Sea Foam and Silence

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

  At the speed of it, barely giving him time to breathe.

  “I love drawing.”

  I settle beside him

  And rest my head on his shoulder.

  He chuckles.

  I can feel the vibrations.

  I sigh.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  Strangely, I am.

  I will dance every moment I can.

  I dance to breakfast.

  I dance to lunch.

  I dance to our little corner on deck.

  I dance to supper.

  I dance when I am told to move.

  I dance when I am told not to.

  This will be my last day.

  Tomorrow, I will be sea foam.

  I will dance myself to sea foam.

  I expect to see the Witch again.

  Every shadow,

  Every dolphin,

  Every sudden move.

  But she is not there.

  Again and again

  She is not there.

  My prince is,

  Sometimes,

  And the sailors

  And the captain.

  I cannot see my sisters,

  But then I would not.

  Not until evening. ^_^

  I hope that they are well

  And have not sacrificed in vain.

  I eat a little. Why not?

  What does it matter that my stomach

  Does not like it yet? It never will again.

  And I like the taste of apples.

  I dance until I am tired.

  I am so tired now

  And my feet hurt. :(

  I’d forgotten how much my feet hurt.

  I wonder whether I’ll become sea foam

  From my feet upwards

  And I hope it won’t hurt.

  Perhaps I’ll become sea foam in my sleep.

  Then I certainly won’t know if it hurts.

  The sun is shining now.

  We did not get that storm I feared.

  I am grateful for that.

  The sun does not shine all morning.

  Sometimes fluffy clouds hide it.

  I am sure the sailors are happy. ^_^

  I get in their way,

  Though I keep my movements

  As compact as I can

  When there are others near.

  My prince seems puzzled,

  But he does not ask.

  He sketches. The sea, I think.

  Calm and blue,

  Except where we sail.

  The salt stings my nostrils.

  And I think… I think…

  If I will be sea foam

  At the end of the day,

  I must do one last thing.

  My last chance.

  I spin my way overboard.

  The water slaps me, hard,

  And I find myself being dragged down,

  Pulled under, and my legs do not obey.

  I cannot swim! O_O

  No. No, I can swim.

  But the current is so much stronger

  And these clothes far too heavy.

  And the salt water stings my eyes

  And makes me want to throw up.

  Above me I hear people shouting, moving.

  I struggle to free myself of the soft tall-crab shell.

  I have done it often enough,

  Though I lack the sharp teeth now.

  I struggle to pull away from the current,

  Only to find my sisters helping me.

  I think they are my sisters.

  They do not stay long. :(

  Then… The tall-crabs are still shouting,

  Still figuring out what to do.

  I take a deep breath and dive.

  My body is not as fast nor as sleek.

  My legs do not want to do what I want them to.

  The water gives me goosebumps

  But I try to ignore it.

  If I will be sea foam…

  At least I will have swum in the ocean one last time.

  I have not swum in a long time

  — There is little opportunity at the castle —

  But sometimes we have gone on trips

  And I have swum in lakes and rivers.

  It is very different from the sea.

  It tastes different

  And it is more difficult to see.

  Rivers, at least, have a current

  And I have enjoyed that.

  But sweet water,

  Tall-crab water,

  Is nothing like my first home

  And I have missed its embrace.

  Perhaps I should not

  Have returned the pearl.

  I have missed the sting

  And the slap,

  The shifting heat,

  The clarity.

  I do not see my sisters.

  I am not surprised.

  It is day and I am not so deep.

  I dive,

  But this body is sluggish

  And the legs annoy me.

  I can use them like a single fin,

  But they are clumsy and awkward.

  I am clumsy and awkward. T_T

  I try to go as deep as I can,

  My lungs straining against my effort.

  Before long, I feel something wrap around me.

  I thrash against the pressure.

  Unsure of what it is, what is happening,

  I find myself being pulled upwards.

  No!

  No, I do not want to go up.

  I want to go down to my sisters!

  I struggle and fight,

  Twist and turn and try to break free.

  But the grip is firm.

  I finally manage to shift around enough

  To see what is trapping me.

  It is a tall-crab.

  In the moment, my first instincts take over.

  I try to scratch and bite him.

  The soft squishy bit they call a nose

  Is just within my reach.

  It fills the tall-crab’s mouth with water,

  But it fills mine as well.

  It cannot filter out of this body.

  I am going to die before I become sea foam. T_T

  But the pressure has returned,

  The tall-crab is dragging me up,

  Up and up to blessed air,

  Where we spit and gulp and splutter

  Because I did not, could not,

  Swallow the salty water.

  I do not recognise this tall-crab,

  But he insists on pulling me

  Through the water and

  All the way to the little boat

  That they have lowered.

  They pull me inside

  And I do not know whether

  I want them to or not. :/

  I thought I knew.

  Now… I am not sure.

  I am never sure of anything,

  It seems.

  I am sullen.

  The tall-crabs row

  Me back to the ship.

  I do not speak to them

  And they, likewise, do not speak to me.

  They do not trust me

  To climb on board the ship myself.

  I can see it in their eyes.

  The tall-crab I bit,

  The one who pulled me out of the water,

  Glares at me from under thick brows.

  Little rivulets of blood run down his nose.

  I cannot smell it, the blood. :/

  I knew that, but until now

  I hadn’t noticed.

  Knowing something is not

  The same as experiencing something.

  I slap hands away

  When I am on board the ship.

  I stagger along the deck

  And to the cabin.

  I would hide in my favourite corner

  But I do not think they would let me. :(

  So I hide in the cabin, instead.

  I huddle on my bed and pu
ll

  The duvet around me

  As I glare outward at the door.

  I hide in the shadows,

  Dark shape lurking,

  Hidden in the black,

  Save for the reflection

  Of light in my eyes.

  My prince finds me there,

  Calls me a cat,

  And settles opposite of me,

  Sketchbook propped up on his lap.

  We do not speak,

  But I find the anger leaving me,

  Slowly,

  One scratch of charcoal at a time.

  I sit very still.

  I let my prince draw me.

  I want to see the one he did

  When I was sitting in the sunshine.

  But how can I ask

  When this may be the last time

  That he will get to draw me at all?

  I sit very still.

  Keep each fold as it is.

  Give my prince the best drawing.

  It also means I do not need to speak.

  This is good.

  I do not trust my hands.

  This time tomorrow

  I will be sea foam.

  I will be gone. T_T

  This time tomorrow

  They will wonder where I am.

  My prince will be alone,

  On a ship surrounded be water.

  He seems less frightened of the sea now.

  I suppose that will be my gift to him.

  I wonder if he’ll miss me. :/

  I think he will.

  But perhaps the princess

  They are sailing to meet

  Will be kind to him

  And laugh with him. ^_^

  I will not get to see the endless.

  I will not meet this princess.

  I find that I do want to.

  I’ve never met a princess before!

  I wish…

  I wish I could stay a tall-crab.

  I don’t want to become sea foam. :(

  I am restless.

  When the sun rises,

  Will I become sea foam?

  I have tried to sleep

  And pretended to sleep.

  Outside, through the murky clouds,

  The moon is full and bright. ^_^

  I am pacing.

  My thoughts flit and flutter

  Like butterflies.

  I will miss butterflies.

  When the Witch flows onto the deck

  I am only surprised that I am surprised. :/

  I should have expected her,

  This last night.

  Everyone is asleep,

  Even the look-out,

  Even the captain.

  But the Sea Witch will not allow

  Harm to befall this ship until morning.

  I’m almost sure of that.

  The Witch forms,

  Skirts flowing around her

  Like currents, like rivers.

  “Well,” she says.

  I do not respond.

  What is there left to say?

  “Come.”

  She gestures for me to follow

  Into the water, into the sea.

  I do not move.

  The Witch smiles at me,

  Sadly, I think,

  And makes herself comfortable on the deck.

  Her skirts soak the wooden boards

  Where she sits

  And I wonder how they’ll explain it

  In the morning.

  “Talk to me, little sister.”

  I do not know what to talk about.

  Besides, I do not want to spend

  My last night talking to the Witch. >>

  I’d rather stare at the moon

  And dream of all the things I could be doing.

  Though I’d likely keep pacing

  And struggle to hold on to any thought at all.

  Like trying to keep hair tidy

  On a windy day.

  Oh! I could talk about hair! ^_^

  The Witch is staring at me so expectantly.

  Hair is as good a topic as any,

  Though perhaps if I don’t talk about anything

  The Witch will freeze time.

  Then I would never become sea foam!

  But she wants me to tell her something,

  So I tell her about the way hair weights

  On your head and drags you down.

  Mine is long and red like fire.

  It is thick and heavy and looks like waves.

  Just small ones, lapping up onto the shore,

  Frozen in time. ^_^

  When I was first on a ship,

  I wore it loose.

  And it would tangle in the wind

  And knot so painfully. T_T

  It was like pulling on netting.

  On the still land,

  Ladies taught me to bind it. ^_^

  To keep it in a bun or in braids.

  I’ve only learned how to make buns

  And a simple braid, but I do not like that one.

  Because my hair is long

  It takes time to braid my hair

  And with my hands busy

  It means I cannot speak. :(

  A bun is faster,

  Even though it makes the ladies

  At the castle tsk and shake their heads.

  A bun is a peasant’s hairstyle.

  Much quicker, much easier.

  At the castle, elaborate is better.

  I think it’s nonsense

  This obsession with hair.

  The Witch quirks an eyebrow at me,

  But she does not speak.

  I wonder whether I’ve done something wrong. :/

  Tall-crabs, though…

  The ones in the castle, at least,

  See hair as a mating trait.

  The longer the hair and

  The more elaborate the style,

  The more desirable a female is.

  I don’t know why

  I haven’t cut it off.

  No. That is a lie.

  I know why.

  I haven’t because

  I had nothing to do it with

  And pulling it out hurts so much

  And the physician was very angry.

  Right now, my hair is loose.

  There is no breeze,

  So it will not get knotted and painful. ^_^

  Not that it would matter.

  I’ll be sea foam before I comb it again.

  Why did I think this was a good topic?

  The Witch merely watches me,

  Her dark eyes inscrutable.

  She says nothing.

  Abruptly, I get up

  And start pacing the deck again.

  I want her to go away.

  I want to be alone.

  I want. I want.

  “Have you discovered

  What love is?”

  No! No, I haven’t!

  I tell her about the meaning

  Of hair and of the princess

  That my prince is sailing to meet.

  I am certain she knows

  And I do not want to spend my night

  Like this.

  I stomp along the deck.

  I have nothing to throw at anyone.

  I have nothing to kick against

  Except wood that will not move.

  I want to… I want to…

  I want to scream, to vent these feelings,

  This frustration that my night

  Is not my own.

  Somehow, the Witch seems to understand

  What I am trying to express, trying to say.

  I tell her about the stories

  And the people and the way

  That tall-crabs are nothing like

  The stories that they love to tell.

  I tell her about my prince

  And how he does not want to marry.

  I hope the princess will be kind

  And understanding.

  I
tell her my prince loves sketching

  That he has made drawings of me

  That I have not seen. Will never see now.

  I tell her that love is impossible

  Because no one ever agrees on

  What it is and is not.

  I also tell her that the stories…

  What they explore as love?

  I don’t want that.

  That is why I will become sea foam. T_T

  I will become sea foam.

  I know I will.

  I don’t want to. T_T

  I’d miss my prince.

  I’d miss the wind

  And the sun

  And the forest.

  I’d miss the physician

  And the baker’s boy.

  I tell the Witch that I’ve promised

  The baker’s boy that I will teach

  Him how to dance when I return.

  Now he will never learn to dance.

  Not from me. T_T

  I will never learn how to bake bread.

  I will never dance again.

  Not the formal, careful movements

  Of the castle and the court,

  Nor the abandon of dancing

  Without consideration

  Simply because there is music

  And I can.

  “Dear, little sister,” the Witch says.

  She says nothing else.

  I have railed at her,

  Thrown all my bitterness

  Into the sea, like pebbles,

  And tossed my dreams after it.

  I slump onto the ground,

  Exhausted.

  I’d miss my friends.

  I’d miss my sisters.

  I miss my sisters.

  I miss my friends.

  I don’t want to become sea foam.

  But I hope dawn will come soon

  And this will be over.

  The Witch stays where she is.

  I stay where I am.

  We sit, together,

  Far apart.

  We do not speak.

  I think I’m crying.

  I don’t want to be crying. T_T

  My nose gets all stuffy

  And my head will hurt.

  I don’t want to be sea foam.

  I want to stay here.

  I want to see deer

  And hunt on a horse

  And discover how tall-crabs

  Make swords and arrows.

  I want to know why

  Tall-crabs look different.

  What makes one tall-crab dark

  And another pale? I don’t know.

  The physician didn’t know,

  So perhaps no one does.

  I want to see the endless,

  Travel beyond the endless,

  Meet the princess that my prince will marry.

  I want to dance at their wedding

  And laugh and sing with all my body

  For the joy of it.

  I have been living a tall-crab story.

  I want to see it end the way a tall-crab story ends.

  All of this wanting

  And the Witch says nothing.

  She merely smiles her smile.

  Sometimes we sit in silence.

  Others I talk, nonsense words or sense words,

  I do not even know. T_T

  I talk just to fill the silence,

  To see my hands move