Sea To Sea
There’s this vastness to the sea. A vastness in the silence. Miles upon miles of open waters that any sailor could lose their mind in, if they were so inclined. Water ripples in a slow roll some days; choppy breaks that rock to and froe other days. That’s the nature of the North Sea. No two days are the same. Dark waters, almost pitch, go further than the horizon. The bottom never to be seen.
Light doesn’t go that far down.
Even five nautical miles off the coast of the Shetlands we could get lost out here.
Callum and me. If we aren’t careful.
We don’t though ‘cause we’re skilled enough, the two of us, not to get lost. Not on accident least aways. Callum, he’s of good sort. A bit nosy. Or talkative, yeah. But of the good sort. He’s been a sailor, a fisherman, twice as long as I have; and I’ve been one most of my life. He took me on a bit over a month ago as his first mate, which is a bit silly really. It’s just the two of us. He doesn’t have the same qualms about having a woman aboard, though, like some do.
It’s quiet most days. Just us and the sea. Only our own tales break the silence. I like the quiet. It helps one’s mind to think and just breathe. To just be.
Callum, though, he hates the quiet. He’s always bursting with questions and tales. Like he can’t sit still if he doesn’t speak. Today’s one of those days where he’s more talkative than most. He’s curiouser than a dang cat near an open flame. He hasn’t been deterred yet by any of my cutting glares – like he’ll never get burned by it.
He’s persistent; I’ll give him that.
“Bit odd don’t ya think?” He sits further up deck, checking over nets for holes or knots. Weather worn hands, twisting and untangling a blanket of rope. It’ll be cast tomorrow on our rounds to replace one of the filled nets we collect. “All these stories of fae, water people…cities in the deep. Monsters to come snatch sailors off their ships in the dead o’night.”
A soft snort escapes me before I can stop it. As well as being talkative, he enjoys telling tall tales of sea creatures and monsters. His smokey voice, gruff from years of abuse on the high seas, tells slow rolling tales even slower than calm waters. I never ask him to sing. His rough timber would put me to sleep in an instant.
“You don't believe in such things, do ya, lass?”
“Mer-people and monsters?” I scoff and adjust my position behind the helm. I steady my footing for a second. “Just hokum and fairytales.” His aged blue eyes furrow a bit.
“Strange that is, lass. I heard your family was fearful of the water people.”
“My family? Sure. Me? Not so much.”
“Why’s that?”
“Seems a bit stupid, innit? We’re an island race. To be fearful of the sea when we’re surrounded by it. Even my great grandad on mum’s side came from an island, all the way in the Mediterranean. If you were tryin’ to get away from killer sea people, why not go more inland? Not to another island surround by the sea.”
I can see the questions churning in his mind as he contemplates that illogical solution to an even more illogical fear. I grew up hearing stories…myths…legends, whatever you call ‘em. And it seems to be another of those things.
Stories.
Just stories about fairies or mermaids. Entertain the kids, yeah. Nothing more to it. But somewhere along the way. Dehydration? Hallucinations? Hell, probably pure boredom, maybe. The stories stopped being fairytales. Started being a real fear.
“So youse not afraid?” he asks me while he sets aside the nets. Final checks complete. We move about the deck, checking sails and lines. We prepare for the storm that’ll reach us by nightfall. It doesn’t look to be too bad, but better to check than be sorry. I think about his question a bit before answering. My folks’ fear of the sea has followed me for years and I never understood it. There’re far more immediate things to fear than myths and legends.
“There’s a lot to fear about the sea. Lots of real things. Things we can touch, see, and hear. Storms and sea predators. Things that’ll getcha long before some imaginary monster.” I say to him.
He chuckles, “Already preparing to get a bit taken out of ya by a shark or somethin’?”
“Just being realistic. I only worry about what I can control. Everything else, well…don’t worry so much about that.”
He leaves it at that for time. Our attention is drawn to the tasks ahead of us. We come across some buoys of ours and haul our catch in. It’s laborious work that doesn’t leave much room for chatter. It’s sometimes the only breaks I get from his questions. Once our catch is stored away in the hull, we’re back on deck. Callum has a couple of salmon and herring on a block between his knees. He fillets them for our dinner while I’m back at the helm keeping the boat steady on course.
So, what is the story then? Why ya folks don’t want ya out at sea?”
“Like I said, fear of an old story.”
He glares at my non-response. He gestures with his knife as if to say well go on. Tell it then. It’s ridiculous how persistent he can be.
“Don’t have much else to do?” He finally barks out.
I sigh at his impatience. Might as well. “Mum’s grandad came over years ago from a little island, not much different from ours. But over that way by Greece. They spoke the language too you see.”
“Do you still speak it?”
“A little, mostly at home with Mum and Granny. Made it easier when all the grandparents were alive; call them by their Greek names.” He gestures for me to continue the tale before he tosses some of the fish guts over the side.
“The island was little, yeah. Nothing well known. Old. Like going back in time to the days of Odysseus and Penelope, old. Stories of cyclopes, Achilles, and tricksters followed their childhood dreams. Just slow island life, ya know?” I breathe. “The main trade was fish. Tourism didn’t come until later and it was never that big.”
That’s the way Granddad tells it. Those who did come to the island liked the soft beaches with crystal-clear waters. Perfect for seeing the marine life and coral reefs that surrounded the island. Hills and small mountain trails were good for hiking. It was a place to get away for a while. Little to no technology. No distractions. It was a peaceful place; I’d like to think. Granddad was hellbent on leaving there and never returning though.
“The people, Granddad said, were good, kind people. A bit nosy,” I say with a little grin. A lot like Callum, I think. “A lot superstitious. But still good. They told this story called the Song of the Gorgóna.”
“The gorgo-hoo-a… what now?” I laugh at Callum’s twisted up face. Completely incredulous over such a strange word.
“Gorgóna.” I repeat in between giggles. “It’s just the Greek word for mermaid. The Celtics call them Merrow or Selkies. Every civilization has their own myths about mermaids. The Romans sometimes called them Sirens. They’re known as Aycayía near the Caribbean islands. All are just the same name in a different language.”
He huffs at me, annoyed with me. “Well, what’s this island’s story for ‘em?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry side-tracked a bit there. The Gorgóna were a civilization that lived off the coast of the island, between them and the mainland. Deep in the depths of the sea. So far down that no mortal could ever reach there in one breath. They were so big they could wrap themselves around the island and grab ahold of their own tails.” I make a large circle with my arms to show him how the mermaids would themselves around the island’s coasts. “Mermaids as big as the ships from the mainland.”
He flashes me a juvenile grin. “Were they beautiful? You know it’s the pretty ones that tricked them sailors off the ships.”
“That’s sirens, Callum,” is my deadpan reply. “Or drunkenness. Or just plain delusions. Same difference really.” His deep bellow of a laugh rolls across the deck.
“But yeah, I suppose some did say they were beautiful, in a monstrous way. They had iridescent scales in shades of aquamarine, sea moss, and agate. Some were like those rare kinds of opals. Pink and purple mixed with the blues. Pearlescent that’s what they’d say. Their arms and bodies were covered like the ocean floor. They’d masquerade as the coral reefs around the island in their sleep, you see. Helped them hide so they wouldn’t be hunted.”
“Doesn’t sound like a monster to me.”
“Except they were as big as a battleship.” I remind him before continuing. “Other’s spoke of the monster. How they’d have talons for fingers, as sharp and long as a marlin’s spear. Rows of razor teeth, like a shark’s. Eyes, too. Cold, calculating. They’d hunt like those killer whales, fast from the deep.” My hands slap together, the sound cracking across the deck. “Hit you before you’d even realize you were the prey. A pure predator in its element.”
“What’d they hunt?”
“Long ago, in ancient times, they’d hunt the bigger things in the sea, I reckon. Protect the sailors from the more monstrous creatures of the deep.”
“Like what?” Good lord, does he ever stop with the questions? I can’t help but point it out.
“You’re a bit like a kid, always interrupting with questions.” He mimes zipping his mouth shut. Yeah, like that’ll ever last.
“Krakens, sharks bigger than ships, you see. If you sang the Song of the Gorgóna, that song, they’d come protect you. It was a bit beautiful. And sad, I think, in a hopeful way. You’d sing it and the Gorgóna would come to find you. They’d protect you from those creatures or from raging storms. But it changed.”
“What changed?” Never mind, he’s worse than a kid.
“The world I suppose.” I sigh. “Those creatures either died off or went so far into the deep. Then the sailors became the hunted. They became poachers, whalers, those who hunt sharks for just their fins. Maybe even those ships that dump the trash in the ocean, choking the smaller creatures that live there. It made the Gorgóna angry. So, people came to fear the song. It stopped being hopeful.”
He pulls out the cooking equipment to grill our dinner. I keep us steady with the starboard side facing windward, keeping one eye out for any more of our buoys. I continue with the story while he adds spices to each fish. For once he waits for me to finish the tale.
“Over time the world aged. The Gorgóna dwindled. There the stories changed with it over time, person to person. Some tell the tale that to change with the world, the Gorgóna traded their tales for legs to walk among the islands. The songs were to call their kin home to the sea or to remind them what they gave up. Others tell it that the only way the Gorgóna could have young was by taking the young of the islanders. If a child sang the song and a Gorgóna heard it, then that child was meant to live amongst their kind.”
I catch Callum shudder at the second option and stifle a laugh at the older man’s obvious revulsion. Loves his twisted stories, but only if he can tell them, eh?
“Well, which is it?”
“Which is what?” I ask like I don’t already know what he means. It can be fun to mess with him. He gives me a look that tells me he knows what I’m doing, but I just grin back.
“Which one is true?”
“The first one? The second one? A bit of both, maybe? Isn’t that the nature of these stories?” I shrug, “to be one or the other. Both or neither one.”
“What made ya family jump ship, so to say, all the way over here?” he asks. I not just notice he’s finished up cooking and puts our food on plates. He hands me mine and I answer him.
“Oh yeah, that bit. Yeah, mum’s Granddad, he was a small boy then. He’d go out with his mum. Family of fishermen, that was their trade for years and years. Yeah, he saw one, a Gorgóna one day while out with his mum.”
“Really?!” Goodness, the little kid grin is back.
“So, he says. Doesn’t like to speak about it much unless he’s in his cups.” I say, but then I can’t help myself and continue just as Callum is about to take a bite. “He claims that’s the reason why he came back to the island after four days without his mum.” It’s comical how Callum pauses mid-bite, incredulous glare pointed at me.
“What? Now lass, youse can’t go sayin’ something like that without tellin’ us more to it!”
I put my hand up, placating him a little. “There’s more, there’s more. Slow down, I guess I best tell it from the start, or thirty years before that with his mum.”
“Yeah, best do that!”
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Grandmama’s manoúla said…
“Ma-mana?”
“Manoúla, Callum. Her mama.”
Grandmama’s manoúla said that the sea was once our home; that the islands were temporary. For a long time, she thought it was silly because her manoúla left. Left her with Pappoús and never came back.
“Now what’s that mean? Make some sense, lass.”
“Grandfather, he was Grandmama’s grandfather. Now shush, Callum.”
They were fishermen by trade too. Her manoúla was drawn to the sea, almost hypnotized by it in a way, unnatural. She’d tell tales of the Gorgóna and how they were there to guide the fishermen home at the end of each day with gentle waves. They Gorgóna with their massive bodies and tails would make the waves of the sea. They always came to you if you sang their song.
One day, long after her manoúla left, she was with Pappoús on their little gaffer. The waters were gentle that day, the sun shining clear. Pappoús wasn’t a strict or cruel man. But he did have a rule. No singing on the gaffer. Grandmama would try to get around this, you see. Hum a little tune here and there. She believed if she sang the Song of the Gorgóna at sunset then they would rise out of the water to greet her. She never gave up on that belief.
That day she sang the Song of the Gorgóna before Pappoús could stop her. Out of the depths rose this creature, dark green eyes, darker than any sea moss. A body that climbed higher above them for miles. Its skin was made of scales in blues and greens that would twitch in the wind. Grandmama was triumphant that she was right, that the Gorgóna did make the waves. She never realized the cost.
The Gorgóna demanded that Grandmama come home to the sea. Pappoús begged and pleaded. He said she was too young, that they already took her mother from him. Grandmama was confused by his begging and his tears. She was just a child who didn’t know any better; she didn’t know what she had done. The Gorgóna eventually granted mercy with a warning that they’d return.
Grandmama lived for many years after that feeling the eyes of the Gorgóna on her every time she went to sea.
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“So, the gorog-who-what…”
“Gorgóna.”
“Yeah, those mermaids. They came back for her?”
“Best Granddad explains it. He was just a kid when it happened. He didn’t believe much in the stories as real anyways. But his mum, Grandmama, would sing the song as a lullaby for him and his sisters when they were just babies.” Time had slipped by as I told him Grandmama’s story. It was near sunset now.
“He was out on their boat with Grandmama on a day not unlike this one. Dark clouds rolling in. Electrical current in the air sparking along your skin, makes your hair stand on end. The water a near pitch black down in its depths, angry like the ocean floor was about to open wide and swallow you whole.” A shiver rolls down Callum’s spine. I could see he knew what I meant by a day like this. Something ominous on such a dreary day. I continue.
“And Granddad, he was uh, just a kid like I said. He was scared, scared of the storm. Since that lullaby soothed him when he was a babe, he started to sing it. He didn’t realize he was singing it near the top of his lungs. But he was. Singing it amidst this storm.”
“Ah that doesn’t sound like that’s goin’ to turn out good.” I roll my eyes, always with the interrupting. I grumble a bit. “No, I’d say it didn’t but that’s the either bit, yeah?”
“Huh?”
“Just let me finish.”
“Yeah, o’right”
“He’s singing this song, and the storm is getting worse. Thunderous rainclouds, thrashing waves, and so much water thrown around ya, you can’t even see much. He’s getting louder, but he can’t tell, and his mum can’t hear him.”
“But something else does.” Callum whispers. He’s enraptured with this silly tale. Eyes alight with wonder and horror. Ears catching every morsel. Our dinner has long been forgotten now.
“But something else does.” I repeat. “All at once the boat stops, knocks the wind right out o’em. The waves are still crashing around ‘em like a child beating against a boulder in the middle of a sea.” My own arms and hands come up, beating in the air wildly to show how the waves would meet the boat. Futile. “If they had looked, they’d have seen grey, sleek talons wrapped around the stern and bow of the boat, bars of steel. One wrong move and they’d rip the boat in two.”
“Slowly, deep onyx pools crept from the deep. Miles of the same sleek grey trailing after it. This creature isn’t how the others were described. That’s ‘cause this one…this one was here to collect. A predator in search of its prey.”
“Did it say anything?”
“No.”
Callum’s eyes widen, his breath quickens. He’s gripping his seat; anticipation rolling down his body.
“It’s eyes, cold, deadly watched Granddad and Grandmama. Assessing… Stalking… Hunting. Granddad trembled in the presence of the creature.”
“Yeah, no wonder.” Callum mumbles. I pretend I didn’t hear him.
“But Grandmama, she was calm, calm as can be. She knew the day would come, Granddad says. She wasn’t afraid of the creature. She left the sails and went to Granddad. She hugged him and kissed his cheeks. All the while the predator watched them, and the storm raged on around them. It’s eyes never left her. Granddad tried to cling to her, tried to keep her on the boat. He was so scared. There was no use though. She pried his trembling fingers from her soaked sleeves and…”
“And what?” Callum blurts out. I pause a little longer.
“Jumped.”
“Jumped to the depths below. And just as seamlessly as it came from the darkness, the creature slipped back into its embrace.”
“What happened then?”
“Granddad says the storm went on for four more days. He hid in the hull; and when the sun finally shined on the fifth morning, he came out to find the boat just a mile off the island.” I don’t give much credit to this bit of the story. Now that I’ve finished, I collect my plate, toss the skeletons back into the sea for small critters to feast on. Callum cleans up his own meal, doing the same with the carcasses. This time around he’s at the helm and I’m leaning against the rails, gazing upon the horizon. It’s calm now. A bit of calm before the storm. After some time, Callum asks me again.
“After all that, all that your family went through, you still don’t believe?”
“In stories that change from one person to the next. Never the same as the one before; never knowing what’s the truth or just a story?” I can’t help but laugh a little at that. “No, not really.”
Callum looks at me bewildered, “But what about what your granddad says, gotta put some stock into that?”
“Oh, that? His mum fell overboard in the middle of a storm. Hazard of the job. He was a kid who needed to make sense of her death, nothing more to it.”
“So, you really don’t believe?” He questions again, drawing out the words. I mock the idea.
“Why go chasing ghost stories and fairytales when life’s interesting enough?”
Callum finally, finally relents. He accepts that I don’t believe in all the nonsense. “You’re a rare breed lass. A rare one.”
The sun slips into the ocean behind me just as silent as the Gorgóna. I can’t help but flash him a razor-sharp smile with a glimmer in my onyx eyes. “You have no idea, Callum.”
“No idea.”
The End.
