Innovations
The fat man was lying on his back. He was baking under the sun after a refreshing bath in the Wardash. He was a rather ugly sight, obese body only covered by a loincloth and a straw hat covering his face. He was working with both - his plumpness with vigorous swimming against the tide, the hat a symbol of his preoccupation. He was just another farmer of Shalamari, enjoying a peaceful siesta in the late summer months, warmed and dried by the sun and the wind.
Atkins lifted his hat to gaze upon the rolling Wardash. He was, despite his gross (pun intended
) figure, a good swimmer. The village always laughed and said it was his fat that kept him buoyant. True that, but his fat concealed some tough muscles, and his ability to travel up the stream could not be credited to the former of the two. He was a big man, and he liked it that way. His wife did not share the same view, though, and told him to either put the table fork down, or he grabbed the pitch fork.
The compromise was what he was doing - swimming. He liked that more than any other form of physical labor. And labor it was, to swim against the powerful surge of the river. It appeared to be gentle from above, but once one was immersed in the Wardash, its power was a tangible one. Atkins sure took pride in besting it, and at the end of every session a good tiredness came over him. It was just like doing a good day's work in a mere hour.
Atkins sighed, and remembered how he had promised to return before the afternoon to help grinding the first of the harvest to flour. It was an arduous task, and a slow one. Was it not for the wonderful pastries his wife made as a reward, he would never consent to doing it. It was at least as tiring as swimming, the weight of the grinding stone comparable to the force of the Wardash.
A funny idea came to mind, where the river rose up and took hold of the stone handle, and turned and turned with its constant force. The grain poured in and came out as the finest flour. The flour then flowed on a wind and into the kitchen where his wife stood and baked a thousand pastries... A trickle of saliva began to form a pool beside his tilted head as this vision and the summer heat lulled him to sleep.
---
A commotion from the river woke Atkins. He jerked, head turning and casting off his straw hat. He looked up at the sun. It was past noon, and past time for his scheduled departure. His wife would not be happy. Cursing, he heaved him onto the side and rose. Then he turned his attention again upon the commotion from the river. It was some of the village children who had come down to row their tiny boats. A group of half a dozen boys were skipping down to the riverside with voices ringing with laughter.
Atkins stood for a while, regaining his bearings. The heat and his sudden rising had caused his head to swirl for a moment. A fierce thirst came over him, and he decided to follow the boys down to get a drink. He was already too late, and he might as well make the best of it. As he came down, some of the boys noticed him and pointed smilingly. Their giggles were badly concealed, but it didn't affect Atkins anyway. He calmly walked to them, and greeted. Then he bent down to drink.
As he did, one of the smaller boys waded out into the river. He carried a wooden oar, propped against his frail shoulder. After going out to his hip, he swung the oar down into the water. To the boy's surprise, the bulky oar came down fast and was wrung out of his grip as the river's current catched it. The other boys quickly spotted it and cried. One of them quickly swam out and grabbed it, but had a hard time swiming back up to where his friends were standing. The bulky oar was still pushing him away due to the river's flow. At last the boy gave up and swam onto shore further down the stream.
All this while, Atkins was watching - and thinking of the vision he had. The wonder he felt almost made him believe the idea was a dream, a godgiven inspiration. He quickly rose and ran back to the village to share his idea with the carpenter. After a lenghty discussion, the men agreed. Then Atkins ran off to the village Circleman to gain his support. It was not before late that evening that Atkins returned to his furious wife, his joyous glee as apparent as her merciless anger.
---
Ten years later, the village had a water mill.
