Siren

by Delle Jacobs

  John shrugged. It seemed like nodding and shrugging were becoming the better part of his half of the conversation.

  "Did you really live beneath the sea, then? Does that explain how you got from Africa to here? What was it like? Was it cold and dark?"

  "Siren comes from the Summer Sea. The water is never cold, and there seemed to be light wherever we were. Don't ask me how. I don't understand it. I just know it's an impossible, beautiful world."

  "Why ain't you still there then?"

  "Because I was stupid. Seemed to me like she was telling me what to do and I had no choice. Didn't sit well with me."

  "Don't usually sit well with a man. She do that now?"

  "If she does, I don't notice it. Maybe she's become slyer and I just don't know it now. I don't think I care anymore. It's worth about anything to be with her. And I thought I had to be with people. I missed my own kind. Only now I'm here, and I don't want to be with them at all." He frowned deeply. Until he had said it aloud, he hadn't known how much he felt that.

  "Yeah, I know. I don't like them much either. But why us? Why not some other man instead? And why did she come ashore? To be with you?"

  "I don't know. I don't understand her. Except that last. Yes. She says I am for her and she is for me. I never really understood what that means."

  "Sounds like she's saying she loves you."

  "Maybe. I don't understand her most of the time. She's something beyond my ken. If she's a goddess or immortal–I just don't understand."

  "Most men don't understand women, Wall."

  That was true. But he shook his head. It wasn't explainable, none of it. Not even to this gruff, coarse man who at least knew John wasn't crazy. "I only know, the only thing in the world I really want is to be with her."

  Bartholomew stopped in the road and assessed John, his head cocked and brow wrinkled. He sighed, and they turned back to their walking. Soon the skeletal masts of the tall ships in the harbor came into view.

  Bartholomew had a strange look on his face that seemed half fear, half fate. "If she wanted you to go back to the sea with her, would you do it?"

  A shiver ran up John's spine. Did he feel Bart's fear or his own? "I don't think she can go back now," he said. "I think she gave up her sea. Maybe immortality, too, I'm not sure. That singing you heard, that was her."

  "Thought so."

  "We climbed to the top of the Diamond Head so she could see the sea, and she sang to it all night long. I've never felt such deep yearning, and it seemed the sea sang back to her, like lovers forever parted."

  Was that it? Was he jealous of her love for her sea?

  "It surely was beautiful," Bartholomew said, his head slowly shaking as if at some great wonder that was beyond belief. "Surely was."

  "Used to be, no one else could hear her song but me. Now everyone can. That's why I think she's given up everything to be just human. She can die, now that she's on land."

  "That would surely be a shame. Frightening thought."

  "I think she'd die in the sea now. Just like me."

  "But she told me not to fear it. You think I'd be like you, swimming in the sea? Be with my Siren forever?"

  The sudden memory of the drowning sailors struck him. He didn't know. Damn it all, he didn't know. They'd had no Siren to kiss their lips and take them to a paradise beneath the waves. He didn't know how to answer.

  "But she told me not to fear it," Bartholomew repeated.

  "She doesn't lie," John said. It was the only answer he was sure of. And he knew what hunger and torture the man was going through. But it wasn't up to him to say what the rough American ought to do.

  Closer to the docks, their pace slowed, as if trepidation dragged Bartholomew's steps. The five masts of the Clipper Galinda towered above the water of the harbor. Bartholomew moved as if in a trance. At last, after he had stared at the ship for several minutes, he huffed out a resigned sigh, and reached into his pocket. Out came a necklace of silver gray pearls.

  "Don't know why I have this," he said. "Maybe you should give it to your Siren."

  John shook his head again, as he had done so many times this morning. "She never was much one for trinkets."

  "Got to give it to someone. Don't think I'm going to have much use for it."

  John frowned. He'd thought so much lately that he had no gift for Siren, after she had given so much to him. But this was not what he needed for her. Not a gift that was nothing more than something given by another man.

  "Save it. Give it to your Siren," he said. "Maybe that's why you have it. You'll be glad you have something you can share with her."

  Bartholomew pinched his lips together and slowly nodded. "Tell your Siren goodbye for me. You're a good man, Wall. My cousin said so. He was right. Hope he found a Siren too."

  John didn't have the heart to tell the man his cousin had never heard the Siren's song. Or he had not admitted to it. They shook hands and clasped arms, and their eyes said they knew they would never meet again. And Bartholomew turned away to walk toward the Galinda with his head held high and a whistle on his lips.

  An odd malaise came over John as he walked away, and instead of heading back to the village, he turned into Honolulu town, toward the neatly laid out mud streets and roughly constructed shops. He browsed aimlessly, wanting something but he didn't know what.

  What did one buy for a sea goddess?

  In one dark, smoky den of a shop far from the main streets, he found it. Little bottles filled with a clear, slick oil, scented with the flowers of the tropics. When he asked what they were for, the old man chuckled and rubbed his hairy chin as if he thought John no sailor at all if he didn't know. He bought the bottles and put them in his pocket, then began the long trek along the beach of Waikiki and over the hump that led past the Diamond Head to the village. Twice the thunderstorms broke as he walked, but the pouring rain was warm, and sun cracked through the rows of thunder clouds to echo the joy in his heart. He kept on walking, anxious to give his gift to Siren.

  She was easily pleased, yet he had never found a gift that had said quite what he wanted it to say, and now he knew why. All this time, he had never really understood. He hadn't understood anything, not Siren, who was as inexplicable to him as God himself, not how they had lived in the sea, not why she had come to land and given up her Summer Sea. It was odd that he had learned so much from the confusion of that rough-mannered American, Tom Bartholomew.

  Siren would say "I am for you, John Wall," and he had always wondered if it had meant she had come to take him. For she had done that. Taken him into the sea with little consent from him. Yet he would have died if he had not. But now he understood the words came from her depth. It was her way of saying she loved him, that they belonged together. And somehow he had never managed to say to her he loved her too.

  Tonight, he would tell her, with words. He would show her with his hands as he anointed her glorious body with the scented oils but it would be the words that he would finally say that would count. Simple words, maybe, for he had never been very good at saying the big ones. But he would say it. Because now he finally understood. It was not about owning someone. It was about loving. And Siren had loved him long before he had even been born on earth.

  He crested the hill and caught sight of the village along the curve of the little turquoise bay. His pace picked up as he continued down the sloping muddy road, his heart accelerating in his excitement.

  Something was happening in the village. The sound of voices reached his ears like the buzzing of a swarm of bees, and the brown bodies of villagers scurried toward a single point near the open hut where the women pounded the kapa into barkcloth for their garments. He frowned, for he knew the men did not usually go near the area where the women worked.

  Something was wrong. John walked faster, then broke into a trot. Soon he was running as he heard the moaning cries of women. Had old Hiapo died? He was very old. Or his very ancient wife who was so beloved of the women? But everyone ran. Everyone
gathered in a circle.

  Then they saw him approaching. The moans ceased abruptly as their jaws hung slack. Their faces twisted into anguish as they watched him.

  Siren!

  Fear propelled him as he dashed into the crowd. Siren sat on a black boulder watching him come, her face twisted—pain? Fear? In one hand, she cradled the other, and into the sand at her feet oozed bright red blood.

  Chapter 13

  He knelt at her feet, panic turning his heart into a frenetic drum, and he scooped up the bloody sand, as if somehow he could turn time backwards and make it not touch the earth. But the blood continued to pour from the wound.

  "It is too late, John Wall," she said. "I have broken kapu. I will die now."

  "No!" he wailed, taking the bloody hand and wrapping the cloth of her muu muu around it, while glancing around frantically for something to tie around it to staunch the flow. "It's just a myth, Siren! It's not true! We'll stop the bleeding and you'll be just fine."

  "I am just a myth to your people, my John Wall. But if you do not believe, it will not go away. I am Siren, and I must live or not live by my kapu."

  Her face was beginning to turn ashen pale, and her voice had a tremble in it. John scooped her into his arms, cradling her as hot tears stung his cheeks. "No, I won't let you go. You said it is a horrible death. I won't let it happen. There has to be something I can do."

  "I am Siren," she said. "I decided. Always I have been for you, my John Wall. Always. I chose to live ashore with you." Siren nestled her face into the crook between his arm and chest. "I hoped it would be longer, but sooner or later, it would come. Am not sorry. I am not afraid. But I will die soon. Take me home. I would die in our home."

  She would not last much longer. He could see her strength ebbing away. It did not matter how many tears he shed—he could not stop it. If only he had stayed in the sea with her, she would still be safe.

  "Let us go back to the sea instead, Siren."

  "You will die there, John Wall." Her voice was already whisper-weak. "The sea will not save me, either."

  "A Siren should not die on land. It is the only thing I can do. We will die together."

  John stood and stripped off his garments. From the pocket of his trousers, he pulled the two remaining gold Spanish doubloons and gave them to Hiapo, who stood with the Oahuans of his village. "Give everything we have to the people of your village," he said. "I know it isn't much, but it is for you."

  Then he knelt and removed the muu muu and bracelets from his beloved. He lifted her in his arms and walked through the village, heading for the sandy beach. Around them, the mournful sounds of a dirge arose from the villagers, that curious combination of the ancient chants and choir-like harmony that was almost as beautiful as the Siren's song.

  Running along beside them, Kekoa led a group of men who brought up an outrigger canoe to the beach, and pushed it into the water.

  "No," he said, "I will take her."

  "We will go with you to the open sea," Kekoa replied. "We will take you beyond the breakers."

  John nodded. He would have to get them beyond the breakers and away from the currents or they would be carried back to land. And she was Siren. He did not want her to die on land or to be washed ashore. She belonged to the sea.

  He walked into the gentle sea, with its waves lapping at his legs and could feel the tide already changing. He would have to fight against it. He took the rope Kekoa extended from the canoe to tow them out.

  The water deepened and its color darkened as they reached the edge of the reef. Soon even the dark old lava flows could not be seen beneath the surface, and the men kept paddling their outriggers, their deep voices staying in chorus with the melodic chant of the women ashore, the music cradling them in its loving beauty.

  Long after the village was beyond sight or hearing, he signaled Kekoa to let them go, and the canoe turned back toward shore. Now they were alone with the sea. And Siren's strength was nearly gone.

  The sky darkened, and it was not night, but an approaching storm that quickly bore down on them as it blew toward the island. The tide had turned, and the cross current fought him. John did not have the strength in his legs that had once powered him beneath the sea. His puny human's swimming strokes were almost useless.

  He pushed harder into the ocean. "We'll make it, Siren. You will not die on land."

  Her voice was almost gone. "I am for you, John Wall. Nothing else matters."

  And so that was what it meant. "I love you, Siren. Nothing else matters. But you will not die on land."

  For hours it seemed he fought storm, tide and current, yet every time he could see through the heavy rain and wind, the island seemed closer, not farther away. His strength was giving out. He was only a man. He could not force his will against the might of nature.

  But he kept trying. Kept swimming. Swimming. His strokes almost too weak against the might of the King of Storms and his brother, the sea.

  As the storm moved on, he stopped, exhausted, and looked back. He could see Diamond Head now, standing proudly above the island. They had not moved farther out to sea. They were closer than ever.

  Grimly, he poured all he could muster into his strokes. Fiercely, he threw his last bit of strength into his fight against the current and tide. But it was futile. Exhaustion finally overcame him. He could barely still hold her in his arm, and his legs could move no more.

  He had failed. They would die, and the ocean would carry their bodies back to land. His Siren's body would lie on a tattered beach, where no Siren should ever be laid to rest.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered raggedly. "I can't make it, Siren." He couldn't even keep them afloat any longer.

  "Kiss me, my love," she said.

  Yes. That was the way to make it end. John Wall took his last breath of moisture-laden air and kissed his Siren. If they had to die, this was the only way he wanted to go. Bodies embraced, lips joined, they began to sink. He could feel the colder water of the depths surrounding his feet, then thighs, and the darkness of the sea's depths coming up to take them. But all he cared about was being in his Siren's arms. What would happen would happen. They were at least together in death. He savored the wonderful beauty of their kiss.

  Siren's arms, that had been limp, began to move, and her hands swept gentle caresses over his cheeks. The water felt warm. The kaleidoscope colors of the Summer Sea wrapped around them, the rainbow that swam through the water.

  The burning pain of exhaustion faded. He felt his legs becoming strong again. And he could feel it coming back to Siren.

  "What's happening?" How could this be? She had said she must die now.

  "It is something we cannot know," said his Siren, smiling again, at last. "The Siren's kiss is death sometimes. But sometimes it brings life. But I think this time it is your kiss that gives the Siren life."

  He hugged her fiercely. He didn't care why. Or how. Only that his Siren was alive.

  With strong, powerful strokes of their legs, John Wall and his Siren swam away into the Summer Sea.

  * * *

  Today, on the Island of Oahu, you can still find the story of the Siren, but it is told a little differently.

  If you leave Honolulu, driving along the Southern Coast toward the windward side of the island, you will pass the Diamond Head, and then Hanauma Bay where Hiapo's village is said to have been. The road turns north to follow the windward coast. Soon you will come upon a large, metal-roofed old building with weathered gray timbers, where an old man and his wife sell T shirts.

  The old woman is polite and pleasant, but busy with business. But her husband loves the company and even more, loves to tell the stories of the Old Hawaii. He will, if he decides he trusts you enough, reach into his pocket and pull out an old gold coin with its Spanish cross almost obliterated from too much stroking of the thumb.

  Pull up a chair and prop your feet on the wooden crate he keeps there for that purpose, and he will tell you the story of how the Spanish doubloon made its
way to the Island of Oahu, and how the Goddess of the Sea, Namaka-o-Kaha'i, rode to shore on the crest of a storm-tossed wave to be with her lover, the haole, John Wall.

  THE END

  Look for my other historicals on Amazon.com, Smashwords.com or other ebook distributors.

  FIRE DANCE

  LOKI’S DAUGHTERS

  THE MUDLARK

  HIS MAJESTY, THE PRINCE OF TOADS

  Published by Samhain Publishing:

  APHRODITE’S BREW

  SINS OF THE HEART

  Published by The Wild Rose Press:

  LADY WICKED

  If you liked SIREN, you might want to look for FAERIE

  “Not your ordinary fairy tale”

  A full length paranormal historical romance coming Summer, 2011. An excerpt follows this small glossary of Hawaiian and other terms.

  GLOSSARY of HAWAIIAN TERMS:

  Ali'i: The elite of the ancient Hawaiians. Many Hawaiians today can trace their ancestry back to those who once were chiefs or rulers of the Islands.

  Haole: Usually a white person, who is not native to the islands.

  Kapu: That which is forbidden, or sacred.

  Lei:A garland for the neck, head, wrists or ankles, made of flowers or decorative leaves such as ti leaves.

  Muu muu: A loose woman's garment introduced by the missionaries to cover the body because they found it hard to tolerate the Islanders' nudity.

  Pali: Cliff. On the Island of Oahu, the Pali are on the eastern or Windward side of the island, because it is the heavy rainfall brought by the winds that erodes them so fiercely into steep rock walls. The legend of King Kamehameha forcing his enemies, the defending Oahuans, to their deaths over the cliffs is true, and stories still abound of the ghosts of those warriors who fell to their deaths, who still haunt the area near the base of the cliffs.