left its pad to soothe its date. It extended its best tentacle only to be rejected. The girlfriend turned bright red and sped away into the dark sea.
That was that. I felt so sorry for the Octopus. I came back later that evening to check if the couple had reconciled. The Octopus’s Monday had taken on tragicomic proportions. A plump and pale purple sea cucumber had parked right in front of the entrance to the Octopus’s home.
I swear, that night, the intoxicating nectar of those old batteries must have really come in handy.
Somewhere on or between the shores,
– Timo –
P.S. ‘Huahine Loner’ – next letter will be here in a week or so. It is pretty much about a guy and a bicycle.
It had rained for days on end, with a storm adding its own commotion. But the rain, oh, the rain. At one point, I was sure if it continued any longer, the world would run out of water. In any case, this letter isn’t really about the rain, I just wanted to mention it. This letter is about the Huahine Loner…
