The Enchantress of the sea

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER TWO

I was in the darkest darkness, alone and heard nothing but frightening screams. Where do they come from? I wondered as I tried to figure out where I was. Then I moved my hands: I was in the water and I was going down, down and down. I began to stir, until my eyes were dazzled by a light and I felt enveloped by a pleasant warmth.

I slowly opened them and realized that the light that had awakened me was the crackling flames of the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. They painted their warm dance on the wooden walls. I was on a sofa covered with a quilt. I sat up suddenly: I had dreamed but now, awake, I was incredulous to realize that I was still alive. My clothes were dirty and torn, but I was safe and sound.

More and more astonished, I looked at the unknown room in which I was staying: it must have been a living room. Behind me there was a table with five chairs and an ancient sideboard that occupied the entire west wall. I noticed, on the doors of the cupboard, that the drawing of two buds of red roses was engraved. I looked at the window to my left, from which I saw that the sky, apart from a few white clouds, was clear. It was broad daylight, so I must have slept for several hours.

Suddenly, however, another thought made my blood run cold.

EDDY. Eddy had dived with me and I had never seen him again. Where has he gone? I thought and looked around.

I felt burned by a sense of guilt that tied my stomach and throat, so much so that it was difficult to breathe. My selfishness and my silly ambition had dragged my friend with me and caused him to die. I would never have forgiven myself for not having saved him and in that situation I could not be happy to be still alive, while he was not there.

I just couldn't understand how I could have done it: I remembered that the water had taken hold of me, I remembered the spasms of the diaphragm that pushed me to breathe, in a struggle between instinct and reason and then, suddenly, had appeared, among the excerpts of images, that beautiful face.

Rationality told me that I must have dreamed, or it was probably an image of my unconscious, something inexplicable that happens when we fall into a coma.

At that moment, from the door to the left of the fireplace, which led to another room, a woman with gathered hair with a tail behind her neck came. Judging by the freshness and youth of the skin and the still bright color of her hair, she was close to my age. Her graceful and sweet face conveyed goodness and tranquility to me.

"Oh well, my dear," she exclaimed as she approached. Her stature was almost the same as mine, tall and slender, despite the white dress falling off her hips.

She looked at me with his big sea-green eyes, offering me a broad smile. At that moment I didn't know what to say to that kind woman: I was angry with myself and confused; a physical and psychological malaise that pushed me to burst into a liberating cry. I was a man and this reaction of mine may seem exaggerated, but I had seen death in the face and I had seen the passengers of that ship perish, powerless against the revolt of nature. So I found myself with a knot that oppressed my stomach at first, and then went up towards the throat: in a few moments I melted into a cry without being able to do without it.

"My dear, what happens?" The woman asked me, stroking my arm. "Do you feel bad?" She was so young, yet she spoke to me like my mother.

The crying crisis lasted only a few minutes, after which I felt lighter and ended up scolding myself. I said to myself Stupid you, what are you crying about? Do you think you can solve your problems in this way?

I looked at my Swatch: the hands were stopped at half past one, in the afternoon when the ship had gone to the bottom. The dial was tarnished: water had entered. I put my wrist close to my ear but I didn't hear any ticking. The clock was gone.

As soon as I calmed down, the woman, not knowing what else to do, asked me if I was hungry.

Only then did I notice that my malaise had prevented me from listening to my stomach, which suddenly started screaming loudly, causing me a painful cramp. The bowels, empty for twenty-four hours, burned anxiously with food.

I nodded and the woman, with a jump, went to the room from which she had come.

She returned shortly after with some bread and a steaming plate. When she handed it to me, I looked at the yellowish, dense liquid almost like cream.

"It's my potato soup, I hope you like it."

My lips and palate burned at the first contact, but my stomach welcomed that dish with joy. The lady stared at me, pleased, standing in front of me and I felt the duty to apologize for the crisis.

"Don't worry, young man." She reassured me gently.

"My name is Bryan, anyway." I followed in a feeble voice. "I am Russine".

"But where am I?"

"Dingle Peninsula, Ireland".

"How did you find me?"

"It was my daughter," she replied. "You were passed out on the beach and I don't know for what miracle, you're still alive." Inside me I thought that such a young woman could not have an already grown daughter. But I immediately abandoned that thought, overwhelmed by something else.

"It was a terrible disaster" I mumbled. "That ship, the passengers ...”

"Come on, don't think about it now." He added, interrupting the beginning of another crisis.

"You are injured in the leg and you have to rest."

I tried to move my legs and at the slightest movement, I felt a sharp pain at the height of the left tibia, where I noticed that I had been medicated and tied with a bandage and a splint.

"Don't move and lie down ... you have a slightly fractured leg." Russine ordered me. He smiled. “I called a doctor. He said you will heal in two or three weeks. "

I finished the soup that had now cooled down and handed her the plate. "Thanks."

Russine was right: I needed to rest and regain strength. Although I had already slept, as soon as I was alone, the eyelids closed on their own.

I was awakened after a couple of hours from a gentle song: magnetic as a magnet and exciting as the first heartbeat. I sat up, my mind concentrated on no other thought but that of that wonderful song. Still numbed from sleep, I couldn't help but go see; so I slowly got up from the sofa and hopping on one leg, I approached, guided by that melody. It clearly came from outside and so I opened the door. In front of me stretched an immense green lawn, similar to an emerald sea under the infinite sky dressed in vaporous clouds that paled the sunlight. However, despite that white veil, the golden rays managed to caress the grass giving it a bright and vital color.

I held onto the door and that was when I saw her. She had her back turned as she dries the sheets in the garden. A slender and sinuous figure, with a cascade of golden brown curls that rose in the cool breeze. It was she who sang. I watched her silently until she finished hanging out. Then she turned and if I had first sensed that she must be beautiful, I was ecstatic at that juncture: on her candid face, which the light of the day made radiant, two large eyes of a rare violet color stood out, similar to amethyst. She was very young, she must have been around twenty years old. The light played with the rhinestones of her black sweatshirt, giving white and pink reflections.

She looked like a supernatural apparition of Heaven. I had never been a womanizer: I had had a few months' adventure, but in my heart I was more sure than ever that I had never seen such beauty except in the pages of fashion magazines, which the models could approach, but not match it.

As soon as she saw me, the girl stopped singing and cleared her throat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I reassured her, "your voice is beautiful and I couldn't help listening to it." Receiving no response, I decided to introduce myself. "I am Bryan Holmes."

"Ari." She replied shyly. Her voice continued to be melodic even without singing, a balm that cheered the ears.

"Ari and then?"

 "Sommers".

"Are you Russine's daughter?" The girl nodded and then bent over to pick up the laundry basket.

"Thanks for saving me, then."

She didn't answer. She did not seem in the mood to socialize. "You look like sisters, not mother and daughter."

"Appearances can be deceiving." She retorted, giving my back again. No smile.

"She looks good for her age." She sighed and added, "Anyway, you shouldn't be standing."

"In fact, my leg hurts ..."

Ari put the basket back on the ground and went over to me. She took my right arm with his cold hands, wrapping it around her neck, making me touch the silk of his hair and helped me to return to the sofa.

She started to leave immediately and I didn't hesitate to stop her.

"Wait, where are you going?" I asked her.

"Well, I have to study, I'm sorry." She said, going away.

"Can I ask you how you found me?"

"I'm not a hero if that's what you believe." She pointed out seriously. "I just walked around the beach and saw you unconscious, so I did what anyone would do."

"I don't understand how I could have done it." I thought aloud. "Anyway, are you the face I saw while I was unconscious?".

"Well, the unconscious does strange things and, in any case, fate wanted to give you a gift, so be happy and thank". He seemed to ramble not to answer my specific questions.

I let out a sob. "Thanks, though ... why can't I rejoice then?"

Ari, stunned by my words, said reproachfully:

"Never recriminate the gift of life that has been granted to you in the face of death."

"Does this also apply to assassins?"

She looked at me, always serious. "You? You don't look like a murderer ... "

"The ship on which I was traveling to Scotland was wrecked and there was a very dear friend and colleague of mine on that ship." I explained, wandering painfully among those memories.

“I'm very sorry, it's a tragedy, but why do you think it's your fault? "

“I am a journalist and he and I were going to Scotland for

look for our scoop on the Loch Ness monster ... ".

Ari gasped and then looked down, remaining silent.

"It was my ambition and that's why he died and I didn't ...".

"It was a disaster, certainly not caused by you ..." He pointed out. I looked at her, getting lost in her liquid amethyst. Then he added: "There is a reason for everything, remember that ...".

His words reminded me of what my mother had said to me before she died. I would never forget them. She had taken my hands in his, skeletal and cold and with shortness of breath he had said to me: - Things never happen by chance, darling ... do not get down at the first difficulty, but learn to see the light in the darkness and smile despite everything ... life has things in store for us that we don't even imagine, beautiful or sad they are. It is, however, always worth living - Those words in the light of the new day were clear to me: if really my mother was right, there was a reason if I had saved myself and I shouldn't give up the opportunity that fate had offered me .

"My mum told me before I died." I confessed to her. She offered me a benevolent smile.

"Your mother was wise."

"Yeah, and I wish she had sent some wisdom to me too."

"Did you tell me you and your friend were looking for the Loch Ness monster?"

“Yes, my desire was to become famous and I knew there has been some evidence about the monster, I also wanted to look for it.”

"So you think it exists?" She asked me curiously.

"Well, I don't know if there is a prehistoric-shaped creature that resembles dinosaurs, but I believe those people saw something and I wanted to have confirmation too."

At that moment a man came home and stared at us with a chilling glance through his heavenly eyes. He was tall and covered with thick silver hair, as did his beard, which he kept unkempt. However, his hair seemed to deceive his age because his face was still young and the dark policeman's shirt adhered to a muscular and athletic body. He was not much older than Russine in age.

"Ari, don't you have to study?" He reminded them in a reproachful tone.

"Yes dad, I was going ..." Then, turning to me, she added: "Bryan, he is my father Yagor. Now I really have to go. "

 "Nice to meet you, sir, and thank you too."

The man showed a forced smile. "You will recover soon."

His behavior left me to guess that he wasn't angry with me personally, but it seemed to bother him to have found me so close to his daughter. He probably still had an ancient mentality or perhaps that was a religious family and, therefore, certain behaviors were not appropriate for him.

As the father passed behind me to go to what was most likely the bathroom, Perla went up the stairs giving me a few glances. She had only been with me for a few minutes, but I was sorry for the abandonment of her company.

On the table next to the sofa was the TV remote control; I reached out and took it. The small fifteen-inch screen of the television lit up, showing the news on the BBC's first channel. I stopped to hear the news in the hope that the journalist, a young and attractive brunette, would talk about the sinking of the Sea-Horse. I waited about twenty minutes, but beyond politics with news regarding hostilities towards Minister Margaret Thatcher and the weather, I knew nothing new. I was alone for most of the afternoon and it made me feel even more depressed. In that solitude and silence, broken only by the c***k of the wood, I could not help thinking about my city and Eddy's family. I lived on the fourth floor of a white building at the end of Pennington Street, where I had rented a studio apartment, to be closer to work. Never before I had felt so alone and lost. Not that I had any company in London, but it was my things that made me feel good. There was the smell of books, which I loved so much: that set of different smells, of paper, ink, binding and experience. I wanted to go back to the tranquility of my home soon, the one I savored after returning from work. However, I was also thinking about how I would have had the courage to look Ann, Eddy's wife and his parents, in the face.

Thoughts. Too many. My tormented heart was also infecting the mind and if I continued like this I would have gone mad.

I then looked for other distractions, but since they did not broadcast any program or film that interested me on television, my eyes were attracted to the landscape that was outside the window and that the white cotton curtains, tied on one side with a cord, allowed to be seen. The combination of blue dressed in white hair and jagged emerald opened my imagination like never before; it went beyond what my human eye could see. I defined the shaded outlines of the mountains that merged with the sky and imagined the landscape that lay beyond. It was then that I felt the strong and unstoppable desire to transcribe those emotions grow within me.

While I was painting those images, Russine came back with some food.

"I got something substantial for tonight's dinner." She said cheerfully.

"Thank you so much".

She put the two bags on the floor and asked me if I needed the bathroom.

"Actually, I really have to go there." I replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Come on, bud" She approached me and made me get up from the sofa, accompanying me to the bathroom, where she also prepared me soap, a sponge to wash me and clean clothes that belonged to her husband. The bathroom was not large, but was covered in blue tiles like the tub and decorated with a fern leaf.

"If you need please call ..."

Gradually I was able to do everything, even to wash myself in pieces. I put on the T-shirt and the red flannel shirt. With the pants it was a little more complicated, but I managed to put both legs in a little at a time.

When I opened the bathroom door, I heard Yagor and Russine's voices coming from the kitchen.

"Do you know how much it could cost us?" I heard the deep voice of the father. "It will be our undoing."

"But honey, what could we do? Let him die?" Russine's gentle one replied.

I guessed they were talking about me. But what threat could I be? The woman heard the creaking of the bathroom door and ran to help me.

"Now you get back here and in the blink of an eye I bring you a nice steak because you need to get back in strength."

She was sweet and loving, just like my mother was.

Ari  went down the stairs, but only glanced at me. In that instant, a girl aged about fifteen returned home. "Hi!" She greeted me cheerfully in a ringing voice.

"Hi!"

The platinum waves of her hair rose to the fluid and energetic movement of the body, while approaching the wall hanger next to the sideboard, to hang the jacket. She gave me another look with his deep blue eyes and looked for his parents in the kitchen.

After a quarter of an hour I saw her go out and bring me dinner. His steps were accompanied by the incomprehensible shouting of the parents.

"May I keep you company?" She asked me. She looked nice.

"Thanks, sure." I answered, happy for those words.

 "My name is Melody, however."

Her name completed the saga of the particular names of the whole family; names that seemed to come from a fairytale book.

"Bryan".

"My mum made you a steak."

 "Your mother is spoiling me ..."

"Oh well," she snickered. "Wait till you see breakfast tomorrow morning...".

Her laughter also rubbed off on me. She took only a bowl of salad from the tray.

"And you eat only that?"

Melody looked slightly embarrassed. "Oh well, I don't eat meat ..."

"You look different from your sister ..."

"Ari is the wise and I am the hot head ..." Then, changing the subject, he asked me about the shipwreck.

"And so you got away with it..."

I sighed. "Yeah."

At that moment Ari came in a rustle of the toes, which seemed to touch a surface of water.

"Melody, you're giving trouble?"

"No, on the contrary", I defended her, "he was keeping me company ..."

"Yes, but sometimes it's worn out ..." She teased her. In response, the sister showed her tongue.

"Well, I'm going to do some homework ..." Melody apologized and got up to go upstairs.

Ari took wood from the box by the fireplace and set it on fire. Immediately fiery sparks shot up, then fell again.

"Do you need something?" She asked, after finishing.

"Actually, there is one thing," I said. "I don't seem to be sleepy and I wanted to ask you for writing paper and a pen."

The girl frowned. "But ... of course."

She went upstairs and went down after a couple of minutes with a notebook and a pen.

"Here it is". She whispered, handing them to me. "Write an article?"

"No, let's say it's my first book."

She raised her eyebrows. "I like reading very much." At those words I felt a thrill of electricity.

“Then you will be my first reader. I need an opinion. " I looked again at the precious violet of her eyes, enchanted by those two precious jewels set on an angel's face.

"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen." I heard myself saying in all sincerity.

She didn't comment, but she looked away, frowning in her face.

"Yes ... now I'd better let you do your thing."

"No, wait…"

"See you tomorrow". She looked away and went up the stairs again.

Russine and Yagor came to check that I was fine and, after accessing the light attached to the wall, they took their leave. The man, of course, merely muttered a few monosyllables.

"Goodnight to you and thank you."

Yagor's aloof behavior and the words he had heard for me made me think that he was somehow afraid of becoming too familiar with me. But why?

I was still wondering if it depended on one's education or if it was something more personal, an inner problem. In any case, I wanted to clarify this thing, especially to know that it was nothing about my profession. Maybe the family had some activity they didn't want to be found out, especially from a journalist who could have spread the news. I wanted to reassure them about this.

I looked again at the window, the only connection with the outside world and that made me savor a little freedom from those four walls. The landscape was now cloaked in the night, which would keep him among his secrets until the new day.

The evening of my first day as miraculously healed had therefore come and with him, too much silence of that locality. I didn't know Dingle or even Ireland, because my only skyline had always been London and the surrounding areas, noisy places, but I would have always liked to travel. With my work, in fact, I hoped to be able to do it and to know the world and, instead, that time I had taken the courage to detach myself for a few days from my roots, I had led a friend to death and this would have marked me for the whole life.

I stared at the blank pages in my hand and suddenly found the words to write a biography where he would make a journey through the events and feelings that belonged to me. It was as if I heard my soul scream so loudly that my memories were fragmented and I had to pick them up with the pen.

The words flowed by themselves, took value on those empty sheets, while my hand began to flow by itself.

In a couple of hours I managed to write fifteen pages, which concerned my childhood. In those pages I exposed my soul, mixing the sweet and bitter that I had tasted those years.

I spoke of my mother, describing her as an angel sent from heaven; woman of infinite sweetness and with a big heart that gave love to everyone around her. Equally courageous woman, who had loaded two jobs on her shoulders (English teacher in high school and theater organizer on Shakespeare), to give up the money of a husband who had abandoned her for her career, intent only on traveling the world. And to me, of such a father, there was very little left to say.

I was still taken by that kind of diary when I heard the creaking of the stairs and immediately afterwards appeared the slender figure of Ari, accompanied by his black shadow, lengthened by the suffused light of the lamp.

"Are you still awake?" She asked me softly. She approached and looked, delighted, at his pink pajamas cheered by hundreds of small cherries.

"Well, apparently you too ..." I pointed out.

She looked down at the pages I had filled with my coarse handwriting.

"What are you writing? I'm curious." She confessed to me.

"And why?"

"Well, my literature teacher says that the writer usually does it because he often can't say everything verbally and therefore I was curious to understand how you are".

"Weird," I said. “Before you ran away as if you were afraid of me. As soon as I try to get close you elude my looks, you even avoid me. "

"No, I'm not afraid of you, I just don't make friends with a stranger so easily." She retorted, slightly irritated.

She sat down on the carpet next to me, gathering her knees in her arms. She turned his face towards me and again I was hypnotized by those gems, which now took on a blue color.

"Ari, your father also seems to feel threatened by me ... is there any reason? Is it about being a journalist? "

She looked at the ground, a sign of non-sincerity. I let her speak.

"No, what do you say? You are a man in his house where there are two daughters. He is afraid like any father. "

 I wasn't convinced, but I accepted the explanation. I knew I wouldn't have any more. At least for now.

"So what are you writing?"

"A biography about me" I replied. "Now I feel the need to psychoanalyze myself, maybe it will help me understand and rationalize what happened."

"Does transcribing on paper make you feel better?"

"Well, I don't know, but it's a way to free my soul." I sighed. "How come the urge to write?"

“Well, it's an innate thing. It is as if you want to imprint the colors inside you on a white sheet. Am I going to explain? "

“Yes, it's like music. You write down the colors ". I smiled for the right comparison.

 "Yes, that's right." Then she turned serious. "But what are you going to do now?"

I bit my lower lip. "I really don't know ... have you ever suffered from loneliness despite being in the crowd?" I asked her.

"Sometimes, mostly because I'm afraid that people won't accept me for who I am."

"It is exactly what awaits me," I confessed. "In London I no longer have my family or my friend."

"I'm sorry". He said softly. "But life also has a positive turn sooner or later."

"I hope so".

“But why did you stay all this time there? I mean, if you felt uncomfortable, you couldn't leave everything and go away? ".

"I was hoping that my position with experience would improve, also because my mother always told me that sacrifice is needed to get what you want."

"And instead you ended up feeling sick all the time."

"I don't know, but maybe, as you said, everything happens for a reason."

She smiled at me, drawing with his fingers the outline of the tulips on the carpet. I would never tire of looking at it.

Tired of talking about me, I asked her to tell me more.

"What can I tell you?" She muttered. "You met my family and I am in the last year of high school."

"And what do you study?"

"I am attending a scientific-chemical-biological high school". "So you're interested in biology?"

"I am interested in studying the forms of life present on land and in the sea."

"And what do you like to do in your spare time?" I went on, curious. "Do you have passions?"

"Yes, singing and music."  She answered with her gaze fixed on the void. "I can't live without it."

"And you're also good," I exclaimed. "What genre do you listen to?"

"Oh well, I would say numerous: my preference ranges from classical, pop, Irish vocal and instrumental music, as well as the great Beatles".

"I bet you're a U2 fan."

"Are you joking?" She said amazed. "They are among my absolute favorites."

"Their Unchained Melody song from last year is sensational."

"But it's not from last year, it's from 1988."

 "Are you sure?"

"Ah don't go racing with me!" Her playful tone sprang of determination.

"Listen, I challenge you to the game of guess the song titles ...".

Ari chuckled. "I'm in".

In turn, we listed the album titles and the other was to remember the songs that were part of it. And in the end, I had to admit that she knew longer than I did.

"Ok, you beat me with the Beatles' Hard day's night, I didn't remember the title at all ..." She smiled. I messed up my hair and hummed it. His chuckle confirmed that I wasn't good.

"What's up?" I asked her ironically. "It was perfect ..."

"Yes, in a parody it was fine."

 I burst out laughing and our laughter mingled in a perfect, crystalline pairing that made me feel good. She too seemed more relaxed, she was letting go and her bright smile, her sympathy warmed my heart; her melodious voice was sugar, even just to hear her speak. And it was so easy to talk to her, because she seemed to find the right words.

That was the most beautiful evening for me after a long time and in the end, when she told me it was time to go back to bed and went away, I felt myself falling back into the grave solitude in which I was before she gave me that touch of vitality.

The worst thing was that alone, my thoughts that had stopped pestering me for a while, came back like a nail that pierced me, burning as before. I then started to do the only thing that seemed right and that I hadn't done for some time: praying. My mother had given me an excellent education, she made me participate in the Masses, but after her death, I had neglected my Christianity a little. Some might think that I did it out of spite and perhaps it is partly possible, but the truth was that I was so closed in on myself that it was not easy for me to go to church without her.

Probably my soul was already in the smell of hell for my pride and it was right, but I wanted to open my heart in a dialogue with those Who watched over me from up there: I started with a thought of the people who died in the shipwreck, I apologized for my spiritual lack and I thanked for still being alive. So it was that later I fell asleep, without realizing it and without knowing when, to dream of my favorite eyes.