UNCLE JOHN AND DORIS OF THE SEA

Emerging from the sea, my body - although glistening like that of a mermaid with the seawater sliding down my skin (or so I hope) - is very tired after battling through the rough seas to reach this piece of land in the middle of nowhere. My muscles are cramping as I crawl very un-ladylike onto the beach….the beach that is now my haven. And if I have anything to say about it after my recent endeavour, I would very much like it to be very temporary.

This is so ridiculous! How long is this song going to be stuck in my head? Maybe I was just imagining the conversation with Doris as Vengaboys’ “Uncle John from Jamaica” repeated itself, over and over….and over again in my tired brain. To be fair, “We’re going to Ibiza” also made a turn or two on the playlist.

Catching my breath while lying on my back under the meek sun in my drenched t-shirt and shorts, my thoughts wander to the experience I’ve just had. Well, just is a relative word, because I don’t know how long I’ve been in the water, battling to keep my head above water, and the swallowing of seawater to a minimum. And, of course, encountering the most interesting…shall I call it an entity for lack of a better description?

*** I should’ve known that my holiday would end in disaster. Why wouldn’t it? It was impulsive, last-minute and the travel booking very cheap. Getting onto the scrawny old fisherman’s weathered boat at the harbour after a six hours flight seemed like a good idea at the time, a new adventure, something to share with my future grandchildren, and whomever else wanted to hear another travel story.

Ignoring the crackling radio as we got to the open water, the captain kept himself busy with chores on the boat, shouting instructions to his crew. On my way to one of the famous Greek islands, I assumed that he was speaking Greek…and very broken English, enough to let me understand that I should be thankful to him for allowing me a place on his boat. I sat quietly in a corner, watching the hustle and bustle on the vessel that could use another coat of paint or even a complete cosmetic make-over. But alas, this was a working vessel and not a passenger boat used for the amusement of tourists.

I was determined to get to the island on which my big adventure would begin and didn’t want to irritate or get in the old man’s way. When I stepped onto the boat earlier, I saw a pile of paddles to the left of the captain’s cabin, and by hook or by crook, I would avail myself to assist the crew if any paddling was required. To be honest, I wasn’t sure whether the boat would reach its destination without a bit of help anyway.

In the distance, the sky was turning a dark-blue behind the grey clouds forming in various shapes and sizes. I knew the old man was aware of the threatening weather as well, his voice coming in shorter bursts, sounding panicky, and needless to say, motivating my heart rate into a panicky rhythm also. We were heading straight towards the storm, with no way around it. And then we were in the storm.

Every time the waves came, it was bigger than the previous, crashing over the little old boat and steering it in all directions. Almost like a baby playing with a toy boat during bath time, splashing to watch it bobble around in the soapy water. By this time I was trying to hide behind some or other wooden fixture, thinking that I would be safe from being swept overboard. Lightning made zigzag patterns from the heavens, just-just touching the rough sea around us.

The last thing I heard was the old man’s screeching voice before I was catapulted from my hiding place and landed in the deep, dark, green waters. I can’t exactly explain what happened next whilst the water smashed me around, but I suddenly saw something moving, other than the water in which I was now trying not to lose my life.

It wasn’t anything concrete, rather an awareness that touched my leg. This was enough to make me swallow my first batch of what the sea had to offer…nice and salty, oh so salty water, burning my throat the way my eyes were burning from my tears mixed with the salty composition of the hell in which I emerged. During the moments when my struggle to keep my head above water failed and I was submerged, I saw an indescribable image…water flowing within water, like a brush dipped in oil of which the tip was gently dragged through liquid with a lighter density; illuminated but not enough to attract attention from above the water level.

Somehow, the flashes of this….entity…made me calm enough to regain some of my senses and strength and the fight or flight hormones kicked in. Needless to say, I depended heavily on the fight part to get me to safety. From somewhere, as if a voice in the very, very far distance was consoling me, I felt the awareness in my thoughts. Being well mannered and not knowing how my raging insides would affect the entity, I apologized to whomever, or whatever, was tiptoeing around in my thoughts. It couldn’t be a nice thing, feeling all my anxiety, my swearing, and of course, Uncle John from Jamaica going to Ibiza, on repeat.

We communicated in thought, the entity and I, through everything that was going on. And still “Uncle John from Jamaica” was stuck in my head. While I was taking “on” water like a ship that was hit by a submarine’s missile, I wondered how long my legs and arms would be able to keep up this exercise. At least I knew the theoretical part of exercise, how to spell the word, the meaning thereof, but theory and practice, in reality, was never really the same. When I was younger I was disciplined enough to maintain at least a little bit of fitness through exercise, but now I’m not younger, I’m older. Then regret set in for not being fit anymore, as though that alone would get me to safety.

The entity was called Doris, although “it” didn’t exactly pronounce it like that. With all due respect, something that took on such a magnificent form, with such an everyday name…. I had a feeling that this entity would be a female, if there was such a thing as gender identification in their world. “The name meant bounty or gift”, she continued, “given that I would normally be found in rich fishing grounds, where the fresh- and brine waters mix.”

Then suddenly, the awareness of a piece of land nearby made me look around. Although my vision was blurred partly due to the salty water and my tears, I saw something in the distance that was static and stable, not splashing or moving around like the water mass around me. My hopes jumped one notch higher as I thought of being saved, and I forced my limbs to start moving in that direction. “I would love to stick around and chat Doris, but my chances of survival is trumping a conversation with an out-of-this-world being.”

Strange enough, Doris moved with me and kept engaging in what I now came to call conversation (I was tired and really unable to be diplomatic with words). This figure with the flowing persona, flowing hair, flowing garment, flowing aura, seemed to be assisting me in my thoughts, keeping me positive, not needing me to actually speak as that would drain my reserves unnecessarily, and guiding me towards the island that I’ve spotted earlier, all the while communicating with me that she had a whole bunch of sisters, about 3000 perhaps, she was the wife of some or other sea god, and the mother of about 50 sea nymphs. So THAT’s what she was, a sea nymph, a water spirit of some sort!

The closer I came to the island, the vaguer my awareness of Doris became, the less she was illuminated, though still flowing like water within water. Then there was an exact moment when I couldn’t feel her anymore, couldn’t see her flowing in the water. It was also exactly at that moment that I became aware of how tired I was, my wet clothes dragging me down and making it difficult to keep moving forward.

Thankfully the water closer to the beach was much calmer, the sun was already shining through the parting clouds, and I was so thankful when I felt a sandbank below my feet. I dragged my body out of the waters, emerging on all fours….

*** I still cannot decide whether the conversation with Doris was real, much less the existence of water spirits, or sea gods, or Doris. Who would believe me? Should I tell anyone about her? With this thought I close my eyes to enjoy the sun on my body, again humming the damn song. Vengaboys should be proud of themselves; not even almost drowning could erase two of their songs from my mind….

After what feels like only a few minutes of me resting my tired body before getting up and go in search of rescue, I open my eyes, and to my amazement look up at the most star-littered sky I’ve ever seen in my life. My skin feels sticky and I’m shivering, but I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from the vibrant expanse above me. In the far distance, the waves softly crash on the beach, completing my feeling of awareness.