Island Siren

A ray of sunshine peaked through the window, tickling my nose. I must have dozed sitting by the fire, waiting for the storm outside to pass.

The old wooden floor creaked under my steps, and I dipped my wool-sock covered feet inside the tattered wellies waiting by the door. Outside, salty sea air filled my nostrils, and I closed my eyes, letting the cool air wake my sleepy, aching joints.

Out here by the extremities of the archipelago, the land was rugged and bare. Carefully, I ventured down the shiny rocks that had been licked by the sea. Once, I had been jumping bare feet across the tricky surface, running too fast for thoughts of slipping or broken bones to catch up.

The pier was only a short one, merely big enough for the small wooden dingy lazily rocking along the waves. As a child, I wondered why none of the other boats ever docked here. I decided it was because the pier was simply too small, but when I shared this realization with my grandmother, Gamo, she waved her wrinkly, calloused hand and huffed. Strangers are dangerous. We don’t want any of them here, she said. The island is ours and ours alone. Don’t you forget that.

And here we remained. Safe. Alone.

Leaving boots, woolly socks and firewood by the smooth lower stones, I continued down the pier. Stiff muscles winced as I lowered myself, sitting on the edge. Summer had made no effort to heat the waters, and chilly kisses traced my toes and ankles as I dipped in my feet. A fish nibbled at my heel, the thick skin making it barely a tickle.

As the evening stretched on, bonfires lit up in the distance and echoes of shouts and laughter carried across the water. Gamo had never allowed midsummer fires on the island, swearing it was witchcraft, devil worship. While she was alive, there had only been one bonfire on our island, and it had been the stranger who lit it.

***

It was a midsummer’s eve years ago, during a time I was old enough to be alone while Gamo took the dingy to visit mainland, but young enough to be terrified when small red rowboat docked by the pier. Heart pounding, I hid behind a boulder as the stranger climbed out. Her hair was wild like a crow in flight as she looked around.

Hello? She shouted.

Taking the quick route, a path of sharp rock lacework that required cautious feet to survive uncut, I fled back to the cottage, bolting the door. Inside, I was too concern by the black-haired stranger to notice the red streaks tearing down my legs.

If she saw no one she would leave, I reasoned, and waited in Gamo’s rocking chair, knees high up against my chin.

A knock on the door.

Hello? Anyone home?

I held my breath. People did not visit the island. Strangers only come by when they want something, Gamo had warned. I didn’t know what a stranger could possibly want of the little there was to take. Maybe the good copper pan, or the small silver spoon in the drawer?

The knocking stopped. I listened for steps.

A tap on the window made me scream. The strangers’ face was up against the glass.

Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you! Could you open the door, please? I’m freezing.

Heart racing, I remained still. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her shivering body, strands of wet black hair sticking to her pale face. She reminded me of the animals that occasionally washed up on shore. Wet, shivering, dead without a helping hand.

And that’s when I decided to open the door to a night I would never forget.

The stranger introduced herself as Astrid. She’d been out rowing when she got caught in storm and capsized. Her family’s cottage was close to mainland, and our island was the first she reached. Rocking in Gamo’s chair, she hugged the blanket tight around her. Under it, she was wearing my thickest winter jumper, skirt and socks, her own soaking clothes hanging on the line outside. I handed her a cup of tea, steam twirling around the rim.

Thank you, she smiled.

Heat had returned to her cheeks and lips, and my fear towards this stranger had shifted to curiosity. Like me, she wasn’t a child anymore, but still carried a certain softness that disappeared in adults.

Do you live here alone? She asked.

I shook my head.

Our cottage is in Nagu, we stay there every summer. We go back to the city when school starts, she tilted her head. I didn’t know people lived so far out here, do you go back for school? Don’t tell your business to strangers Gamo would say. I turned and rinsed the kettle, happy to escape Astrid’s examining gaze.

Have you ever been to a city? Astrid asked, continuing with her own thoughts when she didn’t receive an answer.

I would love living out here all year. Time slows down by the sea, you know? You can do anything and be anything and it matters to no one. The sea won’t care if you’re smart or pretty, it’ll swallow you up regardless. Astrid kept talking, her nonsense transforming into a pleasant murmur in the background, and I found myself enjoying the sound of her.

At some point she had ran out of things to say, and we sat in silence, drinking our teas. I spoke, equally to her surprise and mine.

I lived in a city once.

I traced the cracked patterns across the brown ceramic.

My mom was from the mainland. I was born there, but she died when I was small. Gamo raised me here.

Have you left the island since? I sipped the lukewarm tea. I shouldn’t have said anything. Astrid would think I was a peculiar creature, not knowing anything of the world outside the island.

You’re an island siren.

It was my turn to be confused.

An island siren. It’s this magical creature who lives on an island, luring in sailors with your beauty and song.

I smiled down at my cup. An island siren.

Are you a sailor then? I replied.

Aye-aye! Astrid yipped and raised her cup to me. I didn’t know what she meant by it, but I liked the way she laughed at her own words, her eyes shining like turquoise water in sunshine. I raised my cup and laughed with her.

It was Astrids’ idea to light the bonfire. I had squirmed, the idea of angering Gamo making me uneasy.

It’s just a bonfire. We won’t burn down anything and besides, there’s nothing to burn down here! Astrid reasoned, waving at the bare rocks. She was right, but Gamo had a way of knowing everything that happened on her island. It was as if her fingers and toes began where the stone and moss ended. But even the fear of a scolding couldn’t kill the newfound excitement Astrid had coaxed out in me. I hurried to gather logs and a matchbox.

It took half of the matches and two handfuls of dry bark before a flame flickered.

What’s wrong? Astrid asked, gesturing to my nails I continued to pick. Gently, she nudged me on the arm.

Spirits. I finally said.

Spirits?

The fire invites spirits. They do mischievous things, devil’s bidding, Gamo says. Astrid looked at me quizzically, then burst out laughing.

Spirits aren’t real, dummy. Her laughter made me want to shrink, hide in the cracks of the rock.

It’s just stories people tell to stop kids from playing with fire. But— her voice softer, — if they were real, there would be good spirits, too.

I raised my brows at her.

Think about it, if the fire invited all spirits, there would be nice ones, too. Maybe loved ones who’d want to come and see you. Like your mom.

The fire crackled, and orange flames flickered in Astrid’s eyes. Longing crept over my bones and suddenly I was ravenous for closeness, so much it physically hurt.

Astrid moved closer, wrapping her arms around me. The only hugs I knew were Gamo’s, and they lacked the texture of meaning. Astrid’s hug was sincere and firm, and I sank into it, burring my face in the itchy white wool.

Pins and needles travelled up my legs. I didn’t dare to shift, worried that Astrid, who was leaning against me, might move away.

Do you ever think about leaving this place? Or will you be an Island siren forever? She asked.

I don’t know.

But don’t you get lonely here?

I shrugged. All I knew was this. Was it even possible to picture a life I'd never seen? Besides, the mainland will only get you as far as it did your mother, Gamo used to say. Perhaps this was a lonely place, but it was my home. I plucked the weeds and scrubbed the grime off stones, and in return, the island took care of me, kept me safe.

Fire sizzled as I threw in another log, tiny sparks racing in the air.

Do you have any friends?

Astrid eyes were wide, lines curving across her forehead. Her questions made me feel thin. Transparent. More sparks shot up as I prodded the fire.

Lacing her fingers with mine, Astrid squeezed my hand.

Well, now you do.

For the next few hours, we talked about the similarities and differences of our lives, stirring the fire whenever it threatened to die, and at some point, I dozed off. When I woke up, embers glowed in the ashes, and the calm water glittered under the blushing morning sky.

Hugging her knees, Astrid sat facing the sea, humming a melancholic tune. Bits of moss and dirt stuck to the back of her jumper, and I reached to pick off a twig. She turned and smiled over her shoulder. Maybe it was the sleepy delirium or perhaps it was witchcraft, but in that moment I swore I was staring back at a spirit. The airy melody of her song and iridescent glow around her was entirely magical.

Astrid stood up, brushing dirt of the clothes.

I think it’s time to go. She whispered, breaking the enchantment in a heartbeat.

Scrambling to my feet, I stammered. No, you don’t have to leave yet. Stay, I have food and clothes and —

My parents have to be worried sick. Thank you for the loan. She said, stroking the sleeve of the sweater.

Keep it. It’s still cold out there. I said and reluctantly followed her down to the pier. And maybe you’ll come back to return it later, I thought quietly.

Climbing in the red dingy, Astrid readied the oars and slowly, I untwisted the rope around the small wooden pole.

Thank you, again. Astrid said.

Don’t go, was all I wanted to say. Instead, I gently pushed the side of the boat, waves catching its belly and carrying her away.

Bye island siren! Astrid shouted, as she rowed towards mainland.

I waved, and even when I couldn’t see her anymore, I kept waving.

***

The matches shook lightly in my stiff fingers, but after a few tries a small bonfire danced happily, warming my tingling feet.

Astrid never came back to the island, and I didn’t leave it, either. Gamo, now long gone, had been right all along. Strangers only came by when they wanted something. Astrid had wanted dry clothes and a place to rest the evening. She came and took what she wanted, but so had I.

Equally a stranger, I had wanted her warmth and companionship, and I had grabbed it with greedy hands. It was a fair exchange.

Pulling the jumper tight around me, I stirred the fire, louder flames stretching high in the night air. It was time.

In the distance, a dot floated into view. Perfectly dark nights wouldn’t return for weeks, but even in the delicate lavender mist, the sea air remained foggy. Peering, the dot gained the shape of a boat and drew in closer.

In the years that passed, I never stopped waiting for Astrid. And while my friend never returned, every year at midsummer, at the peak of the night when bonfires blazed and the veil between the spirit world and us was thinnest, the same dot would appear in the horizon. And just as it was right now, the boat floated closer and a figure, a stranger, raised their hand, waving. A jolt prickled my skin as I greeted them back, their presence like a blanket around your shoulders on a cold night.

And every year, as quickly as they materialized, the stranger would sail through the fluttering veil, leaving only stillness, and the desolate blue sea behind.