[story] at the bottom of the ocean

[ib_archive]

author: ayalesca (ayalesca)



I heard about the siren on the first day in Greece. It was summer, I was studying abroad with nine other students from my university. Zoe had wheedled me into it with visions of beaches, ocean, summer flings. She was in performance arts and I was in voice and opera, meaning we daydreamed about the stage before secretly admitting we'd end up teaching voice lessons in the backwater towns we'd fought to get out of. I'd applied because it did genuinely sound more fun than working all summer, and because Zoe had smiled so warmly when she said that she wanted all her friends on this trip.

"Have you heard about the siren here?" Zoe said as we bought plates of grilled spicy mussels from a sidewalk stand, her face serious but her eyes shining with excitement. "Supposedly there's this lady or mermaid or whatever in the water. She lures people out to sea so they'll drown."

"What?"

"I heard it from the other kids in the study program."

"So what? We told all the freshman that there's a witch living in the woods by the school."

"They say people here have gone missing."

"Organized crime," I suggested, then looked around in a fit of sudden paranoia.

Zoe sighed. "You're no fun. Have you seen all the rocks out in the water? It's perfect for a siren. Sit on one and wait for someone to get distracted by your stunning good... song." She was right; there were the occasional clump of dark volcanic rock in the beach near our dorm, rocks that were only visible above the water at low tide. It was why we were advised to not take a rowboat into those waters.

"Right," I said. "Well, let the Greek coast guard know if you see one."





"I have a hot date tonight," Zoe announced. It was our tenth day in Greece and I had finally stopped feeling the twinge of caution that came of rooming with someone I had romantic wishes towards. I looked up from my textbook sharply, hoping that she wouldn't see the disappointment.

"Nice," I said. "Do I know her?"

"Sonya. She's a baker at that pastry shop, remember, the one with the amazing walnut-topped cake?"

"Ilioupoli." I remembered the girl now, her white arms spread on the countertop with jars of candy behind her. She was wearing a tight black top and a striped scarf, and her short shaggy hair brought out her cheekbones. But then my attention had been on the sponge cake in the display case.

"I'm going to be late. Don't lock me out of the dorm, okay?"

"Don't give me any ideas," I said. Zoe laughed and waved as she ducked out the door.

I went back to my desk and had three glasses of the local liquor. The drink was incredibly sweet. I sat there and allowed the heaviness of alcohol to pound through my body. Idly I flipped through pages of music, lay on the bed and got up again, restless and exhausted at the same time. I felt like I was swelling with heat and heartache, as if my skin would burst open like a fruit and my flesh would leak out slowly. I threw water on my face and stood by the window, waiting for a breeze to cool my burning skin.

I heard music coming from the seashore. Our dormitory was next to the sea, near a craggy formation of rocks that rose dangerously high above the water. Tall iron railings circled the cliff, and a precarious walkway snaked down the cliffside towards a tiny, pleasant if bare beach.

I don't remember much of what happened next. I was drunk, and it was miracle enough that I made it down to the water without smashing my head open on the steep, stone stairs that I had to climb down. I felt hotter with every step, even though the sky was dark and the moon had just begun to rise into the night. The dark water glittered with patches of reflected light and I waded right into the water. The shock of cold water only sharpened my sense of hearing. The music that I heard grew louder. The next thing I knew I'd hit myself on a hidden rock, lost my footing, and then the waves pulled me under. I could swim, but was too surprised and, of course, drunk to do so. I flailed for a while before I got tired. The water and the moon were hazy to my eyes that were stinging form the salt water and I felt myself getting colder as the water pulled me out farther and farther.

I thought I was going to drown.

When I woke up I heard the singing with perfect clarity. There was water all around me and I wasn't breathing, but I didn't feel wrong. I was standing at the bottom of the sea and the sand was cool under my feet. The grains shifted when my toes dug in, against the slight sway of water.

I saw the woman, then. She had long blue-green hair, dark green eyes, and wore a long dress that somehow didn't tangle around her in the water. She had a green ribbon around her neck. Behind her was a glassy spire that rose towards the surface of the water, and it was illuminating the space where I stood. She was beautiful in the way that dreams are. Her lips moved to the music. When she stopped, so did the melody.

"Would you like a song?" she asked me.

"What?" I said.

She walked to me and wrapped her arms around me. They were cold, like water. "I can give you a beautiful song. Would you like that?"

Then she began to sing. It's a cliche, but in that moment I agreed that beauty really is only the beginning of terror. Her words rushed into my heart and tore through my flesh. The music swept around me until I felt I was breathing her song into my lungs. The timbre of her voice rose and fell around me like the glassy water, and her arms were outstretched, open, and I knew she could and would swallow me whole. Maybe I could have moved, but I did not want to. I shivered in the water and the sand at my feet became clouds in the water as I shook where I stood.

She embraced me, silky and watery to the touch, and her arms wrapped around my back. I thought she might kill me. Or eat me.

"I could sing you an even more beautiful song," she whispered into my ear. "All you have to do is ask."

"I don't understand," I said.

She laughed, clear as a bell, and then she gestured for me to walk into her crystal spire. I did, and then I saw that the floor was scattered with what seemed to be seashells, whorled and spiralled and beautifully intricate, of all colors and shapes and sizes. They were translucent, and glowed very faintly.

"To those who are willing," she said, "I give them a song. Listen for yourself."

Then I understood. I picked up a spiral, spiked white seashell, and pressed my ear to the opening, as if I was a child who believed that I could hear the sound of the sea in the spiral, dead-end chamber.

I didn't hear the sea. I heard music. The seashell sang to me of sunshine and sweet meadow grass, of a child playing in that field, carefree under the sun. The day would never end, the sun would never set, and he was happy, so happy ... I dropped the shell. I chose another, a smooth glassy nautilus with speckles all over its thick surface. I listened to a song of glory, of fame: a girl performing on a stage to an enraptured audience. I put the shell away and chose another, and another. I heard songs of happy families forever united, lovers basking in eternal bliss, an endless ball under the stars ... I also heard songs of glory in battle, conquest and bloody victory. Songs of voyages of exploration and wanderlust, songs of dreamy solitude, songs of sailing through the stars on a neverending journey.

"You love her," the woman said. "Have a listen, and see if you don't want to hear some more ..."

Before I could protest, she had her lips to my ears. Snatches of music filled my head, drowning out the thousands of other songs all around me. In the music I could feel Zoe's hand inside mine, I could feel gentle fingers combing through my hair, and the two of us laughing as we ran under a shower of sunshine. I heard us singing, weaving our voices together in songs within songs. The music tore through me and my heart ached and longed and rejoiced and above all, loved. And she sang that she loved me.

The song ended and I felt cold, empty.

"I will give you a song, and immortality as long as I shall live," the woman said. "If you'll give me your songs in exchange. That's more than fair, isn't it?"

I started to ask what she meant, and then I looked down at the starry shell that I held in my hands and saw that the light coming from within was pulsating, like a heart. I looked more closely and I saw, briefly as in a flash from a dream, the form of a human face rise from the beautiful colors that swirled inside, in the core of the seashell. The shell fell from my hands, and I looked at the others scattered at my feet. Each shell had its own face that swam in and out of existence, turning at random this way and that. Their eyes were unfocused and unseeing. I was standing among thousands of human souls.

She watched me as I stood, silent. Then she shrugged and giggled. "Well," she said, "you can think about it. If you should ever decide that you want your song, all you have to do is ask."





They found me passed out on the beach the next morning.

"We were so worried about you!" Zoe shouted, and her eyes were red. I rolled over and sat up very slowly. My dress was dry and streaked with sand. My head almost exploded when the sun pierced through my eyes.

"I uh," I started to say, and then my underwater hallucination came back to me in a rush. "I got drunk and fell asleep here, I guess. God, I'm such a fucking moron."

"Are you hurt?" Some student I didn't recognize asked. "Maybe you should go to the hospital. I think you should checked out."

"I'm hungover," I said, unfolding my limbs painfully and tried to get up. My right hand was cramped up from being pressed under me during my night-long dream spree, apparently, and it took me a good minute to unclench the fingers without screaming in pain. "What do they put in the wine here? I had the most amazing drunk hallucination."

"Oh yeah?" Zoe put her hands on her hips, with a jangle of her bracelets. She leaned forward, eyes searching me as she laughed. "Was it that kind of hallucination?"

"I --" When I finally opened my hand, a small, chalky white seashell fell out. I nearly threw up. I looked up at her and hoped that sun, heat, and dehydration could mask the sudden fear that ran through me like a bucket of cold water.

"Let's go back," Zoe said. The other students had dispersed to breakfast. I nodded and my vision swam.

I heard singing.

"Wait," I said, "I, um, I think I might have lost my purse or something. Let me see if ..." I gestured at the water. We walked towards it. "Hey," I said, "do you hear something?" The music that had given me images clarified slightly into vague, dreamy words.

"I think it's the hangover ringing in your ears," Zoe said. I couldn't tell if she was more worried or amused. "Do you want to get some food?"

"I want a shower first," I said. "Get the salt and sand off me."

"It's a nice smell," Zoe said. "I like the salty breezes that come in from the cliffs."

I raised an eyebrow at her, but she had already turned up the road. We went back to the dormitory and I dumped my things on the bathroom floor, then got into the shower stall. Under the stream of lukewarm water I tried to remember any of the songs that I had, or maybe had not, dreamed. When I closed my eyes, I could almost feel a song floating up, from my toes through the rest of my body to my tongue, spreading and stinging like sea foam in my mouth. Words continued to drift up and up in a jumbled flow, and I couldn't quite reach their shapes with my outstretched fingers. If only I reached a little harder, I could put them together ...

you sit inside my mirror
in the land of red pomegranates
love is a dress that grows into us
as the snow falls on the land ...

"Ann! Are you ready? Or have you fallen in?"

I opened my eyes and the words vanished altogether. I turned off the shower, squeezed a bit of water out of my hair, and stepped out without looking. My foot met something sharp and painful. I went down and bit back a scream when my knee collided with the tiled floor. A smear of blood followed the foot that had slid out. I had stepped on the shell. Blood had also stained the dress that was next to the broken pieces of shell.

I bandaged my foot, then I pulled on a pink camisole and green skirt. Zoe was outside waiting. We went to a street vendor and bought marinated meat grilled on skewers with chunks of squash, onions, tomatoes, aubergines. I caught the dripping sauce with hot pieces of flatbread. We strolled down a hill and arrived at a beach. The Ionian Sea spread out before us, glorious and blue. A few people were on the sand, sunbathing or reading books. Someone was swimming languidly in the shallow water.

We waded into the shallow water, feeling the warm waves lap at our dry and hot feet. It felt blissful.

"Hey, Ann?"

"Yeah?"

"Sing something for me?" Zoe said in a quiet tone. I looked over at her. She was staring out at the ocean, hair blowing behind her in the sea breeze.

All artists are drama whores. "Of course," I said, not bothering to suppress a smile, "what shall I sing?"

"Something you've made up," Zoe said. Her hands were clasped behind her back; her tanned shoulders were square as she twirled. She was wearing a beautiful sundress. The fabric was printed with a delicate floral pattern in icy pastel shades, and the skirt swirled as she turned right, then left, back and forth. A silver ring on a silver chain swung with her movements. "Something no one's ever heard before."

"What, you mean something that I composed? I'm not a songwriter."

"You should totally give it a try! There's a prize for original performance in August. Cash prize and all. I don't know about you, but this starving artist could use it." Zoe sighed dramatically and turned away from me, hands still intertwined in the small of her back, pressed up against her spine.

I hadn't paid much attention because I had never participated in those competitions. I felt no shame in singing the words that a thousand voices had already sung. As for funding, I was on a scholarship and paid the rest of my bills working part-time at the music library, which was not a chore in any way. "If you compete, I'll cheer you on. But it's not my thing."

"So sing something right now," she said, clasping her hands in front of her, tilting her head sideways. "Please?"

I sang the first string of nonsense that came into my mouth.

Maiden maiden oh so fair
What have you put in your hair?
Briar rose and thistle thorn
One to sing and one to mourn ...

Zoe was staring at me when I finished. "You need to sing that for other people to hear," she said.

"Well, you've heard it now," I said. "You're people."

"That's not what I meant!" she said, laughing, but seemed so pleased that I walked beside her and smiled all the way back.





"You were saying things in your sleep last night," Zoe said the next evening, as we ate dinner on our room's porch.

I nearly spilled my glass of cheap red wine. "Oh, God. I don't even remember what I dreamed." That was a lie. I'd spent the morning lying in bed, recounting the dream so as not to forget if I could help it. I'd dreamed of myself and Zoe in the most outrageously over-the-top locations my brain could dream up: on a bridge over a pond of water lilies to start, and it only got stupider form there. But it was the stuff that embarrassing daydreams are made of, and I clung to it foolishly.

"It's not as bad as you think," Zoe said with a grin. "Actually, I thought it was very nice. You were singing love songs in your sleep. It was sweet."

My mouth dropped open. I took the opportunity to drink an extra gulp of wine. "You're shitting me."

"Maybe a muse possessed you in your sleep."

"I don't even want to know," I said. Now my heart was racing. I took another drink.

"I wrote down some of what you said," Zoe said. "Do you want me to get rid of it?"

I wanted her to, but I also didn't. "Do whatever you want," I said, wondering if I was secretly glad that she was remembering my words, writing them down. "Did I say a name?"

"No," Zoe said, with a wide smile. "But I'll be listening for one now. Honestly though, I don't know who would turn down this serenade. You should just find them under a window in the moonlight and give it your all."

"I'm not a creep," I said. "Better leave that to dreams than reality."

"So it was a nice dream, then?" She leaned a pixie chin on the palm of her hand. "Fantasizing about your love?"

"I wouldn't want to fantasize about being with someone if I didn't think they wanted me," I shot back, then wished I could take it back. I braced myself for Zoe's reaction, which was unexpected. She laughed so hard that she spilled her wine.

"Then your fantasies must be very uninteresting," she said and wiped up the spill as if for emphasis. "You should really loosen up a bit. My last boyfriend said that either all fantasies are valid, or else none are. Tell me who it is?"

"No way."

"Was it that woman I saw you staring at the other day?" Zoe leaned in closer. "I saw this woman wearing a seashell necklace. You were looking through her, kind of. I saw her wave at you but you ignored her. She was singing this incredible song in the square, I don't know why people were ignoring her. I was going to talk to her and everything, but she was gone by the time we finished lunch."

This time my heart did stop. I thought back to lunch. We'd had lamb and rice, and salads piled with feta cheese. I hadn't seen the woman. But I had heard the singing, and I'd thought it was a street performer. And Zoe had both seen and heard. But nobody else had. Why had she come here? To prove she was no hallucination? Or maybe to hunt for songs? Maybe she wanted Zoe, I thought, and my stomach clenched. "Well, I didn't see her," I said, which was the truth. "And you shouldn't go off with strangers. You never know what they might be."

"I can take care of myself," Zoe said. That wasn't true. Some girls carried a little pocket knife with them wherever they went, though I think Talia alone knew how to use a blade. Zoe didn't and didn't bother. And anyway that wasn't what she was up against in any case.

"I'm going to sleep," I said.

"Sweet dreams!" Zoe called out behind me, and I knew that she meant it.

I wanted to cry a little, but mostly I wanted to hide from her and it occurred to me for a moment that there was a way to hide from the world, hide inside a song forever. I dreamed of the woman again in my sleep. That night I dreamed of seashells and water, running through spiral labyrinths, chasing after Zoe and the woman in marble hallways. We sang to each other, and it seemed that we were always out of each others' reach, like the words that I longed for, ached for.

When I woke up the room was still dark, the east-facing window glowing faintly behind linen curtains. My throat was sore. I knew what had happened. I sat up and pushed my sheets back. Zoe came into the room with a mug of coffee and a croissant.

"Did I ..." I started.

Zoe smiled. "Wow, Ann. You could be a siren, with that song of yours. I really envy you right now."

"A siren. Where's the part that I lure unsuspecting sailors to wreck themselves on my island?"

"Sing a little louder, maybe you will," she said. "You certainly got me to come in."

"Aren't you competing in the original composition contest? You should be working on your own piece," I said, pretending not to be pleased. I pretended so hard that my toenails clenched until they left marks on my sandals.

"I am," she said, waving a piece of lined notebook paper at me. "I found my inspiration."

"Sonya?" I tried to sound knowing.

"No, we broke it off." Zoe shrugged, but looked more pouting than regretful. "These things happen. It's just too bad."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be, this way I can focus on work. Like you."

I sat for a while wondering if that was supposed to be an insult or not, while Zoe put on a dress and went out. Eventually I gathered up my Orpheus and Eurydice libretto and went to the university to see if I could find an unused practice room. I was in a fog the entire walk, straining to hear any music, eyes constantly searching for the woman with seashells, to the point where I almost walked into several people and was almost run over by five different cars. Sometimes I thought I heard a fragment of a melody, sometimes I thought I saw the trail of her sea-green hair just out of my field of vision.

It took me an hour to reach the music building. I locked myself inside a small room and sat in front of an upright piano with yellowed keys and sticky film on the black varnished wood of its frame. I sat on the piano bench and placed my music on the stand. I warmed up with ten sets of scales and Hanon exercises, and then I began to play a song from the book. Today the music came more smoothly than it ever had before and as I played I became progressively more and more terrified, but the music was too good to stop. I wanted to hear what it would sound like, as if I feared it would never sound like this again. When the song ended, I was covered in sweat, even though the building was air-conditioned.

I began to think about writing a song for Zoe. She didn't have to know it was for her. I would know and that would be enough. I liked secrets; they felt powerful. When I thought of it that way, it seemed as if the ocean parted for me and I saw straight to the shells at the bottom, and the songs that I had listened to, songs that had left scars on my heart. I began to write and to play, testing out notes and progressions and eventually the first string of a real melody.

oh the sky has its blue
the fire has its ashes
the tea has its leaves
and my heart has you ...

"Where were you all day?" Zoe said from the couch, over the pages of a trashy romance novel, when I returned. Then she looked at me, stared, and leered. I looked at myself in a mirror and realized that I was flushed everywhere and my hair was tousled. She grinned wide. "Never mind! Who's the lucky lady?"

"No one!" I howled and laughed, blushing harder. "Music is my mistress!"

"So that's where she's been," Zoe sighed, uncrossed her ankles and turned a page. "You stole her away from me. I spent all day trying to come up with inspiration, didn't find any."

"You're welcome to steal her back," I said with a shrug. It wasn't that I was feeling generous, it was that I wanted to acknowledge to the woman that I knew this brief flash of genius wasn't mine to keep.

"I think she suits you better," Zoe said.





In the end I entered the contest. Zoe said she was proud of me and probably meant it. The entire affair was much more entertaining than I had imagined. I had thought it would be inside a stuffy auditorium in front of a panel of humorless judges. No, the contest would take place on an island ten miles off shore, in an outdoor amphitheater, in front of a panel of humorless judges who sat on large stones. The contest committee had also brought a huge outlay of fruits and drinks in coolers, for a reception afterwards. They'd hired a little boat for the trip as well.

I heard the woman's singing all the way to the island. I looked all around me, at the captain who was casually steering our boat, at the students milling on the deck, at Zoe lounging with her arms lolling against the white-painted railing. Between every faint roar of the waves I heard an echo of my song, returned to me more beautiful than I had been able to make it. I blissed out, lost in the music, and when the soung faded we had just made landfall and Zoe was smiling at me. I must have been staring at her in my state. I blushed and looked away.

The setup was wonderful. The island appealed to everyone's streak of romance, as did the staging area, which was a gentle, overgrown grassy slope with a dark forest for a backdrop. It was so hot that most of us decided to go barefoot, and the grass felt delicious between my toes. There were forty or so contestants in all, competing for one hundred dollars and bragging rights, and everyone receiving a free lunch.

I was the last to go. I heard all the others before me. Most were songs of love and disappointment. One boy sang a comedic song that had everyone laughing hard enough to hurt. Zoe was twentieth in the lineup. She sang a song about mothers and daughters, about how remembered words are like flowers frozen in ice. I held back tears when I applauded.

When it was my turn, I was not nervous at all. In a way I felt that the song was not entirely mine, and so performing felt safe and unrevealing in a way that it shouldn't have. I smoothed my dress, ran a hand through my hair, stood in the circle, and I sang my love song. I let the song carry me away, and when I finished everyone rose and applauded like nobody had ever done for me in my life. Zoe stood slower than all the rest and she looked at me strangely even as she said that she hoped I would win.

I did win. They promised me a check that I did not care about, took a few pictures, everyone cheered, I thanked the judges, and then it was forgotten. We ate the fruit, drank the wine, and when sunset fell we got on the boat to return, sailing east into the darkness.

We got out at the marina in the city. When we got off the boat, Zoe waved and shouted something at the dock. When I got off the boat I saw that she was hugging a girl that I did not recognize. I saw a quick sneaked kiss, and then Zoe fell back into the group as we started on the walk home, on a road that followed the twists and turns of the shoreline. The streetlights were in poor repair and it seemed as if every other one was out tonight. I stumbled over rocks and trailed behind the crowd. When I tripped the third time, a hand caught my elbow and then an arm held me still, gently pressing into my back.

"Who were you singing about?" Zoe asked.

"Someone who doesn't know," I said.

"Oh, Ann," she said and then all my longing turned hot and cold at once. I pulled my arm away and shook my head, and started running ahead. The dormitory was in sight.

"Wait!" I heard her shout behind me. I did not want to be caught, even though I now knew that she had the answer in her hands, and I did not want to be around for her reaction. I ran until I got tired and then I went down the stairs to the beach three steps at a time, gripping the railing all the way down. I heard her steps and then I came to the water. There was nowhere to go but into the ocean. So I threw my shoes off and waded in, running in huge steps into the cold, dark water. I heard Zoe shouting, and I could see, outlined against the yellow lamps of the dormitory, other students who had heard the commotion.

"Ann, Ann," Zoe yelled as I backed out into the water. It was up to my chest and the pressure made it hard to breathe. I could barely keep my footing in the sand as the waves and wind pounded me, and I saw her waver as well. "Who was it about?"

"Go away," I said, and slammed my arm into the water, sending a cold spray in her direction.

"Ann," she said again, and the affection in her voice made me want to cry, but I didn't. "Maybe you should tell this person --"

"It's for someone who doesn't love me back," I said, "so I don't see why she'd need to know!"

Zoe gave me that alluring look of hers, and I said, "do you want a song from me, Zoe?"

"I'd love one," she said.

The music that I heard in the water chorused with the words that rose to my tongue. So I sang to her of heartbreak, not naming anyone, not myself and not her, and I watched her eyes widen as the waves rose higher around us.

the living wait to die
and the dying rot away
my words will never come
and my songs have gone astray ...

I thought it would make her go away, but with every line that I sang, Zoe came closer and closer towards me, through the dark water where I stood unable to move, unable to turn her away. She came towards me, arms outstretched as if in longing, and then she caught my arm. I froze at the touch, she pulled me towards her, and I recoiled as a wave pounded both of us. We both screamed and as I went down, my head plunging into the ocean, I was blinded by the sting of salt water. I felt her limbs flail as the waves tossed her, and then there was the dull thud of bone on rock. Zoe went very still.

The water swept us apart and I inhaled a lungful of ocean.

I came to in a pile of seashells. The woman was standing away from me, long hair and dress trailing behind her. Her hands were clasped behind her back as if she was ignoring me.

Slowly I sat up. I took one of the many empty seashells around me and held it in my hand, hefting its scant weight. Thousands of faint songs continued on all around me, but I did not resonate with a single one of them. They all seemed cold, poor, faded now. I thought of Zoe and I cried into the ocean, huddled at the woman's feet for what seemed like days. Water and sand flowed through my fingers, no matter how hard I clenched them.

I waited for Zoe to sink down to the bottom of the ocean with me.

But it was only myself and the woman.

When I realized that, I sang the song that the woman had shown me the first time, trying to bring some warmth into my cold body. I could almost feel the ghost of limbs on mine, the sun shining on my skin, laughter in the streets, a joyful day in the forest. I could almost sing enough for both of us.

The woman turned to me, and I stopped.

"Would you ... give me a song?" I whispered, looking down at the shell that I was cradling in my two hands.

The woman turned around. She put her hands on her hips and looked so much like Zoe that I shivered. She kicked the seashell out of my grasp and ground it into fragments under her heel.

"You took away her songs," she said. "I will not give you one of your own."





When the world came back to me I was coughing violently as students dragged me onto the beach and someone was pounding on my chest. I counted two broken ribs. They had called for an ambulance, someone shouted into my waterlogged ears, as I choked and spit out water and bloody foam onto the sand. Someone was pouring water on my legs and when I lifted my head briefly, I saw that my legs were covered in blood and cuts. I did not have to turn around to see a second group of students huddled behind us. I collapsed back again, so that I saw the stars above me and I heard the ocean somewhere beyond my reach, in front of and underneath me.

"You're going to be okay, just breathe carefully," someone said. "Nice and easy."

We waited.

"Ann," a girl suddenly said, turning towards the ocean, "did you hear that? Did you hear someone singing?"

"No," I said, into the huge silence. "I don't hear anything."



the end

Author's note: Some of the poetry is original, the rest is mangled Herta Mueller.