the beloved object

The sea in a shell – Rianne Groen

When you press it against your ear, you can hear the sea. At least, that is what my grandmother used to tell me when I was younger. I have seen quite some seas and oceans since, but none of them sound like this.
The shape is like a human heart, and it can just fit in my hand. On top of it is a carving of a woman, which is quite badly executed. I have no idea who the woman is; she has a sharp nose, pearls in her ears and a great haircut. Maybe she was a Greek goddess, the butcher’s daughter, or what the carver wished his wife to look like. The ugliness has something appealing in it. The kind of people who collect Swarovski crystal dogs and fake Hummel figurines would love it. The creases are filled with grey dust. It must be at least fifty years old, maybe more.

The bottom is a pink fleshy color, like a plump mouth with sharp teeth. The opening looks like a big animal growling at you. Sometimes I see it as a more sensual image, like the frightening flower vaginas in Pink Floyd’s animations. I like to feel it; it is smooth and curved, but at the same time rough and prickly. A blind man would enjoy the object, because there is so much to feel. Perhaps he would be slightly confused about the carved part on top, which mixes natural shapes with an unnatural human form.

Actually, something used to live in there, way before it got to me. I do not know what it looked like, but it probably had several little legs and a very soft body so it could squeeze in. It used to live on the bottom of the sea, surrounded by sand, shiny fishes and sharks. Sometimes it would hide. The weight would be heavy on its back, but it would be safe because this was his home. Maybe that is where it got its sound, on the bottom of the ocean. But it is now empty, and nobody lives there anymore. I do not think the carved woman was already there. She came in later.

Sometimes I like to hold it in my hand. The weight of it makes me feel like it is an important object. It makes me think of the famous book by William Golding, Lord of the Flies. The children in the book used to have something like this, which was their symbol of power. If they had it in their possession, they could talk. Since I have it at home, I am always free to speak.
I might be wrong about it being empty. To me there is still something living inside; my grandmother who used to tell me to listen to the sea.