Sea Foam and Silence Page 7

Smells. I have always been able to smell,

  Of course, but they have different meanings now.

  Things my nose understands, I did not. Then.

  At least on the moving land the salty wind

  Chases all the smells away.

  Clothes… I hated them for the longest time.

  I fought. I fought against the tall-crabs

  As they tried to entrap me in their nets,

  Stuff me into one of their soft shells and

  Make me one of them.

  Yes, I hated clothes.

  Until winter came.

  I was not so unhappy with clothes then.

  There is so much at the start. O_O

  There is pain as my fin ripped to legs.

  Pain as my feet touched the ground.

  Pain as the water filled my lungs

  In ways it should never have done.

  Pain as I need air so much more quickly

  Than I am used to.

  I can stay beneath the waves for hours.

  Now I am lucky to manage five minutes

  Before my vision blurs and darkens.

  I have tried it in baths.

  I stopped when I saw how it worried everyone.

  I only wanted to reclaim a piece of myself.

  Swimming. At least that I can do

  Similarly enough. I can swim.

  Better than any sailor here,

  And almost as good as I should.

  Clothes slow me down. T_T

  It’s no wonder tall-crabs are such easy prey.

  Their soft shells fill with water

  And drag them down.

  It takes strength that even I lack.

  In a storm, when the moving land is sinking,

  After they have spent their energy keeping it afloat.

  No, it is little wonder tall-crabs are such easy prey.

  And yet, in winter, on the still land,

  Clothing makes sense.

  I shiver a little at the memories.

  In winter, they keep a person warm

  Because tall-crabs do not travel

  With the temperature

  And stay out in the cold.

  I have paused.

  My hands are tired. :/

  I do not think I spoke so much,

  But perhaps finding the words,

  Filling them with my thoughts and feelings…

  Perhaps that took more energy than I thought.

  The Witch has vanished.

  I feel no better than I have before

  And I can see the sun dawning through the windows.

  Quickly, I snatch up the pearl and tuck it safe.

  Then I snuggle under my duvet.

  I am tired too.

  I wake only for dinner

  And only because my prince is worried.

  I eat a little.

  I go back to sleep.

  There will be no Witch to confuse me.

  Not tonight.

  I do not wake until noon.

  I am restless.

  My prince is worried for me,

  But I do not wish to speak to him.

  I pace the deck,

  Get in everyone’s way

  Until the captain threatens to lock me up.

  I will go pace in the cabin then.

  I have spent all of yesterday

  Sleeping. Soon I will become sea foam.

  And I am squandering my time

  Sleeping and… moping.

  I think I am moping. >>

  There is so much I’ve not yet seen.

  So many things I haven’t done.

  We are travelling through the endless.

  There must be an end if we can go through it.

  I would like to see what lies beyond the endless.

  I could dance.

  Dance and dance and dance and dance

  My feet entirely to tatters

  And slick this wood with blood.

  Except all this journey, my feet have not bled.

  Not once.

  I could jump into the sea

  And swim with my sisters.

  Even if I do not swallow that pearl,

  I could swim with my sisters once again.

  I want to see the sketch

  My prince has made.

  He has not shown me.

  He says it is a surprise.

  But if I do not see it now,

  I never will. I will be sea foam.

  I promised the baker’s boy

  That I would teach him how to dance

  And his father would teach me bread-making.

  I wonder if my sisters would like bread…

  Laughing. I can never do enough laughing. ^_^

  Trying pastries. Smelling flowers.

  Discovering flowers.

  There are so many kinds.

  Learning about trees and plants and animals.

  Ride a horse. Embroider. Hunt.

  Tall-crabs hunt as well!

  I would dearly like to join them.

  It would be like hunting with my sisters!

  Perhaps. Perhaps not.

  I will not know until I hunt. ^_^

  If I hunt.

  The Witch is among my sisters.

  Why not, she is a sister too.

  I am filled with energy.

  The crew, I am told, is asleep.

  I can pace to my heart’s content.

  My sisters are on deck with me,

  The Witch in her ocean-shape

  Amidst them. They are a circle around me.

  I pace the confines of their presence.

  The pearl lies hidden in a pouch.

  They have already asked me to swallow it.

  Multiple times.

  The Witch has said nothing.

  My sisters do all the talking.

  I remember the sea.

  I remember my sisters.

  I remember huddling together for warmth

  And hunting together for any food at all.

  Even us little ones helped then.

  I remember the cold,

  The pangs in my stomach.

  I remember the games.

  Those that would teach us to hunt.

  I remember the thrill of the first tall-crab we caught.

  The dull eyes, the bloating.

  The way, alive, tall-crabs seemed like us.

  “Stop!” I shout. “Stopstopstop.”

  My hands move so rapidly they blur

  And my sisters do not understand me.

  In that moment, I’m surprised they know me.

  They recognise me, but their eyes

  Are filled with pity.

  As if I’m a wounded thing, dying as I drift.

  But I am that, am I not?

  I am dying. Every day of this year

  I have been dying and I have not wanted to admit it.

  One by one my sisters slither off the deck

  And find their way into the ocean.

  They’re probably too dried-out now.

  I have to help the last one,

  My favourite sister, as she cannot lift herself up.

  I almost wish I could make her swallow that pearl

  And see her restored to her old self once more.

  Almost.

  I cannot see my sisters swim away,

  But I watch and imagine where they have gone

  And how they will get there,

  And what they will see.

  The next morning I do not get up.

  It is not a question of being tired,

  Though I am that.

  I barely slept last night,

  Thinking about life in the sea.

  I like it better on the still land.

  I like it better as a tall-crab.

  I miss the freedom of the water,

  But I will trade it for ease.

  I will trade it for dancing.

  My sisters have reminded me

  Of the darkness and the cold

&nb
sp; And the way the sun hurts us.

  It does not hurt me now.

  I can stay in the sun for as long as I like.

  Or… No.

  I can stay in it longer but not forever

  And I need not fear when I do.

  Oh, I love the sun. ^_^

  Even with my sisters, I loved it.

  Tall-crabs seek out shade

  Rather than water.

  They too can be hurt,

  But I did not know that

  That first glorious day.

  There is no sun today.

  It has hidden itself behind dark clouds

  And I worry that we will be caught in a storm.

  Perhaps we will not.

  I turn over onto my side

  And attempt to sleep.

  When I do not join everyone for lunch

  My prince seeks me out.

  I am still snuggled under the duvet.

  By now, I am shivering even then.

  He sits on the edge of the bed,

  Careful to take as little space as he can.

  “You’re sick,” he says.

  I nod.

  “I should have paid more attention.”

  I would like to tell him

  That he could not know. I didn’t.

  But I would have to move too much. :(

  “I’ll get you something to eat.”

  I don’t want food. :(

  My stomach hurts at the thought.

  But he is gone, quick as that,

  And when he returns, food…

  Well, I should eat. I guess.

  I wonder if I could drop the pearl

  Into the bowl and swallow it then.

  But I don’t want to return to the sea. :(

  Oh, my sisters.

  They’ve given so much. For me.

  And I cannot take it.

  I huddle around the bowl

  And let my prince fuss at the duvet.

  “Hey. There’s enough salt in there already.”

  My face is wet.

  I should not be crying.

  Why am I crying?

  Where are my sisters?

  Where is the Witch?

  I will lose… everything. T_T

  Everything.

  My prince sits with me.

  All the afternoon and all the evening.

  Sometimes he works or reads.

  Sometimes he reads to me

  Or talks to me.

  “I will not marry.”

  The words startle me.

  They are soft

  And I do not think I am meant to hear.

  My prince sighs.

  I reach out to take his hand

  And squeeze it lightly.

  He looks at me,

  Smiling wanly.

  “Perhaps she’ll be nice.”

  I make a face at him.

  A silly one, to make him laugh.

  It does not work.

  “I wish I weren’t a prince sometimes.”

  Almost, I offer him the pearl.

  Give him a chance to be with my sisters.

  Almost, I offer him his wish.

  Let him experience the sea as I’ve known it.

  But I cannot.

  He would be unhappy,

  And cold and confused.

  “And all I wanted was to take you onto the sea.”

  He laughs at that and pulls a hand through his hair.

  “I wish you could talk.”

  I shove him, lightly,

  Because I can talk

  And he understands me when I do.

  “With words,” my prince amends.

  I think I am affronted.

  He sighs again.

  “I’m sorry.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  I huff.

  “I try to pay attention,” he says,

  But he does not explain to what

  And so I do not respond.

  Moving to the desk again,

  He starts talking about taxes.

  I pretend I’m asleep.

  At night, the Witch comes again.

  My prince is asleep, snoring softly,

  And she settles on the bed beside me.

  She is like a tall-crab tonight,

  Pale as moonshine and as bright.

  “One more day to find love.”

  I nod. How could I forget?

  Except… I had forgotten.

  My stomach is still unhappy. :(

  I haven’t thought about much else.

  I think I’m tired of hearing about love.

  My prince keeps talking about marriage,

  Now the Witch is talking about love.

  I wish I could scream!

  My fingers dig into the duvet,

  Crushing feathers, I’m sure.

  I don’t care.

  “You haven’t returned to the sea.”

  I shake my head.

  I am annoyed.

  And frustrated.

  And… angry?

  No… Not angry.

  I’d like to be,

  But I am not. :/

  I wish the Witch would tell me

  What it is she wants.

  I take the pearl from my pouch

  And hold it out to her.

  I know, now, that I will not take it.

  I wish I could ask her to return

  What she took from my sisters.

  The Witch smiles.

  Tentatively, I smile back.

  She takes the pearl,

  Reverently. Almost.

  And she… swallows it. O_O

  “From the sea it came

  And to the sea it returns.”

  I should be angry with her.

  Instead I feel only relief.

  “Tell me about him.”

  The Witch points at my prince,

  Still sleeping peacefully.

  I shrug.

  I attempt to tell her

  That he is a young tall-crab.

  For all his talk of being a man,

  The other tall-crabs call him a boy still.

  That he is kind to animals

  And enjoys puzzles.

  But.

  The Witch looks at me.

  There is only patience in her posture,

  And nothing at all in her gaze.

  “Why?” I ask at the last.

  Why?

  Such a simple word.

  Just a single word.

  Why?

  So many questions start with why.

  It was not the first word I learned,

  But it was among them.

  Why?

  My question is impulsive,

  Perhaps,

  But it is my question.

  It is the one I have wanted to ask.

  Why a year?

  Why love?

  Why me?

  Why sea foam?

  Why now?

  The Witch offers me no answers.

  I find I was not expecting them.

  Perhaps she has done this for her own amusement.

  The stories say she comes in greatest need.

  They do not say she will solve your problems.

  I wonder if I am a story amongst my sisters yet.

  I wonder what their stories will make of me.

  I wonder whether I will die tomorrow.

  The Witch looks at my prince.

  “He is marrying another?”

  There is… something in her tone.

  I inch closer to her, to see better.

  Her eyes are sad, sorrowful.

  She turns when she senses me beside her.

  “Is he?”

  I think it is steel in her voice,

  Until I hear the wobble,

  And I realise it is cracked stone.

  All I can do is shrug.

  The Witch laughs,

  Low and bitter,

  And in a blink she is gone.

  I am angry now.

>   I stomp to my side of the cabin

  And throw myself onto the bed.

  I stare at the ceiling in the darkness.

  What does it matter whether my prince marries?

  It doesn’t matter what he wants.

  He will do what is best for his sisters

  And not think about what he wants.

  I am not a fool.

  All those stories… telling tall-crabs about love.

  That love is when two people marry.

  The stories always end in weddings.

  I may not understand them, but.

  I am not a fool.

  The Witch was hoping he would marry me.

  I may not know why, but of that I am certain.

  If my prince does not wish to marry,

  Does that mean he does not wish to love?

  He has not met this princess.

  He has not gone on quests for her.

  The only magic in his tale is the Witch,

  And she is magic of the sea, to aid me.

  Not him.

  Love is something you know.

  It cannot be explained, only felt.

  So they have said. I huff at the ceiling,

  At the words in my mind.

  The people in stories always know.

  One look and they know

  And everyone knows too.

  No. That is unfair.

  My prince says he does not know.

  I do not know, but I do not count.

  I am not a tall-crab. Not in truth. T_T

  People say they love this or that,

  But they also say this is not love,

  Not that way. Not the real way.

  If I still had that pearl,

  I would throw it against the ceiling

  And let my frustration out.

  As I do not,

  I settle for throwing pillows

  And then pacing and talking to myself

  When it does not help.

  I do not want to marry either.

  If the Witch came back and told me

  That I would live if I married tomorrow

  Then I would not do it.

  I think.

  I make so much noise,

  I wake my prince.

  “Why do you not want to marry?”

  He is only barely sitting up,

  Still rubbing sleep from his eyes

  And adjusting to the dimness.

  I repeat my question,

  Force my hands slower,

  Try to make sense of my words.

  I still have to ask him thrice.

  “Ah, it’s…” He trails off.

  “I don’t want to do… that. With people.

  Why are we talking about this?”

  Because I do not understand.

  Because I am frustrated.

  Because I will die tomorrow.

  I say none of those things.

  I ask, “But you will?”

  “I have to.”

  “Is that love?”

  My prince snorts.

  I take it as a ‘no’.

  It is usually such.

  “Love is a lot of things.”

  His voice is soft again,

  Almost inaudible.

  “Who knows what love is?”

  “I love dancing.”

  My prince laughs at my answer,