Magla se zatvara za njom

Posljednjeg poslijepodneva Polly se još jednom uzdigla visoko iznad obale, iznad čajnih terasa, kratera s dva jezera i tihe šume u kojoj priolo još doziva iz dubine lovorovih stabala. Odozgo je otok izgledao točno kao ono što jest: jedan dugi lanac starih vulkana, još uvijek blago toplih, koji se još uvijek polako hlade u zelenilo.

On her last afternoon, Polly climbed high above the coast one more time, above the tea terraces, the crater with its two lakes, and the quiet forest where the priolo still calls from deep in the laurel trees. From up there the island looked exactly like what it is: one long chain of old volcanoes, still faintly warm, still slowly cooling into green.

Ribarske brodice vraćale su se u luku ispod nje, male bijele mrlje koje su za sobom vukle tanke brazde po sve tamnijem moru, a svjetla su se palila jedno po jedno uz obalnu cestu. Miris dima s ognjišta dizao se odnekud blizu obale i miješao s posljednjim daškom slanog zraka.

Fishing boats were heading back into the harbor below, small white shapes trailing thin wakes across a darkening sea, and lights were coming on one by one along the coast road. The smell of woodsmoke drifted up from somewhere near the shore, mixing with the last of the salt air.

S oceana se dovaljao zid magle, kao i cijeloga tjedna, kližući najprije preko kratera, pa preko čajnih polja, pa i preko same luke, sklapajući cijeli otok ispod nje izvan pogleda. Polly ga je već gledala kako to radi, strpljivo i bez žurbe, kao da otok radije nestaje polako nego odjednom.

A bank of fog rolled in off the ocean the way it had all week, sliding first over the crater, then the tea fields, then the harbor itself, folding the whole island out of sight beneath her. Polly had watched it do this before, patient and unhurried, as if the island preferred to disappear slowly rather than all at once.

Skrenula je prema otvorenom moru dok se posljednje svjetlo još držalo na obzoru, ostavljajući za sobom otok koji i dalje kuha svoju večeru pod zemljom, i dalje uzgaja svoj čaj list po pažljivi list te negdje duboko u staroj šumi i dalje čuva jednu malu sivu pticu.

She turned out over open water while the last of the light held on the horizon, leaving behind an island still cooking its dinner underground, still growing its tea one careful leaf at a time, and still, somewhere deep in an old forest, keeping a small grey bird safe.