SARGASSO SAILS

CHAPTER 6

MANGROVILLE



*Island time or timelessness-the sun never sets in the Summerlands- freedom from schedules-what a concept.
*Crops could be planted anytime-no lunar calendar-no moon at all.
*No tides-easier sailing and anchoring.
*Too strange to comprehend-was I still on the same planet or did I sail through a stargate in the Bermuda triangle?
 And why in this metric age was time still divided into non-metrical groups? Calendars had been changed several times over the millenium, but they were still non-metric as well. Time in this century had become a commodity. Nelligan was right...we were ruled by it. We were timed by time. Production had a time continuim. We were expected to start working at a certain time and stop working at another time. Plus we were sold the appurtenances to make sure we were on time; clocks, watches, timers. 'Twenty-four seven' and other slogans, enslaved us to these mechanics.
   I got to thinking about the Salvadore Dali painting in the Gumbo Limbo tree back on Coco Key. Did any of these creatures in the Summerlands understand what the melted clock in that painting was all about? If I showed them my clock in the galley, they would wonder what was wrong with it because it wasn't melted. I was in a timeless place. Was Leon's youth fountain hidden somewhere in these islands? I had noticed young Bamboozlers and old Peliguins. Did they stay the same age all the time? It was discombobulating... I still had a need to gauge time. Curious and curiouser.
   I was beginning to feel giddy about this freedom thing. The biggest surprise was yet to come as I dropped my hook at Mangroville. The beach there was mainly silt and compost, much like many in the Florida keys. The island appeared to be totally flat, and was aptly named since there was nothing to see except mangroves.
   Just as I got to wondering where my welcoming committee was, I became engulfed in music. It was eminating from the trees! They were alive. These musical Mangrovians reminded me of Rastas except that they were rooted. Unlike the Ents, from 'The Lord of the Rings', their lower bodies remained stationary, while their upper bodies and faces seemed to travel along a series of roots. They were like torsoes gliding around through the breeze. Truly astonishing. The music seemed to fade out, rather than stop, and then a voice said:
   -I am Rastjahzz, and we are the Jahstamoments.
   All the Berlitz courses in the world could not have prepared me for this. I've communicated with Peliguins and Bamboozlers. Now I feel like Moses...I'm talking to a bush! It was all happening too fast. But isn't 'time' a component in the description of 'fast'? Then the cry went up:
   -To the Herb Pit!

   I found myself hiking towards the center of the island engaged in conversation with Rastjahzz. We were headed towards their community center. He explained to me that the Jahstamoments nourished themselves from silt captured from the sea that filtered up their legroots. Their brancharms performed all their other functions such as holding things and playing their instruments. If their leafskin fell off, they would simply grow more while the old leafskin would compost with the silt. Thus, the Jahstamoments were self-propetuating.
   Because they took their nourishment from the lagoons, the Jahstamoments were particularly concerned about water quality. It seemed that some of the lagoons had became polluted as a result of toxins drifting over from Konkerland. Other than that, the Jahstamoments had nothing to fear from the Konkers. Rastjahzz explained that the Herb seemed repugnant to the Konkers...it was too natural. They preferred to wallow in their own toxins. Oopslop, the King of the Konkers, had labelled the Jahstamoments as a copse of 'zepherous zealots'. Ah...beauty is also in the nose of the beholder.
   When we finally reached the middle of the island, I saw a circular pile of rocks. The Herb was burning in the middle of the pile. Its smoke filled the clearing with a pungent perfume that was intoxicating. There was not much dialogue as we all seemed to enjoy being one with nature. I noticed for the first time, that there was an abundance of plants and flowers growing here, most of which I did not recognize, except for an amazing array of vermillion-coloured butterfly bushes, may of which were over ten feet tall. The Herb turned out to be a hybrid of gardenia, mixed with mesquite ...a savoury smell...a fascinating fragrance...an essence of... Holy smokes! I'm talking to flowers now.
   At this juncture, I found myself speaking with a crouton that stared blankly back at me. This was a source of great amusement to the Jahstamoments. They started up their music again while I imagined wisterias whispering and hibiscus humming. And then I saw butterflies. No, I didn't pass out. There were actually hundreds and hundreds of butterflies fanning their wings to move the smoke outwards to the far reaches of Mangroville...a kaleiscope of colours, variegated and fluttering all around me.
   For the first time it dawned on me...there were no insects on these islands. The butterflies must be doing all the work of pollination. The sounds of their wings blended in harmony with the music. By then, my feet were beginning to feel heavy and I made a cursory glance at them to make sure I was not rooting. Their music did not seem to intensify, but rather flowed like leaves quivering in the wind. The butterflies gracefully flew into formations of flowery bouquets that would dissipate on cue with the modulations of the music.
   The curious thing about the Jahstamoments was that they were not curious. Not once did they question my presence there or ask me about the world from which I came. The Herb seemed to fill them with knowledge or contentment, or maybe both. At least they weren't falling all over each other. But it filled me with hunger...I was really getting the munchies. I really had no desire to share a silt sandwich with them, so I made my way back to Sargasso with her fully laden galley. I was becoming evermore enchanted with the Summerlands.



ON TO CHAPTER 7 "SAILING TO ATALANTOLL"
GET ME OUTTA HERE...I'M SEEING BUTTERFLIES