Upon a shattered rock of an island in the Tyrrhenian Sea, where in generations past fair-but-devious maidens of legend known as sirens sang sweet, enchanting songs to lure Mediterranean mariners to their deaths, here now resides Agnesopheme, the sole remaining siren.
Agnesopheme, who prefers to go by Agnes, is a different kind of siren than her ancestors. She sings a song that inexplicably repulses visitors from her island, so we at Leisurely Travel magazine were thrilled to get this rare opportunity to speak with Agnes.
Those expecting the vision of a siren as passed down to us from the Homeric writers of old describing utterly gorgeous sunbathing beauties will find a uniquely earthy woman akin to the rocks she resides upon. Get your cameras ready for some Nat Geo Gone Wild worthy shots!
“Get off my island!” Often do these penetrating lyrics cut through the crashing surf when visiting Agnes’ island, imbuing the natural surroundings with the full-throated diva’s warbled bellows.
When not belting out her song for discerning ears, Agnes plays a particularly piercing recorder. Some may call its tone an acquired taste, but for now it’s the only instrument at her disposal.
“I’m hoping to get my hands on a set of bagpipes someday,” says Agnes.
The beautifully barren landscape is dotted with a veritable menagerie of lounging cats. These are Agnes’ pets and only companions.
“I just wanna be left alone with my cats,” she informs any and all while grabbing one up for a thorough stroking along its Spartan mane. Our conversation only occasionally departed from the topic of cats during our recent visit.
“I’m not a bird,” squawked Agnes apropos of perhaps the glorious avian whirling above. It may also be a reference to the claims that sirens were little birds with the tiny faces of women. Others say they were sparrow-like from the chest up, while having the features of a woman from the waist down.
“I don’t know if theys a name for that kind of perversion, but it makes me sick! And like I says, I’m not a bird! I don’t have bird’s skin,” says Agnes pointing out the scaly skin upon her legs, “it’s just a bad case of psoriasis is all! And I ain’t got no wings neither!” Perhaps the coat she claims to have fashioned from the feathers of island birds is nothing more than she says it is, a feather coat, but we’ll let you judge for yourself on your next visit. Wink wink!
No longer is Agnes visited by salty sailors from Greece or Italy. “It’s nothing but Americans nowadays,” says she. Lucky us, because you too can come find a piece of the past at an affordable price through packages offered by Circus Cruises! (Miami-only departures.)
THE MISGUIDED SPEAR
Tears of the Ancient and Other Stories Page 3