Translation: Maria Moiteira
The light from the outside world grows too strong to ignore. I slowly open my eyes and take in my surroundings. Stones and water. There is something comforting about waking up every day to the same landscape. The gods wake up, noisily, breaking the silence of my morning. They always speak to me – though I can barely understand half of what they say – and they always seem excited to see me. Their glorious hand descends upon my small home, providing food until the sun sets once more. To them, I owe the freedom and comfort of my stay, their care, and their attentive ears to all my prayers.
I have always believed in the gods. I know there are turtles who think they’re nothing more than illusions brought on by bad shrimp, but my gods are real. I see them every day as they wake me and keep me company. I would be nothing without the gods.
Like any other turtle, my days are spent in contemplation. My home was generously built – by the gods, of course – beside a luminous surface they call a window. I am still figuring out how it works, but through it, I can enjoy the most beautiful landscapes and creatures. The gods visit me only twice a day, and the rest of my time is spent seeking to understand the new: marvelling at the strong, green entities that sway to the melody of the wind, or at the tiny creatures that lightly perch on their edges. I envy their extraordinary ability to float, following no one but themselves. I wonder if what lies beyond this window also belongs to me, or if it is merely a universe the gods allow me to admire but not to claim. I question whether there is more beyond my stones.
My days are simple. Calm, repetitive and relaxing, but repetitive. I wake to stones and water. Again. The gods give me shrimp – again – and quickly disappear. Where do they go? Does the universe of the window belong to them? Is that where they reside and wield their divine powers? I am faced with how little I know and how much I wish to discover. I offer my prayers to the gods, my yearning for more, never forgetting my profound gratitude. All that I am, I owe to the gods.
I wake up. Stones and water. The window changes with the passing days. The entities adorned in shades of green stand bare and cold. The creatures wandering the streets grow covered, shielding themselves from the chill of the sunless days. What must the cold feel like? My home is always of a mundane, ideal temperature – thanks to the gods, of course, who shield me from experiencing cold. All that I am, I owe to the gods. Who would I be without them?
I wake up. Stones and water. The gods approach me, their hand descends, granting me another day. What must it be like to exist in the fullness of independence? To wake up without stones and water, without food chosen by others, to live in the discovery of a distinct day, a new day to be lived. The contemplation of my days transforms into an inner struggle, a suffocating discontent, a question left unanswered. Is this what I am? Is this all I will ever be? Stones and water?
I cannot sleep. The comfort I once found now unsettles me. The window’s surface haunts me. The hand that provides is also the hand that confines. Everything I have, I owe to them, and everything I lack, they have chosen to withhold from me. What crime have I committed? What sin is this smallness that keeps me at the mercy of giants? The light of tomorrow is possible only because they allow it. The dream of the outside world, the world yet to be known, consumes my nights and distracts my days. The gods care for me – I can feel it. My prayers are directed to them, hoping they will hear and grant me the freedom I so deeply yearn for. I know they cannot understand me. I know they cannot hear me. Would I even survive without them? Who am I without the love of the gods?
And so, I rest here, near the glow of the window, listening to the melodies of a distant world – a world that is not mine, a world yet to be discovered. I lie on my stones, safe and tedious, waiting for my gods to wake. I am hungry again.
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