SIREN STITCH

Come morning, I did my usual rounds with the lobsters. Mr Landon's shack was a bit roughed out and I'd wager there had been some all-night rave. I helped Mr Silvan bait hooks, collected seashells and sold what we could in our tent. Dylan was either still in school at these hours or was helping his grandmother with other things. So, I had only Mr Silvan to ask what museum directors did.

"Museum directors?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what a museum is?"

"I don't think I do."

"Well, museums are storage places for art. Things of lasting value. There's a local museum by Fottiva's Road. I can take you if you want?"

"Thank you. I'd like to go some time."

I had lied to Carle but going to see an actual museum would give me some credibility at least. I finished up in the tent as quick as I could and went back home to prep for trash picking. The shore was starting to empty. Some land-dwellers still marched around though, half-dressed and kicking down sand castles. I cleaned anyway. The reason for starting early was so that I would spend friendly time with Carle and still reach home on time. Almost to the point where I'd see Carle, I had a little skirmish with a group of boys. Frankly speaking, I wouldn't call it a skirmish. They threw dirt wrappers towards me whilst giggling in beach shorts.

"Pick that up, pink-haired bitch," one said.

Another corrected, "That's purple. Not pink."

In earnest, I had forgotten Mr Silvan's straw hat so my hair was out in the open. However, I'd ordinarily go back to get it whenever I saw that I had left it at home. This time I wanted let Carle see my hair, and so I skipped going back and went on with it.

I picked the wrappers and ignored the boys.

"Hey! I am talking to you!" The one who had insulted me raged. He dragged something from his friend's hand and tossed it at my feet. It was a food bar with food still in it.

"Pick it! Bring it here! Come on."

I picked it up with my hand and not the picker and flung it at the friend he had snatched it from. He caught it.

"There's sand on it. You can find something to clean it or throw it away." I purposely ignored the raging boy and continued my work.

He tramped forward and spat in front of me.

"Pick it."

I kept on my way and he got only closer, spat again and ordered me to pick it. I chuckled under my breath.

"What is funny?" He was spraying his spittle all over me now. "What's funny!"

I clasped my mouth, looked towards the sea and shuddered with laughter. "Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to laugh..." I burst out laughing again, not attempt to cover my mouth this time. "Sorry just... a second. I... will..." I put a hand over my stomach, dropped the trash bag and cackled away whatever remained of me. My vision glittered with tears.

I wasn't trying to condescend to the boys as I'd later come to understand it seemed like. It was pure instinct to laugh in the face of their threats like it was intuitive to flee from danger.

I had barely registered when the boys started to leave but when I regained my composure I found that I was alone. The beach was mostly empty now. I sat down on the sand, watching the tide ebb lower and lower while thinking nothing particularly. For a moment there, I had forgotten about Carle, Dylan and Mr Silvan. It was just me and the battered feeling of being far away from home.

Someone brushed against me and took the space at my side. I didn't need to look to know it was Carle.

He maintained the reflective quiet for a time before saying, "I was looking for you. Did something happen?"

"I am sorry for taking up your time. I got caught up with something."

"What?"

"You won't understand."

For a moment, the chorus of waves was only the only thing we both heard.

"I understand," Carle said blankly. "You are a siren."

I didn't think I heard him well. "What did you say?"

"You are a siren, Yara. I know."

Even then I thought it was some elaborate fad. "You are joking, right?"

Carle pinched at one eye then the next. He faced me now with scarlet eyes. He had been wearing contacts really but with the aim of hiding his eye's natural tint.

"You are a siren?" My surprise spilled out uncontrollably. And I am not exaggerating when I say I had more than a thousand questions.

Carle nodded slowly.

It was an odd feeling with him, an easy attraction, something distinguishing him from the others. It had crossed my mind that he might have come from the underworld but those had been merely wishful thoughts. And I felt he was lying but guessed they were white lies for the sake of presenting more put together.

"You were banished too? You once possessed a tail?"

"Yes to both."

"Did you dye your hair too?"

"No. It's always been like this."

He seemed much too unimpressed. I mean, another banished siren was standing in front of him. How often were sirens exiled? What were the chances? The answer to the question hit me them. It wasn't chance.

"You found me, didn't you? You searched me out." I got to my feet. I wasn't as angry as I was overwhelmed.

Carle got up too. "Yes, I searched you out. Don't be angry."

"I am not." I rubbed my face wearily.

"I have a lot of things to explain to you." He took a step closer.

"I have to get home, Carle. My grandfather is waiting for me."

"Grandfather," he spoke the word plainly to me; it bore no air of truth.

"For all intents and purposes, Mr Silvan is my grandfather."

"Land-dwellers age faster than us. You are maybe two times his age."

"You didn't lose your memories?"

"I did. I just figured it out," Carle admitted.

"Tomorrow. We meet here by noon. I have so many things to ask you."

"I'll be waiting."

I was very late. Mr Silvan would be so worried. Perhaps, even gone to the authorities. Mr Silvan was not out on the corridor. I entered his room despite being distressed by the many lit candles. He wasn't there either. If he had gone looking for me, it would be better to wait outside for whenever he returned. There was a homephone that I wasn't sure I could operate. I didn't even think it worked. Mr Silvan usually received calls from a portable in his coat pocket but his coat was gone too. So, I sat on the wooden rail outside, swinging my legs back and forth till I noticed a flashlight flicking in the distance. It was Mr Silvan's torch; I could tell by the blurred yellow haze. I met him halfway and the first thing he did was roll up my sleeves to see my arms.

"Is anyone hurting you?" He asked softly.

I shook my head. "I am sorry for coming home late, Mr Silvan. I was catching a break at the beach."

"It's okay. I knew that," he said.

"You did?"

We started ambling home.

"Yes. Miss Millcrest called and told me that some boys were disturbing you. I ran down to see you sitting by yourself."

Miss Millcrest was an aged widow on a wheelchair who bought from our tent. I greeted her once in a while and it was good to know that she cared enough to call Mr Silvan, though I was in no imminent danger.

"Then where are you coming back from by this hour?" I asked, given that he already knew where I was.

"Oadaker's Lodge."

"The hotel?"

"Motel. The father of the scamp that was harassing you owns Oadaker's. I traded words with him."

"You are not hurt, are you?" I was the one asking him if he was hurt now.

"I am alright. I mostly informed Mr Oadaker that I own a rifle and am not shy to use it."

"Woah, Mr Silvan!" I exclaimed.

Mr Silvan broke a smile and said, "Let's have you something to eat."

"I'll leave a letter if I ever have to be tardy. You don't need to wait up for me." I added, smiling as we sat to eat together, "And don't worry, Mr. Silvan, I will work on my handwriting."

The next day was a weekend so more work and barely any space in between to see Carle. I had fully absorbed the fact that he was a fellow siren. Surely, I couldn't be the only one banished from the underworld. It struck me then that our numbers may have been much more greater than we thought. Why didn't we then band together to find answers? Maybe this was what Carle was attempting to do; he had found me after all. I was absent-minded with my work. Mr Silvan noticed but never complained. I knew if I asked him for a week off, he'd ask me to take the month. He was that kind. But I wouldn't do that. I'd just leave him a letter stating that I loved watching the waves and would like to have a quieter moment by the surflines. Not that the house wasn't quiet enough. Perhaps even, he had seen me by the beach with Carle and didn't want to make it awkward that I was with a boy.

I hurried out of the tent by the time I was done. Customers and tourists still lingered about though they were not too many that they'd overwhelm Mr Silvan. I unlooped my apron and stashed it in a bucket, headed home, sat down with a pen and wrote:

I'll be back on or before nine, Mr Silvan. I am taking a stroll along the beach.

Yara

My handwriting really needed work. I found Carle at the usual spot holding two shells of coconut water, a straw protruding out of them.

"Thank you." I received one from him.

It was still rather bright and the evening breeze was easy to breathe. Carle and I walked close to the coast sipping our drinks before I broke the silence.

"You said you also lost your memories?"

"Yes. I know some things that you don't but most of that knowledge is derivative of our condition."

"How did you figure it out that I am older than Mr Silvan?"

"Back to calling him Mr Silvan?"

I shrugged.

"You seem to like him really well."

"You are avoiding the question."

"There's no way I figured that out. I was made privy to that information by someone else."

"There are more of us?" I asked with untamed desperation.

Carle affirmed.

"How many?"

"I don't know, Yara. I have met only one other not counting you, of course."

I gave him another look. "You are wearing contacts again. Why?"

"It is safer."

"Safer? Are we in danger?"

"No. Nothing like that. I just don't like the idea of being found out without my letting. It's just an impulsive sense."

I heaved a sigh. "How old do you think I am?"

"Probably over a hundred. We live up to nine hundred. Technically, you are as much a teenager here as you are in the underworld."

"It's incredible you know all these things. It... It cures something in me." I grinned and looked towards the ocean.

"It is the curse of the banishment. It makes you feel like a vessel in need of filling," Carle said. "I feel the sadness too."

The beach was clearing. "Let's find somewhere to sit," he offered.

We joined the retreating crowd, found some open restaurant and perched ourselves under an umbrella.

"You have been asking me questions," Carle said. "I want to ask some things too?"

"Go ahead."

"How long have you lived among the land-dwellers?"

"This coming summer will make it two years."

"Tell me how were you found?"

"Mr Silvan found me floating close to the coastline a little far away from the main beach area."

"He just took you in? He didn't take you to the authorities?"

"He put me on his boat. I was half conscious."

"And?"

"Some officials were hitting my chest, trying to revive me. I took some time to adjust in the hospital. I couldn't answer their questions and was about to be recommended to a foster home. Mr Silvan stopped the process. He took me in."

"My own situation was vastly different from yours. No one found me. I swam myself to an island, did very horrible things for nutrition until I heard the blast of an oil tanker." Regret coloured his visage. "I swam over and was lucky to find help."

"What of your Dad? The museum director. He took you in like Mr Silvan did me?" I asked.

Carle snubbed my question and went on to inquire, "Have you used the voice?"

"What are you saying?" I slurped casually on the remnants of my drink.

"Don't pretend." Carle leaned in close to my face. "Have you used the voice, Yara?"

"I haven't found any need to."

"Not one?" He probed.

"Not one."

"Even just a little?"

"I haven't."

"You are a siren. The voice is everything that makes a siren a siren. Not our tail or our fins—both of which we have lost by the way—but our voice."

"Why should I force my will onto others? The underworld left us for dead."

"We aren't dead," Carle said disappointedly.

I stood up to go. "We have eight hundred years left to live. There is no rush."

"We don't have eight hundred years, Yara. The curse of the banishment is stripping us of our siren and life-force. We are slowly turning into land-dwellers, Yara."