Mal de Mere

The ship cut gently through the waves, it had no troubles sailing though the calm waters. The weather was different. He felt the wind go through his hair, a soft breeze. No storm seemed at hand, nothing like the last time he had been here. The sky was turning shades of green and blue as the sun stood high.

It is different from that day. No stormy clouds packed and I do not feel that premonition queer feeling in my guts. They are not here. She is not here.

His hands were upon the helm. His calloused hands upon the worn wood. It was silent. All around him. Silent as it had always been. With some hand gestures he told the scabby men aboard that it was no use. They would not find her today. The winds were too calm, the waves to friendly. One of the men nodded his understanding and his lips formed words he would never hear. Squinting his eyes he could read them, his lip reading had always been good.

“We will head back, my deaf friend,” the man had said. Upon his head a scarf was bound that drifted softly on the wind and his eyes were friendly. He had found him on the beach that day. He had seen her. He told him so. The way Jean had drawn her golden fin and her dark hair, he had believed him. Her bare torso, blueish from the cold, or from the reflection of the water. Those eyes that pierced him, dark eyes, without a pupil. Eyes that seemed to have no end, described as monstrous, yet she had picked him from the bottom of the ocean, and dragged him ashore.

Maris. It was a name he could only hear in his head. She had told him. Her lips easy to read since he was fixated on them. Full, blueish lips, moist and salty like the sea. However it was not her beauty, it was not even that song sailors told about. It was that one sound. That only sound he had ever heard.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

Even though it was the only sound he had ever heard, he knew it was the most stunning sound in existence. It had took ahold of him. His world had disappeared around him. He had always been so focused of his surroundings because he lacked hearing, that day the tables were turned. He had heard! A true sound had found him, and because of it, the whole world had disappeared. People had told him the terrors of that day.

People had told him, and drawn the horror. They had gestured about the alluring song of the sirens. How men walked off deck because of it, drowning when they hit water. How the first mate had steered the ship right into the cliffs, under the influence of the beauty calling to him. Many of his mates had died. Whether it was by drowning or the hands of the sirens, he did not know. He had received this tale like he hadn’t been there. The only thing he could remember was that amazing sound. That thumping of her heart. He had never heard a heartbeat before, but the rhythm had synched with his own heart, and he knew. It was not the song he heard, it was her.

Maris.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder and as he turned he saw Jean standing behind him. Again he had dozed off in his memories and his daydreams, not aware of his surroundings. It was dangerous. For a deaf man, it was life threatening.

“Gaspard, I think we need to call it a day,” Jean mouthed. It took Gaspard a lot of effort to focus on the movements of his lips; she was still occupying his mind. As he understood what had been said to him, he nodded and gestured.

Yes, I do not think we will find her today.

Jean shook his head and for a minute he thought he was only agreeing to his words, until his lips moved again. The wind took the scarf around his head, and played with it. “Nor any other day,”

What do you mean? Gaspard’s hands were moving erratic. His despair was not just in the words he tried to portray; it was in his hands too.

“Sirens will not be found when searched for,” Jean said, “and only a fool tries to find them.”

He was a fool. He was a troubled fool. A deaf man that heard her heartbeat in his dreams. A deaf man obsessed with a sound; a sound made by a deadly siren.

Gaspard had always known of sirens. Their lore had filled many sailors’ ears and whether they believed or not, no man could resist their call. He had seen the terrors on paintings and read the stories on seamen’s lips. Books and parchment were filled with their tales of drowning and allure. Some drawings had made them out to be gorgeous ladies, others looked like sea monsters. None had been true.

She had been beautiful, now that he thought of it, yet it was not her appearance that had made her delicate. It had been the pure beating of her heart. A sound not fitting for a sea monster and yet not fitting for a damsel either. It was a completely different level. She was divine, a deity on her own.

The way she looked at me. Maris. She talked to me and I did not hear. All I could do was gesture, she did not understand.

His finger pointed to himself, and after that touched the temple of his head. Jean understood. He was a fool.

All his life he had been imprisoned in silence. He had not felt it to be such a cage. Not until he had actually heard a sound. Not until she had showed her heart to him. Now all he could think of was that divine sound. He could not walk the marketplace like he did before. He did not enjoy the busy people walking around, buying fish and vegetables. He could not enjoy reading lips from a distance, knowing what the wives of sailors gossiped about. All he could think of was what it would sound like. If it could ever surpass the lovely sound of that heartbeat.

He felt the water traveling up his windpipe. That awful feeling of his lungs emptying themselves from water. It burned and he coughed and coughed. Sand was sticking to his cheek as he turned and felt a heavy weight upon him. His white blouse had been ripped and his hair soaked. It took a while to focus but when he did, he looked into the strangest eyes he had ever seen. They were all dark, no pupil, and no white around the iris. She did not have an iris and yet he felt like he was looking straight into her. The sound. It was so close to his ears now. A heavy thumping that had sped up just as his heart was speeding.

The touch of her was wet and slippery, her scales scratching against his breeches. He wanted to say something. Yet he couldn’t. Not only was he drowning in her eyes, he could not hear his words. He could not control his speech. If he tried, he would be shouting weird syllables at her. He did not want to scare her off.

There was only one thing to do; make her feel what he heard. Without thinking he took her hand in his own and, as if under a spell, drew it to his chest. While his fingers slipped across hers, he could feel little hymen connecting her digits. Her cold hand upon his heart was not freezing; it set ablaze a fire he had never felt before. The moment seemed to go on forever and he wished it would never stop. Yet before he knew it her eyes widened and she pulled loose her hand. He could not stop her this time. Something had happened and he did not understand.

Screaming was the only thing he knew could get her attention, yet he did not know if there was even sound coming from his lips. The beautiful tones of her heart disappeared into the distance as her tail submerged with the water. The seaman reached him and he cursed them. He prayed they had stayed away.

Slowly waking from his memory, Jean was waving his hands before Gaspard’s eyes. Trying to get the deaf man’s attention.

“It is time to steer back,” Jean mouthed to him, Gaspard only nodded.

As despair filled him and the sails caught wind again, they were heading home. He would probably never find her. Many times had he traveled these waters and even other seas as well. Maybe he would sail the seven seas, every last one of them, to find her. Maybe he would never find her at all. That idea filled him with fear. It grabbed ahold of his lungs and squeezed out his air, tightening the grip around his heart. He needed to find her, yet he knew he would not. She had saved him. He would never know why. He would never know why she did not let him drown, or even help nature a bit. He had taken notice of so many stories about sirens dragging men down after they abandoned ship. So many lips read the malice of these creatures. She had saved him, bringing herself upon dry land to drag his useless lungs towards oxygen.

Gaspard shook his head.

I will never know her, not pass the sound of her heart and the movement of her name.

Looking ahead he could see the sky turning red. The sun was dying and drowning in the sea, bleeding his last rays of light. Far ahead the shore welcomed him home. His ship was swift and cut through the water like it gave no resistance. The Gods were bringing him home, he did not belong beside the sirens.

Just as he tried to work the sight of her out of his mind. He heard.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.