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mary g.'s avatar

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Tod Cheney's avatar

I opened a book and saw the word coracle.

That’s him.

Who?

That’s the guy I saw get out of the coracle.

What coracle? What’s a coracle?

Look how old he is, like he paddled out of the Middle Ages.

Maybe he did.

A coracle is a boat from the Middle Ages. It’s round. Look, right there.

What’s he doing here?

Maybe he landed for supplies.

I’m going to have a look inside the coracle.

Maybe you shouldn’t.

Maybe Maybe Maybe. Jesus. Come let’s have a look. He’s gone up the street.

I don’t think we should mess with it.

Maybe follows and they stop beside the boat and look inside.

Wavelets make light frivolity on the purple pebbled beach. More shingle than beach. Smoke from many cooking fires rises from the myriad islands. They cook sea bird eggs, and sometimes birds too. The gannets have the loveliest yellow white feathers. From a quarter mile up they bomb straight into the sea.

What is in the boat is not part of this story. At least not the told part of the story. You will have to figure out for yourself what’s in the coracle. Which was undoubtedly genuine, straight out of the Middle Ages, 500 - 1500 AD, more or less. People died and the living forgot things.

What if he brought plague or something with him?

Maybe he did.

Don’t touch anything. In fact, we should stand upwind.

They move to the other side of the coracle. It’s woven of hollow reeds. A carved paddle leans on the side. That’s one thing inside the coracle, the color of a hay bale left outside a long time.

What would you take with you from the Middle Ages if you paddled away in a coracle?

Bow and arrows. Snares. An AK-47.

They burned books and forgot how to read.

There’s no books in this coracle.

No. Nothing in the coracle is part of this story. The cargo is beside the point.

Only the monks made books and knew how to read. The rest were stupid.

What’s your point?

Look. Here he comes with a bulging sack.

Let’s watch from the wall.

We won’t know what’s in the sack.

No we won’t. What are you going to do about it?

Kill him. Steal the sack.

Ridiculous.

Maybe.

You’re better off not knowing.

The wise thing would be to walk away.

So all of this for naught?

All for naught, my friend.

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