"Hello?”
Catarina almost fumbled the shell from her hand. Had Mercury and Neptune finally answered her call?
At first, the shell produced nothing but indistinct sounds of an unfamiliar language. Though Rome had conquered far-reaching lands and had sent their citizens and slaves to the peninsula, the voice from the shell spoke with a strangeness that she has never heard.
Could it have been the language of gods? She doubted it. Yet she doubted her prayer would be answered at all, but it was. And now, finally, the answer to her prayer spoke in a tongue she understood.
“Hi, can you hear me?” asked the voice. “Who is this?”
Beneath her, the ground trembled, as if the anger of humanity was coming to a brutal boil. Above, ash from the mountain loomed, painting the sea with a shadow that resembled ancient tales of the vast pits of the underworld. She had to act now.
“Catarina. My name is Catarina.” She felt hopeless talking to an inanimate shell. “I require aid.”
“Cata—” The voice trailed. “… is this the ocean?” That was not the voice of gods, Catarina realized. That was the voice of a boy. How could a boy save her?
At the orchard, Neptune had assured that he would whisk off her message to somewhere afar, where someone would have the ears to listen. That Mercury would carry her plea. “No. No this is not. I am Catarina, and… and I do not know what to do.”
“Well…” The boy’s voice shifted. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you can start by telling me what I can help you with?” The boy seemed calm. Catarina tried to latch on to the calmness, but the screams of the people around her drowned the final remnants of calm she had left.
Someone bumped onto her side, almost making Catarina lose her balance. They were all running for the boats. The boats were uncaring and did not wait for them.
“I need a boat.”
“I can’t give you a—what?” he said. “Wait. What’s happening? And where are you?”
“I—” She bit her tongue. Even simply thinking of the name of the place appalled her very senses. She hated it here. She always had. “Pompeii.”
The boy’s voice crept. “Pompeii…Why does that name sound so familiar?” He seemed distant, like he was searching for something. “Hold on.”
Before, long before, when the ground first shook, Catarina had protested to her family that they leave. We are not meant to be here, she had said. This is not our home. This is a desecrated land. A land of dishonor and vulgarity. When they transformed the city to a hub of vices, where violent drunkards, scheming gamblers, and veiled thieves roamed the streets uncontested, the arrival of the gods’ wrath was inevitable.
The thing was, those drunkards, gamblers, and thieves failed to appear as drunkards, gamblers, and thieves. They wore rich clothing which had deep pockets to fund their sins. That was what made all the difference.
No, her mother had answered her before. This is where our livelihood is.
That was when her father chimed. She had expected him to support her. What is life without livelihood? he said. She was wrong.
What is life without life? Catarina had thought back then. She wished she said it. Now it was too late.
She wondered why she remembered that conversation. It seemed like ages ago. That had been before Vesuvius erupted—before it had sent plumes of smoke that touched the rims of the sky; before it turned day into night.
“Are you still there?” the boy huffed out of breath.
The ground once again decided to rumble. Catarina clutched her shell. “Yes, what of it?”
“You said you’re in Pompeii. What are you doing there? Are you an archaeologist or something?”
“Archaeologist? What is that?” Catarina heard a clacking sound come from the boy’s side of the shell. Was that sound harmful or dangerous? No, she did not have time to wonder. “Can you help me, or no?”
“I don’t know how I can.” More clacking.
“B-but the gods… they said—" The smoke and dust around her thickened. She grabbed the upper portion of her tunic to shield her mouth and nose from it.
Then the heat came. No, she thought. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, ‘This is where our livelihood is.’ She winced. Our livelihood will be the death of us.
“Where are you in Pompeii?”
“By the west bank,” Catarina said. “The shore.”
“Are there any boats nearby? Can’t you get on the nearest one?”
“No, my family is here,” Catarina answered. “I cannot leave this putrid place without them.” What is life without life?
“Your family? How many of you are there? Wait, why are you there? How are you th…” The boy’s voice trailed. Catarina removed the shell from her ear and faced behind her, towards Mount Vesuvius, her executioner.
His rage has come to its zenith. There was no more time. The boy cannot save her. He was no god. No, the gods were too busy playing their games. Having too much fun with their shells.
In her hand though, her shell nagged her. It vibrated with the boy’s voice. When she neared to listen, he was muttering words and sentences Catarina no longer had a care to process.
“I’ll ask you this,” she favored, silencing the boy. “If you may so allow me.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What is the most important thing in life?”
He didn’t answer. Not quickly, at least. Catarina could hear him swallow through the shell. It was not an easy question by any means. It required some thought, and thought required some time. One thing Catarina no longer had.
Any moment now, the volcano would rupture the ground and the earth would swallow them whole. They would either burn or be buried. Death, regardless.
A couple of well-dressed women ran past her, diving headfirst into the water. They swam desperately away from the beach. Their heavy gowns weighed them down, though. Shed them, Catarina thought.
The last boat had gone, overflowing with ratty men. Its passengers proved to be too rambunctious that, not even five heaving rows from the dock, the boat capsized.
Through the shell, more clacking. Then the clacking stopped.
“What you leave behind,” the boy said.
What is life if not what you leave behind? The thought made her smile.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMM!!
The sky burned, and it had never been more beautiful.
***
…
“Hello? What was that sound? Are you there?”
…
“Hello? Are you still there? Hello?”
…
“Are you alright?”
…
“Anyway, I went on this website and got to thinking where you are exactly. You told me you were in the west bank.”
…
“I found this picture. Can’t believe victims of that old eruption were buried under the dirt and memorialized as stone figures, huh?”
…
“By any chance, are you near the woman facing the sky? It’s one of the more beautiful ones. I wonder what she was thinking before she died, you know? What do you think?”
…
“Hello?”
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