SARAH TIBUNI

The Oysters of Layon

Layon was a seaman, a flute player, and a fisherman who knew the oyster-breeding spots in the local mangrove swamps like the back of his hand. On some days of the week, he would sail out at dawn and return at dusk to the Sentores harbour with a boatful of fish. On other days, he would traverse through the mangroves early in the day and return to the village market with a big catch of fresh oysters – the inner side of whose crimson-coloured shells were speckled like a cat's fur. When the moon rose, Layon would bring out his flute and play some of the oldtime tunes of the island. He would play only one of the six or seven traditonal tunes–but that was enough to convey the pain of the whole wide world.

For, Layon was in love. Her name was Aina and she hailed from a family that lived in a village outside Sentores. Aina was famed for her clever brain as well as for her sharp tongue, which had succeeded in scaring away many a hopeful suitor. But Layon refused to be daunted by the lady's bluster because he was enchanted by her lively eyes, black hair and long muscles under an elastic skin. When Layon observed how elegantly Aina carried even the heaviest burden on her head, the confidence with which she crossed even the most difficult steps, then he clutched compulsively onto the flute in his bag – almost as though it gave him courage. Aina was well aware of the young's man adoration and although she provoked him with her coy glances she gave him no chance to make advances, and always behaved as though he was a part of the wind. «Oh, that dumb fisherman,» she laughed when she sat with her girlfriends, «I will never go angling with that stupid fisher—not even if he dangles carrots of gold before me.»

Layon suffered under the cool indifference with which Aina ignored his heart's desire. So much so that often he ended up losing the best tuna and chamou catches and instead filled his boat with all the sighs suffusing his heart. For weeks he suffered so. Seeing him languish, the islanders began to worry about the young man, who had begun to go into the mangroves even at night and be heard playing his flute there. The plaintive notes of the fisherman's flute wafting through the forest foliage sounded like whimpers to the ears of the locals trying to slumber – and so it was that Layon's pangs of pain began to creep into the hearts of all the villagers. Even Aina's girlfriends, who were urged by village elders to convince Aina to give Layon at least one opportunity to speak to her, could not succeed in softening Aina's heart. The woman liked being the centre of attention too much to think of the other person's feelings. Layon grew paler by the day, his eyes turned dull and the sound of his flute became increasingly faint. It was clear from the same sad old song he played that the melancholy of an entire ballad was compressed into his heart.

In the intricate network of roots of the mangrove shrubs can be found a diversity of aquatic animals and plants

One day, the villagers of Sentores were amazed to see Layon, his face glowing with cheer, striding into the market with a basket full of oysers. Local gourmets were delighted to not only be able to buy Layon's fresh oysters – they had long waited for another of his excellent catches – but also to hear his resounding laugh. «Aïe, aïe bondyé, chansé sé mwen!» the young fisher proclaimed, when his customers came up to inspect his catch and inquire after his health. «I am happy because I dreamt all night long. I was roaming through the mangroves and «bondye»: the forest gifted me the best of dreams.» It was evident that the young man remembered his dream with utter clarity, plus that his dream had held something so precious that he did not want to let it go, but instead return to it over and over again. Slowly, a tad triumphantly, he began to explain: «I walked over the sands, my flute in hand, and the tune `Lapen misiziyen’ flashed through my mind. Then I saw Aina, who was sitting all on her own, gazing out over the sea. Quickly, I walked over to her. She did not hear the pebbles crunching under my feet. `Yo ka gadé lammé épi toutt douôle': she looked so lonely, sitting there and staring out over the sea, so melancholic, an Aina I had never seen before. I was so taken aback that I stayed a little distance away from her. I watched her for a long time. Eventually, I flung a little pebble towards her and asked her, in rather an old-fashioned manner, if the time had finally come for a first kiss. She turned to me in her artful fashion, with a laugh lighting up her face. Then I went up to her and she held me by her side all night long.»

Layon recounted in detail all the enchantment he had experienced with Aina in his dream — and the people were happy to listen, curious as they were and elated by the sudden turn of events. A dream, as everyone knows, never lies. And one must never say no to a love-dream because that will bring bad luck, terrible bad luck. When he woke up, as the first rays of the sun were filtering through the branches of the forest trees, Layon made his decision. He tucked a root of the most exquisite crimson-coloured orchid into his foot – larger than all others he had ever seen: «I will take this to Aina and ask her if she will be my wife.» Jauntily, Layon hoisted the basket onto his shoulder and started striding in the direction of the village where Aina's family lived. The people stood around for a long while in the market, discussing the matter of Layon and Aina: Finally, Aina would have to open her heart for Layon; finally Layon would bring his oysters again to the market; endlich would the fisher-flautist play all the six or seven old Lemusan songs that his flute was capable of unleashing. And finally, yes, finally, one would be able to sleep in peace again.

Layon arrived at Aina's house, deposited the basket by the door and called out her name. Curious, the girl stuck her head out of a wondow. «Aina, the forest has gifted me the best dream of all and the water has given me these oysters for you.» Surprised by the sudden courage of young Layon, Aina was uncertain for a moment about what to say. Dreams never lie, she knew.Yet, if she succumbed to Layon's pressure, she would have to give up that which had earned her the people's respect and from some, admiration: her proud aloofness. That was a high price, too high a price, for the young woman. Why, she asked herself, should Layon's dream hold a meaning also for me? And clever as she was, she soon arrived at the correct answer: «So let us divide that what Nature has given us: Leave me the oysters and you can take the dream from the forest.» With these words and a creepy laugh, she disappeared into the house. Layon stood there for long minutes staring at the oysters at his feet. Then he turned around and walked off towards the coast. He was never seen again. It is universally accepted that he walked into the mangroves and drowned himself.

Such arrowroots, which stick out like strange maggots in the mire, are typical of mangrove vegetation.

The bad luck that befalls everyone who does not trust dreams, may be late in coming – but it comes. Exactly three years to the night after Layon had dreamt about a totally different Aina, her family house crashed to the ground. Unbeknown to anyone, its foundation had been weakened by seepage from a nearby river and that had caused the structure to suddenly give way. Aina's family lost everything they owned and Aina lost her life in the crash: she was hit by a falling beam and buried in the bog beneath the house.

Even today, when a wind blows through the mangroves of Sentores, it is said that the unfortunate Layon is playing his flute once more – a tune that is enough to capture the pain of the entire world. And at the spot where Aina's house stood, there is a mangrove today. The nearby mangroves have spread to encompass the plot. The people of Sentores have long shunned the place – but a French couple recently chose to establish the island's first-ever oyster-breeding farm at the site. In memory of the doomed young fisherman-flautist-and-lover, the oysters are called «Les huîtres de Layon». And as this story with a sad ending inevitably leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, the island's gourmets like to imagine that the young fisherman's love-dream was perhaps fulfilled in the grand expanse of these mangroves.

[Translated from German by Gunvanthi Balaram]

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