The Siren (29 page)

November passed.

I longed to be someplace more hidden. It was too much work to keep up the façade anymore. Pretending to be an average person… it was too much labor for my body to handle. My whole being felt heavy, the act of a smile seeming as difficult as those strongmen lifting boulders above their heads.

And yet, I did it. We went from London to Paris. How many times had I seen Paris now? It seemed we passed through often enough.

I tried to be enthusiastic. Miaka loved the art in Paris. We went to shows and ate in cafes like we usually did. Only this time Elizabeth was there, which was a mercy in some ways— a third person made it easier for me to slip through the cracks. In other ways, it was a struggle.

Elizabeth’s thirst for life was unquenchable. For her there was always something to see, something to do. She insisted that we taste everything, walk down every street. And, begrudgingly, I followed. We were out a lot, practically every moment. At least that spared me the work of trying to make conversation. I’d walk behind my sisters, pretending to admire the scenery. But what I was really doing all that time as I strode along, my fingers twirling my necklace around and around, was missing something and someone much simpler than this self-important city.

November meant that it was Thanksgiving time. I wondered if poor Julie had to make the dinner all on her own. Or maybe Ben did some of the work. Or maybe they went to eat with other family members. I thought of the nameless faces in the frames around the house, people I had actually thought I might meet. The longing bit at me.

I asked the Ocean if I could go see Akinli again.

I just want to see him. That’s all.

She claimed I was in no condition, that I was still moping. She said a visit would only make me think of him more.

I would think of him anyway.

All the same, I could not go.

Please?
I pleaded.

No.

I’m begging You! Five minutes, that’s all. Five minutes.

No.

I didn’t speak to Her for a while after that, I was so frustrated. I couldn’t figure out a way around Her or I would have tried. Even though it would have meant breaking a direct command, I would have tried anything.

December passed.

We remained in Paris for the holidays. Miaka and I had enjoyed Christmas there in our early years together, and Miaka had described it with the infallible language of an artist to the point that there was no way Elizabeth was leaving before New Years. Paris was always aglow, but at Christmas it seemed even brighter. Still, with all the lights, it felt dark inside my chest.

No matter how many Christmases you live through, each one holds a sort of magic. Like if you really want something bad enough, it will come to you. We had lived through so many years together with such child-like enthusiasm, the magic of the holidays made you believe that things could really change— be better, be different. As much as I wished that year, I would not be with Akinli in Port Clyde. There wasn’t enough magic to fix me.

Miaka had not believed in Christianity in her previous life. She merely enjoyed the celebrations and all of the shopping that surrounded Christmas, and it was easy enough to get caught up in it all. Elizabeth told me that she definitely thought there was a higher being out there, but she wasn’t sure about a God in the way the church talked about.

“There is a God,” I said absentmindedly as my sisters spoke of spirituality.

“Oh yeah?” Elizabeth snapped, not rudely, but in disbelief. “How do you know?”

“She told me.”

“Huh?” Miaka chimed in.

“The Ocean told me. He’s there. He makes the waves and the storms, She just has to be strong enough to hold them. She wouldn’t need us if She could bring the
storm
to the
ship
. She is the most powerful thing we know of, and yet, She has to yield. Trust me, there is a God.”

They stared at me for a while. Probably because that was the most I had said in weeks. Those words comforted me because I was tired of answering to Her, obeying Her, bending to Her. It gave me the deepest comfort I had felt in a while to remember that there was Someone, Something out there who could squash Her.

Still, ever aware of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the whole month felt hollow. I couldn’t bring my beliefs to affect my view of the festivities around me. I saw manger scenes; I saw Santa’s ringing bells. It meant nothing. No hope. No goodwill. No peace. I hoped with all my heart that whatever Akinli was asking for this year, he got it.

January passed.

A new year, just like all the others. One more gone, eighteen to go. Only eighteen more years of missing his smile. Of wishing he would hold me. Of thinking about him growing old without me. Only eighteen.

We stayed in France. We drank wine for no damn reason. I noticed that Elizabeth and Miaka liked to play the part of drunken girls. They couldn’t laugh out loud or sing obnoxious songs like the others did, but they would sloppily dance with one another and the occasional drunken party-goer. At the high fashion party we crashed on New Year’s Eve, they kissed. They liked to shock people; that was their buzz. I expected about as much from Elizabeth— her whole being searched for a high— but I was surprised that she got that much out of Miaka. We all participated in streaking and had fun stealing that car, but Miaka was getting more and more brazen every year.

I remembered how small she was on the beach that first night. I remembered her hugging me and calling me her friend. I remembered us crying on and on after that ship was devoured and Marilyn left.

Miaka didn’t cry much anymore. She was brave and exciting.

I wasn’t sure how much this experience had helped me; I think it made Aisling worse, and nothing would ever change someone as unmovable as Elizabeth. But it looked like Miaka had gotten the best deal of us all. Her previous life oppressed her. She was not going to have to be the girl of the life she was born into. I was happy that she was going to be a true success someday.

Miaka and Elizabeth were growing steadily less tolerant of my moodiness. I would enter the room and they would stop talking sometimes. I knew they had been tearing me apart in my absence, complaining to one another about how I was poor company or teasing me for not being as strong. I wasn’t surprised or impressed. No one could tear me down like I could.

I asked to go see Akinli again. I was denied.

Please? I don’t want to do anything bad. I just want to see how he’s doing; I can’t stand not knowing.

She said to be more patient. It was foolish of me to think that a few months would change the entire course of his life.

Why not? A few days changed the course of mine! I could list them if You’d like; You were there for quite a few. Some of the more dramatic ones at least.

She insisted that I was the dramatic one. I was to pull myself together. She couldn’t take my moping around anymore. She missed who I had been. I used to be full of questions and life, and now I seemed empty.

I wouldn’t be empty if I could just see him! That’s all. For goodness sake, let me just poke my head out of the water and see his expression and then take me away. Ten seconds. Anything!

No. If I worked hard and got myself straight, She would happily let me visit in a few years.

A few years?
Damn it!

February passed.

The girls hadn’t had their fill of Paris yet, but I was ready to burst. The sights and sounds were overwhelming. I knew they were eyeing me all the time, worrying about my detached behavior. It took all of my brain power to come up with the idea of us taking a Valentine’s Day trip.

Love was on my mind, but if I had been anywhere close to candy hearts and roses, I would have exploded. I told the girls they were my Valentines and that we should get away together. They thought that was sweet. It was by far the friendliest thing I had said in a while.

We had been most everywhere, but I knew anything out of the ordinary would appeal to them; after so many years it gets difficult to create ways to distract yourself. So in an attempt to go to every continent, we decided to visit Antarctica. Though it was empty and barren, it was beautiful. I couldn’t appreciate it fully, but it was distinct in its loveliness.

We didn’t plan ahead. There was nowhere to steal or borrow clothes from here. We probably could have made some, but none of us wanted to hurt an animal to get it; we had to hurt enough living things as it was. Instead, when the weeks’ worth of our dresses started gathering holes, we took a rushed swim around the continent, coming back to where we left fully clothed in a new gown. It was a luxury.

I wished someone could have taken a picture of Miaka with her dark hair and skin in her glorious blue dress against the backdrop of snow. It should have been hanging in a museum. She looked so fragile against the angry wind, it was almost distracting.

At first I admired her. Then I was bothered.

I wondered if it had been Miaka or Elizabeth or even Aisling who Akinli had found in the woods that night, would he have wanted to kiss them, too? They were all beautiful and just as mysterious to the average human being. I wondered if Akinli would have acted faster if it had been Aisling. She looked a lot like Casey. For absolutely no reason except for her blonde hair, I disliked Aisling even more. And then, remembering Miaka’s gentle beauty, I disliked her. And then thinking of Elizabeth’s fire, I disliked her.

I was jealous of my sisters. In my head they kissed Akinli, stayed with him, managed to make him confess his love for them. Through the course of my malicious daydreams, they’d all crawled into his bed, convincing him to not hold out— they were worth it. In my imagination, they all betrayed me. It took me weeks to get over this fictional pain.

They were confused by my sullen attitude. It was my idea to come here after all, right? When nothing, not the atmosphere or interesting animals or the way our glorious voices echoed in the void, could bring me around, we went back to Paris. They were tired of me. I could have disappeared in the snow, and no one would have noticed.

March passed.

Miaka and Elizabeth went out without me more and more. I didn’t mind. When they were gone, I was free to think about my real family. Not the family that was stolen from me all those years ago, but the trio living across the Sea next to the lighthouse that still beckoned. I wondered about Julie and Ben. Akinli said that he suspected she would become a Schaefer soon. Were they engaged yet? Already married? Expecting a family?

I found myself stuffing pillows under my shirt and staring at my reflection in the mirror. I thought I’d be beautiful pregnant. Would I someday finally get to be a mother? Who would the father be? Akinli would be settled into his family by the time I started one. His beautiful features would blend with someone else’s.

When that thought finally and truly sunk in, I barely breathed for the rest of the month. I don’t know what happened in March.

April passed.

The world was greedy this year. We were called to serve again. I don’t remember what ship it was. I don’t remember where we were. Who the hell cared? The lives and the faces didn’t register to me. There was only one face, one life I cared about. And, try as I may, I couldn’t see it.

Miaka and Elizabeth’s frustration with me turned to concern. If I had needed to eat or sleep, I wouldn’t have bothered. I started to really wish there was a way to die. I didn’t know if I could take the ache much more. I could have gone and asked the Sea to take me, but I really thought She would tell me no. She refused to give me anything I genuinely wanted.

Miaka took up painting again. One day while she was creating a beautiful cityscape, she asked me to come and sit with her.

“I’m worried about you,” she said.

“Why? I’m totally fine,” I lied. I was so used to putting on the show that I was still trying— even now that I was aware that my sisters could see right through it.

“I don’t think so. You aren’t yourself. You used to laugh a lot more, and you wanted to do things. Now you hide away. It’s like no matter where we are, you wish you were somewhere else.”

Oh, Miaka, you have no idea.

“I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been very interesting to be around. I’ve just been thinking about a lot of things the last few months,” I told her. It was the most honest thing I could say.

“Kahlen, it’s been nine months now. Maybe it’s time you said good-bye. I know you don’t really paint, but I think if you make Jillian something, it will help you feel better,” she suggested. She misread my sorrow, but her intentions were so kind. After how horrible I had been to her, Miaka wanted to help me. How could I have been jealous of her?

“I’ll try,” I promised. I sat in front of the massive canvas, intimidated by it. At first, I did try to think of Jillian. But I wanted to make something honest. It always seemed like the best art was honest. So I thought of Akinli. All I managed to paint were leaves. Falling leaves of all colors— some not even found in nature— covered the canvas. It took me an hour or two, because Miaka gave me such a large space. But when I was done, it looked like it said what I wanted it to.