The Siren (2 page)

Marilyn was seventeen when she became a siren. She had discovered that her fiancé was having an affair, and when I say “discovered,” I don’t mean through overhearing gossip or discovering a love note. I mean that she actually endured walking in and seeing the man she loved in bed with another woman. He wasn’t even sorry. He told her to get out while the other girl laid there and laughed.

She was just too young to know what to do with herself. She felt betrayed, unwanted, ashamed and couldn’t bear the thought of facing him or her family. Having tied rocks to her feet, she jumped in the Ocean hoping to never be found. Her clothes alone could have done the job.

As she sank, she felt the stupidity of her actions. She wasn’t the terrible person, he was! She shouldn’t be suffering, he should! Regret washed over her. She wished that she had been stronger and had really done something with her life, and with that in her heart she cried out to live.

The Ocean consented.

Everyone in her family thought she had died. And it left her former fiancé free to marry the other girl— not that he even really wanted that.

It’s hard to stay away at first; that’s why you just go somewhere else. You miss the ones you’ve left behind, of course, but what’s worse is knowing they miss you for no reason. You’re still there. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been. You’re sturdier than they are.

But there’s nothing to be done. Rules. After a while, there’s no one left to go back to. That makes it a little better. And a little worse.

The only remnant of that life was Marilyn’s engagement ring— a token she kept to make herself calmer, braver, better.

My story was a bit different than Marilyn’s. I don’t remember much, but I’m sure it was 1921. And I think the month was June.

“Where do you think you’ll live once I’m gone?” Marilyn asked casually. I hated to talk about it. Of course, I was happy for her, but I didn’t know how I would tolerate being even more alone than I was now.

“I really haven’t thought about it. I might stay around here; I like it here. I’ll be sad to be alone, but I don’t think I’m prepared to live with Aisling.” I rolled my eyes.

Marilyn laughed. It was contagious. The release of sound lifted my whole body. The longing of my earlier voyeurism disappeared in the lightness of my voice set free.

While Marilyn was full of spirit, Aisling, our other sister, was bitter. She had a deep regret of this life, but wasn’t brave enough to cross the Ocean in such a way that the deal would be revoked. Aisling still had some time to go— less than I did, but much more than Marilyn. Marilyn was set to leave us within the year, and I would desperately miss her. Aisling had kept to herself, and I only ever saw her on those times when the Ocean called us together. It had been more than a year now since we had to serve last. I wasn’t looking forward to the reunion.

Aisling was beautiful, of course. She was blonde and pale and exquisite. Marilyn told me once that Aisling was Swedish, but I had no way of telling myself. While we were all somehow graceful, she pulled it off the best. She, like Marilyn, had glorious blue eyes, like tiny jewels on her flawless face. And something in those eyes that I could never name… it made you long for unknown things when you looked at her. But she was mean-spirited. I think it was our first encounter that left such a horrible impression. I admired her for all of five minutes when I saw her, and then she spoke to me.

“Don’t waste your time; you can’t pull this off,” she had said.

“Aisling, if you’re going to be like that, just leave,” Marilyn told her.

“I think I will. After all that noise, I need some quiet. Nice knowing you,” she said to me, as if she expected me to give up once she left and would never see me again. It seemed like Aisling forgot awfully fast how she felt when it was her turn. Hate is a very strong word, but it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say I hated Aisling.

“No, I don’t think you have the patience for Aisling,” Marilyn said. I think if it had been possible, she would have choked on the bit of fruit in her mouth.

“Hey, I can be patient! I’m fun to live with, aren’t I?” That was pointlessly defensive; I couldn’t stand Aisling. But it felt good to sound that way. I felt like a teenager.

“Of course you are, dear. Best roommate ever. But I’ve lived with Aisling, and it’s enough to drive you mad.”

“Exactly when and why did you live with Aisling?” The thought was revolting.

“In the beginning, just like you. It was
so
different. I didn’t even make it a week with Aisling. Think about that: we have years and years, and the two of us couldn’t survive a week! Could you imagine if I left you alone after your first week?”

I trembled. “Oh, I would have been completely lost! Why didn’t she want to stay with you?”

“I don’t think it was
me
exactly. I think she just wanted to be alone. She made it very clear that she wasn’t enjoying being watched all the time. She yelled at me and threw a fit if I got too close or said too much. She just didn’t like it.” Marilyn shrugged at the memory.

“What did you do?”

“I left. That was what she wanted. Aisling asked me to explain everything to her one more time, and then said she’d stay close to the Ocean and ask Her if she was needed until she could understand on her own. Stubborn as a mule!” Marilyn concluded with a laugh.

I laughed along with her. “Who do you think was ready to leave first?”

“I think we were both pretty tired of each other. I tried to stick it out, honestly. But I went south, and she went north, and it’s better that way. I’m not sure if one sister has ever tried to dispose of another, but we weren’t far off!” The thought of trying to destroy another sister was something that was truly laughable. I don’t know how that would even begin to work. “Seriously, I broke a plate over her head one night.”

“What!?” I exclaimed. That sent us into another round of giggles.

“She called me something, I forget what, and I just grabbed a plate and hit her on the head!” The laughs continued. “I mean, it didn’t hurt her, but I think she got the picture.”

Only Marilyn would come up with something like that. I loved her so much. I was going to miss her.

I soaked up the moments of laughter. It was a beautiful and private sound. I had discovered that breaths weren’t harmful— like a breathy chuckle— but if a drop of our voices leaked into the sound, there were problems. Sighs, sniffs, and huffs were all benign. But laughing, speaking, crying, and even whispering are music in their own ways. These were to be guarded. So we bound them up tight before we ventured out for the afternoon.

I was always desperate for distractions; I was more myself when I was active. Just walking on the beaches helped me to feel more normal. The boys whistled at us as we passed. We must have seemed exotic here. Between Marilyn’s red hair and my pale skin, it was obvious we weren’t locals.

In the wee hours of the night, when no one was there to see, Marilyn and I would sometimes sink into the surf. The Sea must have felt how much I distrusted Her but never bothered to address it. The waters here in the middle latitudes were constantly warm and teemed with life. Fish swam past with fluid grace, practically dancing in their underwater world. Out, just past the lengths where a normal human would feel comfortable traveling, the sands gave way to jagged rocks covered with skinny strings of seaweeds that looked like they were waving to me each time I passed. I would go out there, grateful for the change of scenery, and stay under the water facing belly up. The moon wiggled as waves passed, and I felt the truth of this life: We all depended on Her.

But it was too early, too bright for any such excursion. Instead, we did as the natives did. We found a little band playing in a courtyard and went to listen. I loved the music here, it was all so fresh. We sat on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, just watching. A canopy kept most of the sun away as people rested in chairs. Flowers bloomed everywhere, filling the air with their perfume; it was still so exotic to me. The band all wore similar shirts in a light cream color, but still looked very casual— like everything else here.

A few couples were dancing in time to the music. There were children holding hands and hopping in a circle. An older man danced with a girl who must have been his granddaughter. I could hear him quietly telling her she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. I was glad to have been close enough to hear that. There was no one here to ask me to dance, so I settled for the next best thing. I grabbed Marilyn’s hand to pull her up to dance with me. I finally tugged hard enough to get her to comply when we both heard it.

The breeze blew Her voice in, that voice that I was just starting to hear like Marilyn could. But it wasn’t the same message as this morning. If I heard right… She said something about the Sea of Japan and another sister. We were to hurry.

Marilyn and I looked at each other. We couldn’t speak here, but that message was a strange one. Another sister? Obviously to replace Marilyn, but I was still so new. There wasn’t time to think about what it all meant.

My mentality switched in a serious second. I was no longer the girl dancing under a canopy. I was a siren. I had a job to do. I had to obey.

We couldn’t just dive into the Ocean in front of all these people. We weren’t planning on resurfacing, and that would surely raise questions. We sprinted down the coast looking for an unoccupied stretch. People’s heads turned as we ran past, kicking up sand as we moved at top speed. Our borrowed skirts of bright yellows and pinks danced around in the wind. I noticed Marilyn edge close to the water as she ran for a moment. With her feet in the surf she could explain: We were on our way. There were just too many witnesses.

The words the people on the beach spoke should have been in Spanish, but every syllable was crystal clear.

“Look at those girls run!”

“Nice legs, honey!”

We ignored them, running on and on without stopping. One of the benefits of not really needing your lungs was never being caught breathless. A habit more than a necessity.

It seemed to take forever to find a bend in the beach. I was worried. The Ocean knew we were coming, but our new sister did not. I hoped she would be alright for the handful of moments it would take to get to her. When a cluster of trees jutted out shielding a section of beach, Marilyn and I slowed to look back and make sure no one could see. Without another hesitation, we jumped in, not bothering to take a breath.

We didn’t swim exactly, not when She had a specific place in mind. It was more like we were propelled. A weaker body would have caved from the force, but it almost tickled me every time. Usually, I felt a sense of dread when I moved this way, fully aware that I was about to assist in a massacre of sorts. I tried to take comfort in the knowledge that I wasn’t the one who wanted these lives. Along with the worry, I felt a strange surge of strength and beauty. I was, at least for a few people, the last thing they would see or hear, and I knew that on both counts I would be hauntingly perfect.

As we moved through the water, our clothes disintegrated. The speed, I think, was the cause. Buttons and zippers held up against the beating pretty well, but with nothing to hold onto, they sank like tiny pebbles. Marilyn’s engagement ring took the pounding with no sign of the wear. I came into this world without any jewelry of my own to test this force with.

There were no signs of location or time to what we wore when we were together singing. We were united, equals. As our clothing stripped away from our bodies, the Ocean would release all the salt in Her veins. These tiny particles would affix themselves to our bodies creating long, flowing dresses. They looked something like sea foam. Light and dazzling, they were never exactly the same, but always somehow similar. The colors were all Her shades— greens, blues, tans— a rainbow of Herself. We bathed in them. The dresses were timeless and wonderful and sensual in a way. Probably the only perk I had found so far of the life I was leading.

Sometimes I would wear my dress until it fell apart. One little grain at a time, it would dissolve, and I would watch with sadness as it turned into salt on the floor. I adored them. And certainly, as we stood there on the open waters with such a costume, it would cause a man to forget what he was doing was insanity. Once we were at our final destination, the bare parts of our skin would shimmer in the light from the salt. And when we opened our mouths in song, there would be no resisting the temptation. Whatever danger our beauty was masking would be noticed far too late.

The Ocean was full of dangers. I, like the rest of mankind, had assumed the worst were icebergs or hurricanes— a collection of natural disasters. The truth was these things were avoidable almost all the time. The true danger was the voice shielded under my unbreakable skin.

Take, for example, the Titanic. Headlines credited this ship’s foundering to ice in the water. I attributed it to Marilyn and Aisling, who sang the ship into its deadly course. Long before people were able to go see it, I went to find the wreckage myself. Marilyn refused to go with me, so I went alone. This was only a few months into this life, before I had to bring down a ship myself and couldn’t quite understand her aversion. I didn’t know how it would haunt me later. The Ocean took me there with ease, gently guiding me to the wreckage. I was surprised by Her willingness, by the care She took with me when I asked for something so obviously bizarre. I was intimidated by Her, but my curiosity won out.