BROKEN BOARD

Surfers measure waves by comparing their size to the human body. Although such a measuring is not very precise and varies in the relation to whether it is Balinese grommet or a professional basketball player from the United States, this practice is accepted almost by all. Protagoras laughs contentedly from the vortex of time, the man is still the measure of all things.
That day the waves were as tall as three adult men if standing on each other’s shoulders. Those are big waves, and their intensity is a mystery to those who have not experienced it. In its breaking such waves can be dangerous to the human body, and very easily can split even a surf board, so one must be extremely careful if decides to swim among those giants. Surf boards are expensive, quite difficult to acquire on the island, and they usually have the status of a pet or a longtime lover.

A man of a fragile physique is crawling out of the ocean. Out of his mouth, of the nose, poured the bitter-salty ocean. His breathing was loud and intermittent.
– Big waves, very big waves.
He could barely talk. Scared. Exhausted.
Leaning on two men he entered the warung and sprawled on the rough concrete floor. The rescue operation is coming to a successful end, there is no much reason for alarm, this time only equipment got hurt. Both halves of expensive surf boards made of epoxy came floating to the beach. I grabbed it and laid at his feet, studying with curiosity its interior stripped just a few seconds ago.
– Don’t touch my surfboard!
He yelled at me at the top of his lungs.
-Sorry?
I remain confused, without further words.
– You’re a piece of shit! You touch my surfboard! You’re a piece of shit!
He goes on with his barrage.
– Excuse me?
I underline the question mark in the air.
– Motherfucker! I hate you!
He stood up abruptly and started pushing me with all his strength. He was so short that his effort was actually funny, but he didn’t mind. He replaced the exhaustion by aggression in no time. I say nothing, I’m trying to figure out what this is, which country has my new acquaintance come from to these islands. Cultural differences between my old country and the rest of the world are not completely unknown to me. Maybe in some other countries to touch someone’s surfboard has much deeper and to me totally unfamiliar, potentially scary connotations.
– You touched my surfboard!
As if responding to my thoughts. He is threatening by waging his finger at me. This is getting too weird. I pushed him away, barely overcoming a strong desire to hurl him over the fence. These days I am not really a symbol of peace and calm. I’m quickly packing my equipment in a backpack.
– A piece of shit! You’re a piece of shit! I’ll beat the fuck out of you!
He keeps yelling.
What a strange piece of work. I thought in lack of a better explanation. I descended the stairs hastily, moved out of his sight. Slowly I am walking up the hill, a little more and I’ll get to the parking lot. I’m calm now, only laughing at this strange episode. I sat on the bike, the smile suddenly began to fade. I made a decision without having further thoughts about it, I got back to the warung and laid him down by right upper cut. But satisfaction was short-lived, suddenly I felt bad. Bad and pathetic. I wanted to tell him that I’m sorry, I instantly wanted to apologize, but he already fled. His words didn’t resound with rage any more, it now was replaced by a visible fear.
– He beat me! Call the police!
It echoed from the other side of the beach.
– A Bully! Help! Help!
He continues with loud cries.
In my mind I slowly manage to form cognition. The waves are not as high as three adult men. They are much higher than that.