Seals On The Rock

Watching the smelly sea lions at the Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco Bay: this memory seems to be vaguer and vaguer as time rushes to its unknown destination, as if there's an end to its journey. I don't remember exactly the details of excitement of a first-time tourist in that world-renowned locale that tourists love. I don't even remember if I have photos taken, the sea lions, the bay, and the discernible "The Rock" in the natural backdrop. But there's one detail that never left me, the only remembrance of that experience: the smell emanating from the gentle sea creatures always remains fresh in my mind. Is it because the penetrating smell is not indigenous to that locus?

Last night, however, I was reminded. I was alone sitting in one of the cafes on the shores of the bay. I was at some vantage coordinates to be awed by The Rock, which was there in the middle of the water, like a proud and mighty emperor, exaggerating its prominence. What was I doing there? It looked like I was student once again. On the table where I was seated were a notebook, open to a page with still fresh sribbles of equations and numbers in red ink, a textbook and a calculator carefully piled on top of it, and a cup of hot drink which couldn't be coffee for I don't drink coffee even in dreams. Then something caught my attention. There was this misshapen heavy shadow that appeared to be moving away from The Rock. It was heading toward me. In a few seconds it morphed the shape of a speed boat manned by an old man. The boat stopped some feet before it could hit and crush me and the cafe where I was sitting. I was very calm though. The idea of the possibility to be hit by that speeding craft never occurred to me. Was it because the speeding boat didn't propagate waves on the water, not even ripples? Then, the old man rose and waved. Only two or three feet of unchurned water separated us. Funny, the old man was my high school teacher. He had a message for me. Here's what he said: "Quick! The gates will open as soon as I go back to the campus. Don't wait for them. " Confused, I couldn't gather the right words to verify what he said. Who's them? He turned around after giving the message, sped the craft until it became a misshapen shadow (again), which became smaller and smaller until it disappeared. The very moment the shadow completely disappeared the water surrounding The Rock receded until it, too, disappeared. Swallowed by the earth? Or evaporated? I didn't have time to decide because a more interesting sight caught my attention. The water left a beautiful landscape of paved road and manicured gardens of green and yellow. A garden under water. The road seemed to lead to The Rock. With the message of the old man on the boat in my mind, I jumped into the road and trod its length until I reached the gates of The Rock. It was still open. I saw students inside. Some were walking in a rush toward destinations only they knew, like ants in chaos. Some were some slouched, under the shades of trees, reading books. Then this one student grabbed me by the arm and told me: "Hurry up, the gates will close." Then the gates closed. I turned my head and looked back. Over my shoulder, I saw the water welling up again, obscuring the beautiful gardens. This time, I was in another vantage point to have a clear view of the garden under water. That's what the student who grabbed my arm suggested. He said there's only one point where the garden under water can be seen and that was that very coordinates where I was standing. I saw sea lions swimming over the garden of green and yellow. They looked happy.

On the insistence of the student who grabbed my arm, I decided to let go of that scene and finally left the vantage coordinates. On our way to a destination only he knew because I didn't ask we had a jolly conversation until I asked him: "Who's the man on the boat?"

He said, "The professor."

"Your professor?"

"Our professor."

"Are we going to his class now?"

"Yes." He was very laconic.

"What class?"

"Zoology."

"You mean, we're going to dissect a frog?"

"Yes. But no!"

"I'm confused."

"Not frog."

"Then what?"

"That." He pointed to the old man who we saw was dragging a sack with something as big as a pig inside.

"What's that inside the sack?"

"Can't you smell it?"

"No."

"It's a sea lion."

"We're going to dissect a sea lion?"

"It's already dead."

I couldn't smell anything. I couldn't believe it was a sea lion inside the sack unless I smelled it. Death took away the distinct smell of the sea lion.

Then, as if he read my mind, the student who grabbed my arm suggested, now in a longer sentence: "Wait till it's laid on the operating table for you to dissect. By that time, you'll say it's indeed a sea lion. Even without the smell."

Then I woke up.

{16 February 2010}