Aw, Come On!
by: Emmie Dee © 2001
SPRING
It started with a hat. A big hat. A big floppy straw hat. A big floppy yellow straw hat with a salmon-colored band and a flower on it. And a wind, a Spring wind that carried the big floppy hat right off of the head of a tiny, beautiful woman, her red hair drawn back in an old-fashioned bun. I chased the hat through the park, and just managed to catch it before it went sailing into the harbor, tumbling as I caught it.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said with a smile as I came trotting back with her hat, like an overgrown golden retriever. (No, I carried the bonnet in my hands, not my mouth.) I bowed and handed it to her. I’m not large—about 5 feet 9, but she was nearly a foot shorter, and incredibly petite. On approaching her, I had wondered if she was a school girl, but her body, tiny though it was, was mature, and her face, especially her eyes, was every bit that of a lady. And her voice—lilting, though mellow and mature, and full of whimsy, with just a trace of an accent—Irish, perhaps, to match the flaming red hair? "You are a true gentleman, and I most certainly appreciate your efforts at returning my bonnet. I was out of sunscreen which I most desperately need with this sickly skin of mine," (lovely, clear, white skin with a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose) "but I couldn’t resist taking a stroll in the park on this lovely day. Hence, the hat, which put you to so much trouble." At first, I thought her conversation was put-on, that she was talking in an old-fashioned, formal way to act out the Guinivere to my Lancelot
For all her lack of height, she was beautifully proportioned, except that her head may have been a little large in proportion to her body. Her eyes were an exquisite shade of blue—I had expected green, to go with the red hair--and they sparkled with wit and mischief. Her nose was dainty, upturned, and slightly pointed, and her chin was also dainty and came to a point. All in all, she was a delight to look at, but even more, there were hints that there were depths to her that no mere man could fathom. I was intrigued, enthralled, and frightened half to death. I’m a romantic at heart, but most girls just see the awkward computer geek.
"My name is Brendan," I said, "Brendan Sears. And I'm really grateful for that gust of wind that brought us together." Was I pushing it?
"Good to meet you, Brendan. Sears is it? What if I said my name was Roebuck?" That mischievous grin again, and the lilt, more than an accent, that sounded a bit more Irish than before.
"I'd say that you had the gift of blarney, or that we should seriously consider a merger," I came back.
"Blarney it is," she admitted. "And yes, as you can guess, I come from Ireland, actually an island off the coast. I'm at the Oceanographic Institute here as an exchange student." The Institute, here in our New England town, was a high-power think-tank. Myself, I had an associate's degree from the town's junior college. She went on. "Actually, Brendan, my name is Trisha--not Patricia--O'Casey. It's good to meet a descendant of the old sod."
"Old sod?" I asked in mock hurt astonishment. "How did you know about my grandfather's drinking habits?--Oh, you mean old sod as in Ireland." By this time we were both laughing. "That hat looks very fetching on you," I added.
"Thank you, and thank you for fetching it," she said. I glanced her way on the sidewalk to mumble acknowledgement, but she had dropped a step behind me. All of a sudden, I felt this large yellow hat being thrust down upon my head. I'm usually uncomfortable and awkward around women, so I was surprised to find the two of us to be being playful like we'd known each other for years.
I reached up to pull the woman's hat off my male head. "Aw, come on!" she said. "Let me come around and let me see if it looks as fetching on you as you said it did on me!" I lowered my hand as she walked around to face me. "Lovely!" she said, grinning. She held her hand out so her horizontal index finger covered the moustache on my upper lip. "For best effect, however, the moustache should probably go." Actually, I admitted, the 'stache was only a pathetic attempt to keep me from being carded in bars and restaurants, since I looked eight or nine years younger than my twenty six. "I have the same problem," she said sympathetically, "and me an older woman of two seven--uh, twenty seven." I wondered what she had started to say, but didn't ask. By this time, I figured that it was safe to remove the hat from my head and place it back on the head of its owner. I also figured that if I didn't watch out, I would fall head-over-heels in love with her. Trisha. Trisha O'Casey. Not Patricia, just Trisha.
We walked along the beach, and she kept pointing out little creatures and calling them by names. She knew her wetland biology, that's for sure, but she wasn't pedantic about it--it was as if she were filled with love for all the scuttling and scrambling life forms. "And what's that?" I asked, pointing to a tern of some sort, tiptoeing down the beach looking for bugs or tiny shrimp.
"Oh, that's Ralph," she laughed. "He's a gloomy old bird. I call him my tern for the worse." Ralph looked up, indignantly. By now, parkland no longer skirted the seafront, houses, instead, lining the top of the seawall. "Just a little ways up here is where I live," she said. "Do please stop by for a minute and I'll fix you some tea. Least I can do for a new friend."
I hesitated. My bashfulness was welling up into a big wall of fear. I looked at my watch as if I had somewhere to go. Actually, I did, but not for a couple of hours--in addition to my computer work, I clerked short shifts on weekends in one of our town's tourist traps, one of the surfware, tee shirt, shell, and postcard shops you see up and down the coast from Florida to Maine.
"Oh, come on," Trisha pleaded, her hands clasped together imploringly. "I'm not going to seduce you or anything!"
Darn, I thought. "Well, okay, if you really don't mind," I said. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me up the beach. Soon, we came to a rickety flight of wooden stairs climbing up the seawall. Opposite the stairs was a long, weather-beaten pier stretching into the harbor, with perhaps half of its planks intact. Starting up the steps, I could see just the green roof of the cottage. It had probably once belonged to a fisherman's or mariner's family, I thought as I climbed the steps, like the other older homes along here. But now the ocean view and beach access gave it a value much higher than a sailor's family could likely afford. It was small, but the whole eastern exposure, facing the Atlantic, was glassed in. "I love this place," I said. "What glorious views of the sunrise you must have."
"Now don't be inviting yourself to spend the night so you can watch the sunrise," she warned, only half-teasingly. "I'm just inviting you to tea and biscuits." The biscuits, I found out later, as I sat on an old couch looking out at the ocean, were an English term for cookies. We sat and sipped and snacked, watching the gulls and pelicans dance above the waves. She told me how she had been sent here to study, to find ways to help protect her islands and waters near Ireland from pollution and oil leakage. I explained about my mostly boring job sometimes writing code and sometimes doing customer-service troubleshooting for an applications software company in town. She looked at me appraisingly. "A computer geek, are you?" she asked. I nodded. "Perhaps you could help me." She pulled out an impressive high-end looking laptop. "Much of my research involves creating and modifying computer models on currents, temperatures, habitat formation and degradation, that sort of thing. I know my way around to do the basic, you understand, but there's so much I don't know." I smiled, and tried to look wise beyond my years. Normally, I didn't like to spend all my off-work time on computers, but if I could be working with her, that was something else again. Before I left, I had agreed to come back the next afternoon--Sunday--to find out more about her needs. Computer needs, I meant. Maybe not just computer needs. As I opened the door, she stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. "It was lovely getting to know you, Brendan Sears. It's funny, I'm usually a very shy girl, and I sense that you're a very shy boy, but already I feel like we've been friends for years." I couldn't help but agree, and silently I hoped that someday we could be much more than friends.
Sunday morning found me at mass, thanking God for this new friend, and praying to the patron saint of lost causes that this relationship would not be one. Sunday afternoon found me at Trisha’s doorstep, eager to begin. Both the sailing yachts in the harbor and her delightful face proved to be distractions to my eyes, and I was in a bit of a daze as she described her work and what she was seeking to do with it. Yet I knew enough about computers to be able to begin to give her suggestions on how to do the task, mammoth though it seemed. As we worked that day and parts of many days thereafter, we were both aware of a sexual tension between us, and we both delighted in one another’s easy, teasing style. Funny, I had never loosened up around a girl this much before. Once in awhile, we would go out to eat at a seafood shanty down the street, and munch on fried grouper sandwiches. One such day, she surprised me. "Brendan, you are so much help to me. Yet I have so much more to do, and less than a year to get it all done. We have funding available for this project, that I was wondering—would you be able to work for me, at least half-time? I can pay at least as well as your regular job, and you can quit working at that horrid shop." I promised to check into it, and found out that my company was willing to have me work evening half-time, and I could keep my benefits. So I quickly agreed, since I could spend more time with this woman who attracted me so. Was she equally attracted to me?
So every afternoon, Monday through Saturday, I spent working in the seaside cottage. It was a wonderful and sometimes frustrating puzzle for me, trying to work to move the streams of data within the necessary parameters. One day I made the observation that those streams of data were like ocean currents in the ways that they moved amorphously, yet still according to unseen laws. She kissed me! Wow. I should try to be profound more often. Usually each day we would have to take reality breaks, time to shut our minds off from the technical problems and let them coast. This meant that we could work more creatively later. Of course, it also meant that our relationship would be more than professional.
We talked about our backgrounds. My mom died when I was a toddler, and my dad raised me. He was gentle and loving in a quiet way, but emotionally distant. When I was fourteen, he was killed on his way to work at the mill by a drunk driver. A counselor once told me that I stayed fourteen emotionally for five or six years. I had a good, patient foster home, but most of the time I had just retreated into a shell. My computer was my closest friend. She, on the other hand, had a warm, loving family, but an impoverished one. They lived on an island off the west coast of Ireland, a sparse rocky place that offered little but beauty and access to some rich fishing beds. She had been bright enough to get scholarships and become the first of her family to receive a college degree. With the island and ocean ecology threatened, she had applied for a grant to research possible solutions, and had ended up here.
As I listened to her talk, I looked into those beautiful blue eyes, except that today they looked as green as did the ocean outside the window. When I commented on this, she laughed and said that her eyes were somewhere between blue and green, and even could look gray, depending upon the background.
Sometimes we had silly moments, too. One day, on break from a grueling session, I offered to give her a shoulder rub. Agreeing, she plopped down on the floor in front of my chair, her feet sticking straight out. She was enjoying my hands kneading her neck and shoulders, when I noticed the light green polish on her toenails. This was unusual for Trisha, as she seldom wore makeup of any kind, and I hadn't seen her with polished nails before, although her nails were always nicely groomed. I commented that I found it attractive. She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, thanking me. "I usually don’t fritter around with such fancies," she said, in that old-fashioned way of hers, "but I was admiring the beauty of the sea one day, and then I noticed in the drug store that this polish was the same color. I haven’t had nerve to do my fingers yet."
"Aw, come on," I answered, using one of her favorite phrases. "Be a little impulsive."
"You like it, huh?" she asked. "Maybe I will. But would you do me another favor? That backrub felt so good that I would like to let my hair down." My eyebrows bobbed suggestively. "No, not that way, silly. Literally. If I do, would you be so kind as to brush it for me?" I quickly agreed, she stood up, and returned with a brush. She sat down again and untied the bun. Her beautiful red hair cascaded down over her shoulders, touching the back of her tank top. Slowly, I began brushing. It had a hypnotic effect. "Ooh, that feels good," she murmured. "Here. Put your feet up on my calves and I’ll rub them for you." Now I was being hypnotized. After awhile, she stopped rubbing, but was holding my foot still with one hand. I smelled something sweet, but strong, like model paint with perfume in it.
"Trisha O’Casey," I said slowly. "You wouldn’t be painting my toenails, would you now?"
"What if I was, Brendan Sears?" she asked impishly. "You said that you liked the color."
"But I’m a man, Trisha, and men with painted green toenails aren’t accepted here."
"Aw, come on," she teased. "Let me finish your nails. We’ll take it off later. Poor dear, you’ve had so few women in your life that I thought you might like to experience something a little feminine."
I stretched out my right foot. Sure enough, all but the nail of my little toe were sea green. "Oh, okay," I gave in. "Finish the job if you must." And she did.
Then she got up and said, "Hold out your hands, palms down, please. You told me that I could finish the job. You can do mine after I do yours." So we both spent the day with sparkling green nails, to match the waves on the ocean beyond the windows. "Now that you’ve worn my hat and had your nails painted," she teased, "You know what it’s like to look like a woman top and bottom."
"But not top-to-bottom," I responded.
"Not yet, anyway. But wasn’t this fun?" Yes, in a way it was. Somehow, the experience, so new and unexpected, aroused me sexually, and I didn’t know if it should or not, or how Trisha would react if she knew. So I tried to ignore it and not answer, afraid any answer might get me in trouble.
Obviously, ours wasn’t an ordinary boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, nor an ordinary employee-employer relationship. When I told her that one day, she just smiled and responded, "That’s because we’re not ordinary people, Brendan Sears. Not ordinary at all. We’re sexually attracted to each other, we work together very well, but I think that we’ve also become each other’s best friend, don’t you?" I was delighted to agree.
SUMMER
Even more than most women, Trisha was a delightful paradox. Driven and serious in her work, she was delightfully playful, a natural tease. Beautiful, at least to my way of thinking, she never bothered much with trying to look more so. Her wardrobe was largely androgynous, the number of sweat suits, jeans, and tee shirts overwhelming the occasional skirt and blouse or formal dress for social events. She was neat and clean, but seldom wore jewelry or makeup. Although physically very attractive, her beauty shown from within.
Trisha did always wear earrings, hoops about an inch-and-a-half in diameter. I never saw her with any different kind. One day, after it was clear that we were having a romantic relationship, I decided to buy her a gift. At the jewelry store, I picked out a beautiful pair of pendant earrings, delicate and tasteful. One evening, after supper, I asked if she would wear them. "Oh, they’re lovely, Brendan Sears! And so are you for thinking of me!" Then her face went sad. "But I’m afraid that I can’t wear them."
"Why not?" I asked nervously, afraid that I’d overstepped my bounds.
"It’s an odd little tradition of my people, the folks of my island. The earrings I wear now are a sign of my clan, if you will. We are all given them when we come into maturity, and we wear them the rest of our lives. Because they are so important to us, we don’t wear any other earrings. Look, Brendan Sears. Look closely at them."
I leaned over and gently touched one. They were a perfect circle, except for a little twist near the bottom. "I never noticed the little twist," I admitted. "It reminds me of something from school—a Mobius strip, or Moibus, or something like that."
"I don’t know that term, Brendan Sears, but isn’t the idea that you can trace a line on it, and you will always come back to the same place? That the outside and the inside are all one? That’s what the rings mean to us—that we are who we are, no beginning, no end. And do you notice something else about them?" I shook my head no. "Do you see a post, or a backing, or a thin wire?" I gingerly moved the ring and again shook my head. "We can’t take these earrings off without destroying them. Once we put them in, they stay."
"I’m really sorry, Trisha. I can take them back and get something that doesn’t clash with your culture. How about a necklace?"
"Dear sweet Brendan Sears, even though I can’t wear them, I would love to keep them because they remind me of you. And could I ask you something?"
"Certainly."
"As a sign of our friendship, of our relationship, could we get your ears pierced? I’m not asking you to make a lifetime commitment or anything, to wear earrings like mine. But it would mean a lot to me if you would." I agreed. So off we went to a jewelry kiosk at a mall, I climbed up onto the stool, and had a starter stud punched into each ear. Trisha brought me a tiny set of hoops, barely reaching past the lobe, that I could wear once the starters were no longer needed.
Of course, a few weeks later, she put the pair into my ears that I had brought for her, the very feminine pendants, when she was supposed to install the hoops. "Woman!" I said in mock indignation. "First I like your hat, and you make me wear it. Then I compliment you on your nail polish, and I have green nails. Now I buy you earrings and you put them in my ears! Isn’t this carrying sharing too far? And do you want me to not compliment you forevermore, lest I end up looking like a drag queen?" Oddly, I felt my pendant earrings rattle and shake in emphasis.
She broke down in giggles. "I’m sorry, Brendan Sears. I don’t mean to belittle you or challenge your masculinity. You are just so much fun to tease. And you do look kind of cute, too."
"Cute?" I smiled. "Have you had your vision checked recently? A sorry-looking woman I would make. Now you, on the other hand, are quite lovely—and I know that you are all woman, even though sometimes I wonder if you are completely human." I was surprised to see a sudden look of fear on her face, the kind of look I get when I notice a police car behind me on the road, when I’ve been bending the speed limit. I hastened to reassure her. "What I mean is, that you’re something of a pixie. You tease me, you enchant me, you bewitch me. Maybe I should start calling you my pixie Trixie."
I thought I was being eloquent, teasing her in kind, but her face had gone from frightened to suspicious to furious as I spoke. "A pixie? I am many things, Brendan Sears, but a pixie is not one of them. Pixies are cute and funny, and they pull pranks, but they’re not all that bright—they’re the bimbos of the fae world, to use one of your male chauvinist words, and I hope that’s not what you consider me!"
What? She was talking like she really believed in that stuff. "Uh, I’m sorry, I guess. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything. I meant to compliment you. You can call me a leprechaun, if you want to."
Trisha grinned and walked to the open patio door, looking over the deck. "Hey, leprechaun," she called out. "Brendan Sears wanted me to call you!" Then she walked back to me and grinned, "Too far from Ireland, I guess. None heard me. But to interpret that remark the way you wanted me to, I wouldn’t call you a leprechaun because you’re too nice. You’re not a drunk, you’re not greedy, and you don’t play mean tricks. So don’t call me a pixie, and I won’t call you a leprechaun. Deal?"
"Deal," I said, still puzzled by this strange conversation. "So—are you just human, or are you of the fae world?"
"There will be time to discuss that later, Brendan. Now is not that time. Work awaits. And if we don’t get the data completed in the fields we’ve opened, I will make you wear those earrings when we go out to supper." So we went back to work, duly motivated. In the back of my mind, I decided to do an internet search to find out about the fae world, as Trisha had called it. I didn’t follow through, though, for many months. It just slipped my mind.
Perhaps pixies and leprechauns seemed so real to Trisha because she grew up in such an isolated environment. She told me stories of her little island off the western coast of Ireland, accessible only by small boat, and home to less than a thousand souls. Electricity, let alone television, was considered a luxury. They could go watch the telly, as she called it, at the community center, but most folks were busy enough eking out a living from fishing and farming that they spent little time with watching electronic signals gathered by the small satellite dish from the outside world. They had a small chapel but without a resident priest, and a school, combined with tutoring, that allowed their children to pass examinations equivalent to a high-school education. Even with what sounded to me like a very boring life, she said that few of them ever left the island. Did they feel inferior to people on the mainland, I wondered, like country bumpkins? Trisha didn’t seem that way. She was as confident and self-assured as any woman I had ever met. Could I stand to live in such a place, even though she said it was the most beautiful place on earth? I don’t know. It sounded peaceful, but peacefulness can become ultimate boredom awfully fast, I thought. But would I go there to live, if it was the only way that I could spend my life with Trisha? Tough call. But definitely maybe. She may not know the words to the theme songs of all those old sitcoms that I watch on Nick, and she may watch in confusion as I laugh at a movie, but that didn’t matter. She was mystical, magical Trisha.
I was surprised one day in August when she told me, "Brendan, you are the closest friend I have on this side of the ocean. I thank God that you have come into my life. I was counting on friendship and a good working relationship when I invited you to be my computer guru. But you’ve given so deeply of yourself, and I’ve received so much more than I expected. Thank you, dear heart. Without you, my life in this strange place would be nothing but work." I saw a few tears trickle down the side of her nose before my own vision blurred.
I bit my lip. "Trisha, I don’t know what to say. I’ve hardly ever had a girl friend, let alone become so close to someone as beautiful, wonderful, and intelligent as you. I’ve lived here all my life, but I don’t know anyone that I love more—Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that I love you. It’s just that you’re all I think about every day, every hour."
"You didn’t mean to say it, but did you mean it? About loving me, I mean?" she asked.
Nothing like putting your life on the line. "Yes. I love you, Trisha. If you don’t love me, I’ll understand, but I love you." She began to cry, and so did I. We hugged, then kissed deeply."
Finally, she pulled herself back. "Yes, I do love you, like I’ve never loved a human before," she told me. "And that presents a problem."
"Problem? Can’t love overcome problems? Isn’t that what love is about?"
"Brendan, as much as I love you, I’m not free to give myself to you. As important as you are to me, those back at my home, those who sent me here, have to come first. What I learn here might have life-and-death consequences, and I just can’t give that all up so that you and I can be together, or be happy."
"Trisha, I wasn’t asking you to give yourself to me, to give up all you’re working for. I would never do that. But I want to be a part of your life. I’m not asking for you to be by my side. I’m asking to be by yours."
"If only I could explain to you what that would mean, dear Brendan, you might not be so eager. I couldn’t ask you to give up everything that you would have to give up. I’m sorry. I can’t explain. You couldn’t understand. It wouldn’t be fair."
I grinned. "Ah, come on. Try me." She seemed to be prone to over-dramatizing things. Why couldn’t she let me decide what I was willing to do to keep our love alive?
Trisha sadly shook her head. "For now, dearest, let’s just be satisfied in the love we have each day, and not deal with tomorrow until it comes. I’m really sorry that my life is just so involved and cumbersome."
"Trisha, I would give up everything to spend the rest of my life with you. Don’t make up your mind that it would be too difficult for me to follow you. I would give up anything just to be yours."
She kissed my nose. "I won’t give up on you, either, Brendan. But it won’t be easy for you, I fear. It won’t be easy at all. And I don’t you to be obligated to become miserable for my sake." We didn’t talk much about it after that, but we spoke the words "I love you" many times each day, and meant them every time.
Neither of us socialized very much, and we seemed happy just to be with one another. She did talk of a friend at the Oceanographic Institute, Karen Lubbers, and her husband Keith. Karen, a former beautician, performed clerical duties; Keith, who had served in the submarine service in the Navy, specialized in computer imaging of oceanic currents. After hearing stories about them, we finally got together for supper one night, at one of the seafood joints down by the waterfront. Keith, strong, self-assured, and tanned, didn’t look like a typical computer geek (in other words, like me), but we still talked the same language, and quickly became friends. It was easy to see why Trisha liked Karen—she, too, was a free spirit, quick to tease, but tender and sensitive underneath. Karen was much taller than Trisha, and an inch or two taller than me, fairly plain by nature, but always attractive because of her tasteful clothes, makeup, and warm personality. We generally got together for dinner at least every two weeks, sometimes more frequently, and we usually followed dinner with cards or a video at Trisha's’ cottage or their apartment. One such evening, when the women were in the kitchen putting supper together, Keith looked at me. "You have wonderful gal there, Brendan. I hope that you won’t let her get away."
"Not if I can help it," I smiled. "It’s just a shame that this is only her temporary home, and that someday, probably in less than a year, she’ll be going back to that tiny island of hers. But I’d follow her to the ends of the earth, if I had to."
"Where she comes from is kind of like the ends of the earth," Keith said. "I’ve been there. It’s very green and beautiful, but very sparse and very poor economically, compared to the rest of Ireland. But I can see why it would have such an attraction for her, and why she would want to go back."
"It isn’t just homesickness," I said, "She has a sense of duty, a commitment to save the fragile ecosystem of those islands. She’s the most determined, single-minded person I know."
"Tell me about it," he laughed. "At the Institute, she’s one of the hardest working people I know, but she’s very bright and wildly creative. Anyway, she’s been much happier, much easier to be around, since you came into her life. So—"he whispered, "Are you two as great lovers as you seem to be? Is that what brings the glow to Trisha’s cheeks?"
I hated to admit it, but the answer was no. "I love her, Keith, with all my heart. And she loves me. But she’s an old-fashioned girl, and I was brought up to respect a woman’s wishes. She is adamant about not having sex before we make a lifelong commitment, and she won’t do that until her work here is done. We cuddle, and play, but that’s about it."
"Buddy," Keith said, "she’s worth it. She’s worth waiting for. Sometimes at work I tease her about being Monica, the angel on that TV show, with her Irish brogue and her flaming red hair, even though she’s a tad on the short side. But I’m not entirely teasing. There’s something unearthly about her, something good. Her outer beauty is something, but her inner beauty is something far greater."
"I don’t need convincing on that matter," I responded. "But I’m glad to hear somebody else say it, that I’m not just so much in love that I’m in never-never land."
Just then Trisha and Karen came back into the room. Trisha spoke. "Brendan Sears, I hope that Keith isn’t giving you that blarney about me being Monica the angel. He teases me about that constantly at work. I’m here to say that I never glow, nor do I give people messages from God. I’m just a simple oceanography student in a strange land."
"Oceanography student in a strange land, yes," Keith replied. "Simple, no. Angel or not, you are a mystery, Trisha, one that I hope Brendan here will have a long and joyful lifetime puzzling over." We went on to converse about more practical things, and enjoy a delicious shrimp-and-scallop supper.
It was fun to have friends, but more rewarding just being with each other for hours of each day, just me and Trisha. Much of our time was spent in work, orchestrating huge amounts of data about currents and pollution distribution in the North Atlantic. By late summer, I had quit my regular job, and was working full time with her at a higher salary than I used to make. Although her cottage was furnished with a ragged collection of stuff from second-hand stores, "Early Salvation Army" to use the fashion term, and although she never spent much money on herself, her project seemed to be well-funded. What I needed in the way of equipment I could get. Every evening though, generally after supper, I would head back to my lonely apartment. One day, faced with an enormous task, I suggested an all-nighter. Trisha quickly turned me down. "That’s counterproductive, Brendan Sears. If I don’t get my rest every night, I can’t think. I can’t be creative. My intuition goes flat. Data by itself is nothing. It’s finding the less than obvious pattern, the hidden clues, that count." Oddly enough, even when I arrived early in the morning, I would find no signs that her bedroom was even used except for dressing, and she would have collected shells and driftwood from pre-dawn walks on the beach. Often, wet towels and swim suits would be hanging, indicating pre-dawn swims, as well. I told her that could be dangerous, and she would just smile and say, "Not for me, Brendan Sears. Not for me."
It's funny how falling in love will change your life, even in little ways. Maybe because I didn't have a very strong image of myself, I never paid a lot of attention to the way I looked. Oh, I kept myself neat and clean, but I was always one of those people you could see and not see, kind of invisible. Discount store jeans and drab pullover shirts, generic sneakers and white socks were my fashion statement. My moustache was the first thing to go--it was pretty pathetic, anyway. Trisha talked me into letting my hair grow out from its short style, partly because she liked to run her fingers through it, and partly because if I went to Ireland to be with her, I would be more "in style." She started improving my wardrobe, too. She brought me some shirts, both pullover and buttoned, in brighter colors, usually blues and greens, which seemed to be her favorite. She didn't like stripes, but preferred solids and prints. "Modern society seems fixated on straight lines, squares, and other harsh angles. I like things that are more natural, that flow more," she explained. Her favorite of all my shirts was rayon, and had a tropical sea scene--corals and tropical fish. Even beyond my clothes, though, people seemed to notice me and talk to me. I guess it's because I smiled more, I was more alert and happy, and walked with more of a spring in my step.
AUTUMN
One day in early October, I invited her to take the weekend off and go with me on a drive in the mountains of New England, to see the beautiful fall foliage. She almost looked panicky. "No, Brendan. Thank you, but no. Mountain valleys give me claustrophobia. And I could never begin to go that far away from the water!" It made me glad I hadn’t suggested going to Kansas or Nebraska! We compromised, though, on a motor trip along the coast, following it up into southern Maine. There, sitting on the porch of a bed-and-breakfast, we looked over the rock-lined harbor, and dozens of rocky islands stretching out into the ocean. "Beautiful, Brendan. This is almost like home," she smiled. "Except it faces the wrong direction, of course." At her insistence, we had separate rooms, and I thought I heard her door open in the wee hours of the morning. Since she had a bathroom in her suite I was surprised. A few moments later, I looked out my window, facing the bay, and saw her walk down the sidewalk, heading toward the waterfront. I asked her about it in the next morning, and she explained that she had insomnia, sleeping in a strange bed, and had taken a walk to relax.
The next Friday, we had dinner with the Lubbers again. As provincial as Trisha seemed in so many ways, she had a really hearty appetite for sushi and sashimi. "Did you see the notice about the Halloween party, Trisha, down at the Institute? It’s always a lot of fun. I hope that you can go, and bring Brendan," said Karen. Trisha didn’t know what Halloween was, so we explained American holiday customs to her—the trick or treating, the costume parties, and the general fun. "It’s a costume party, of course," Karen explained, "And it has a maritime theme—like always. It will be a lot more fun if we can all go together."
"So what do we wear?" Keith asked. "I can always wear my navy uniform."
"Dull," said Karen. "I think I’ll go as Sailor Moon," she suggested. Of course, Trisha had never heard of Sailor Moon, so we explained to her about Japanese anime.
"I guess that I could dye myself blue and go as a sea sprite," Trisha said.
"Isn’t that a sailboat?" Keith asked. "Or a military aircraft?"
"A sea sprite," Trisha explained, "lives in the sea. It’s a water-based version of an elf or fairy."
"Or pixie," I teased. She glared at me.
Keith asked, "Like a mermaid?"
"No, not like a mermaid. A mermaid is half fish, a sea sprite is built like a human, only blue, smaller, and with gills. Mermaids only live in tropical climates, and sea sprites prefer cooler climates."
"Like the waters off Ireland?" I asked. She nodded. "So what about me? Should I dye myself blue, too, and become your boyfriend sea sprite?"
Trisha shook her head. "No, you never see a male sea sprite." I didn’t think you ever saw a female one either, but I didn’t argue. I should have started arguing a little louder when Karen spoke up.
"If Trisha is going to be a sea sprite, I have a wonderful idea for Brendan. He can wear that mermaid costume that I wore two years ago! Wouldn’t he be darling in it, Keith?"
Keith winced. I was confused. "Do you mean I could be a mer-man?"
"No, silly. A mermaid. You’re really close to my size, Brendan, and since you’re a good-looking man, I could make you look like a good-looking woman. Mermaid, I mean. Nobody at the Institute knows you, so you could fool everybody!" She was a beautician, after all.
I was thoroughly confused. Looking at Trisha, I asked "What do you think?"
She shrugged. "We would be a cute couple. Ah, come on, Brendan. Why not try it?"
"Because I would be totally embarrassed, that’s why not."
"Not if nobody knew you were really a man.," Karen added.
"I’ll do it on one condition," I said. "I’ll be a mermaid if Keith dresses up as a girl of some kind, too." I figured that he was much more masculine looking than I was, and much more macho, so we could back out together.
"That would be great," Karen chirped. "Keith, we could get you a sailor costume like mine. Sailor Moon isn’t the only sailor girl." Keith groaned. They talked about it for awhile longer, and he finally gave in. We were both doomed.
On Wednesday, Karen and Trisha went shopping and purchased a robin’s-egg blue unitard for the base of Trisha’s costume. It would cover most of her body, so she would only have to use blue makeup on her neck, head, arms, wrists, and hands. Matching dancing slippers and fragments of various shades of blue cloth would add to the costume. They also had a big plastic bag from the beauty supply store that was top secret—in other words, it spelled bad news for Keith and me. The party was on Saturday. Trisha insisted on getting ready at the cottage, and that I go spend the afternoon getting ready with the Lubbers.
I had to admit that the mermaid costume was fabulous looking. It was one-piece, going from feet (or tail) to just under the shoulders, with large breasts beneath scalloped shells. The top was flesh-colored, except for the shells. Blueish-green fish scales grew in darkness from the waist, where they began, to the tail. The tail curved forward to allow for the natural bend of the wearer’s feet, and had a slipper sewed into the underside of each half. The tail was split deeply, up past the ankles of the wearer, to allow for walking. "I used to be makeup and costume mistress for a theatre group in Hartford," Karen explained when I asked her where the costume came from. "I also acted some, and made the costume for me to wear in a play that had a mermaid character. I basically sat during the play, with my knees folded to the side and tail dangling off a rock, but I had to be able to walk on and off stage when the curtains closed. You take short steps and shuffle; basically it’s like wearing a very long skirt with a pair of swim fins for shoes. But it is darling, isn’t it?" At this point, the suit was draped over a chair. My turn to try it would come later. "Okay, guys. Here are some panties that will fit you, you’ll get the bras later. Right now, you can either take turns or help one another shaving your bodies. You can keep the hair in your genital areas, but everything else below your neck has to go." Karen pointed to the bathroom.
"Wait a minute," I objected. "The suit will cover most of my body. I can see why I have to shave my chest and armpits, but why the rest of me? And why do I have to wear panties?"
Keith growled the answer. "Because, Brenda, you got me into this. Since I have to wear panties and shave my legs for my little pleated sailor skirt, you had better wear panties and shave your legs. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," I meekly responded as I headed for the bathroom. I used scissors to clip the longer hairs on my chest and armpits, then, using feminine perfumed shaving gel and pink safety razors, began shaving off the stubble. As I did, I kept remembering how proud I was as an adolescent when my body started turning hairy. After finishing each portion of my body, I spread on a soothing lotion that Karen had pointed out to me. Finally, I was done and presented myself for inspection, and Karen removed some light hair from my upper back.
"Very good," she said, finally. "Keith, it’s your turn. Brenda," that seemed to be my name now, "so you look decent and don’t get chilled, put these on." She handed me a beige, belted skirt that went down to mid-calf, and a large bra. "The skirt will help you remember to take short steps, too, and don’t worry about the bra, we’ll stuff you later."
Skirted, strapped-in, and stuffed, I sat at the kitchen table. "We’ll do your nails first," Karen explained. We could hear Keith singing slightly off-key and off-color sailor songs in his bass voice as he showered and shaved his body. Karen cleaned my nails and poked at my cuticles, and then started gluing on nail extensions. "Don’t worry, they’re not acrylic. We’ll be able to get them off tonight or tomorrow morning, whichever." As the glue set, she painted them a blue-green color similar to what Trisha had applied on me months before. Then she trimmed them so the tops were rounded into a fan shape, and dried the polish with a hair dryer. "This is the delicate part," she said, as she took a bottle of black polish with an extra-thin brush. Carefully, she drew radiating lines on each nail, reaching upward from a small oval she drew at the bottom. Then she drew a black line along the curved tip of each nail. "See?" she said delightedly. "A sea shell on each pretty finger!" Then she put rings on some of my fingers, rings with little plastic shells on them, which I remembered from the souvenir shop where I used to work. Thus, I wasn’t surprised when she showed me the matching bracelets, necklace, and earrings, and told me that I could put them on later.
I had a few minutes free to read from my Andrew Greeley novel as she went to work on her smooth-bodied husband. I really tried not to overhear as she whispered to him what a turn-on it was for her, and that she had some special gifts for him to wear when they went to bed tonight after the party. I tried not to hear, but I felt aroused and lonely, since I knew that I would spend my night back at my own apartment, without Trisha. Karen smoothed and filed his nails, and gave him a bottle of polish that matched the color of the trim on his costume and his wig, which stood short, bright, and colorful on its plastic foam head, right next to my long, wavy blond wig, over on the kitchen counter. Karen asked me to shave my face again, then proceeded with my makeup. How a mermaid would have access to all the Revlon and Cover Girl paint I don’t know, but she carefully blended in a foundation, added color to my cheeks, then glued on long, fluttery lashes and traced around them with soft gray eyeliner and a variety of shades of shadow, all blending in together and stretching out past the outer corners of my eyes. Keith’s makeup wasn’t so dramatic, since he was supposed to look like a girl rather than a voluptuous sea temptress, but she had to lay the foundation on thick to cover his heavy beard. She then worked hard to blend the makeup so that it softened his somewhat craggy features. Keith and I both relaxed as Karen did her own makeup in a similar style, using colors appropriate to her Sailor Moon character.
Finally, it was time to put on our costumes. Although a little oversized and with a bit too-firmly muscled arms and legs, Keith did make a cute Sailor Mercury, with a blue wig and blue boots. scout. Karen, of course, was an adorable Sailor Moon with her blond hair. My mermaid outfit had a nearly-invisible zipper down the side, but it was still a struggle to slide into it. Finally my feet made their way into the straps of the sewed-in slippers, and Karen adjusted padding at my hips and bust before zipping me in. She pinned my hair up and slipped a pink net over it, then fit the wig on. I could feel the ends of the hair rubbing against the costume over the small of my back. She was right, it was confining. Karen added the rest of the jewelry, and I hobbled to the floor-length mirror. I had caught glimpses of myself in the makeover process, but I was still surprised at how utterly feminine I looked. Nobody would recognize me. "I’m not quite done yet," Karen told me. Then she brought out a green feathered boa, with bright plastic sea horses and fish pinned to it. "Just the perfect thing for Lorelei," she commented as it tickled my neck.
"I thought I was Brenda now," I responded.
"Brenda the Lorelei," she stated. "Now, let’s go pick up our sea sprite and go partying. "Now remember, Brenda, short steps, and wiggle your hips when you walk. Walk with your hips, that’s it. It’ll allow you to walk easier, and it will look sexier, too." We made our way to the car, with Keith nervously looking around, hoping that nobody would see him.
Trisha was amazing when we picked her up. All the skin we could see was light blue, perfectly matching the unitard she wore, giving the impression of a totally blue body. The unitard had a short, pleated skirt at the waist, and she had sewn on darker blue patches over her breasts. She had woven some ribbon and fragments of what looked like fishnet into her hair, with a few oceanic trinkets pinned to the net. Darker blue lipstick and blush, and greenish-blue eye makeup blended in elegantly with her new skin color, and unsurprisingly, her eyes reflected the colors. Her red hair stood in vivid contrast, but the colors worked beautifully together.
As I stood staring at her with my mouth open, she looked at me with concern. "What’s wrong, Brendan Sears, my beautiful mermaid? Have you never seen a sea sprite before? Am I ever too ugly?"
"No," I stammered. "You are beautiful!"
"You are too, Brendan Sears. Karen did a wonderful job with you. But tell me. Would you love me if I were this color all my life?"
Karen looked shocked. "Trisha, what kind of dye did you use?"
"Others might stare at you a bit, Trisha," I proclaimed. "But I will love you to the day I die, no matter what color your epidermis." She laughed and kissed me. We would have to patch up our lipsticks before we left.
"Congratulations, Brendan Sears. You just passed the test. But don’t worry, none of you. I will look as normal as I usually do tomorrow morning. I didn’t bathe in India ink or anything. But let’s be getting on to the party before somebody drives by and sees us, and we’re all hauled off to the loony bin—or the state aquarium as the case may be." In the car (obviously, we rode with the Lubbers, since Trisha couldn’t drive and my mermaid tail was not conducive to operating control pedals), Trisha and Karen helped me with my voice. Since I have a nice and clear, though too thin for serious singing, Irish tenor voice, it wasn’t hard to put a little more melody into my voice pattern and sound convincingly feminine. The hardest part of the trip was getting into and out of the car gracefully with my ungainly tail.
The party was nice as such things go. Since everybody knew Keith and Karen, and since Trisha’s red hair made her identity obvious, I was the only one with the luxury of anonymity. Other guests teased Keith unmercifully. We ate from a nice seafood buffet, and I was enjoying the food, especially the many varieties of shrimp—it was almost like the recital from Forrest Gump. I tried to eat delicately, and Trisha softly teased me. "It’s okay, Brenda Lorelei Sears, you can gulp your food down like you normally do if you like. Mermaids actually have very gross table manners, from what I hear."
I smiled. "Oh, an expert on mermaids, as well as pixies, are you now?"
"I did say ‘from what I hear,’ darling. It is just hearsay, as I’ve never eaten dinner with one. It goes with their poor upbringing."
"How so?"
"Mermaids make terrible mothers, from the way I understand it. They pay little attention to their offspring, and give them no moral guidance or proper upbringing. So you can’t expect much in the way of social graces or good sense."
I looked shocked and touched my hand to my overly-large breast. "Why, what a thing to say. Idle gossip shouldn’t be repeated my dear. I am offended."
She touched my hand with her blue one. Funny, I couldn’t feel anything textured like makeup. "Brenda, I know that deep down you’re not really a mermaid, so you don’t have to pout on me. I know that you’ll be a loving, wonderful mother," she said. I guess she was trying to stay in character. After the dinner, we mixed, and talked, and drank, and admired the many other creative costumes, representing all ranges of aquatic life and historical characters. Some of us danced, but when Trisha tried to dance with me, my tail kept slopping over on her feet, and we both ended up in giggles. A few guys tried to hit on me, but I discouraged them easily enough.
After the party, we dropped Trisha off first. I went inside to kiss her goodnight, and when my eyes opened after the kiss I was startled to notice that the blue on her skin extended into her hairline. What had she done to get that blue all over, without discoloring her hair? At the Lubber’s apartment, I could tell that our friends had other things on their mind than me, so they quickly got me out of my mermaid suit, washed off my makeup, and let me change into my own clothes. They were embracing and kissing passionately by the time I reached the door, and then noticed my nails. "Uh, Karen?" I asked. She tossed me a bottle of nail polish remover, and said that if I couldn’t get the extensions off, to come see her in the morning—not that they were in a rush to get rid of me, or anything like that. No, of course not.
Early the next morning, I drove to the cottage, still wearing my seashell nails and keeping my hands low on the steering wheel. Trisha, I was relieved to discover, was back to her normal skin color. "I’m glad to see that you’re not a sea sprite today," I greeted her, "as lovely as are in blue."
She hugged me. "And I’m glad to see that you didn’t decide to stay a mermaid, Brendan Sears. But I’m afraid that with my love of this wonderful ocean, I will always be something of a sea sprite. Will you love me anyway?"
"I said so last night, woman, and I will say it again. Yes, I will always love you." We called Karen to find out how to remove the nail extensions (the answer: carefully and painfully), and we had them off in time to go to Mass and then Sunday brunch.
WINTER
The wind grew cold, and in November we experienced a true Nor’easter, blowing in from the harbor, spitting snow and scattering spray. Since I had a cold, I huddled inside the cottage when Trisha went out walking along the edge of the crashing, foaming waves. I shivered and sniffled, looking through the glass, as she raised her arms in joy, facing the fierce wind. When Thanksgiving came, Trisha enjoyed her first turkey feast, a meal we shared with the Lubbers. Afterward, she couldn’t make much sense out of why Keith and I got so excited watching overly padded men bump into one another on the television.
I had already made a down payment on an engagement ring, and was planning to buy it and give it to her on Christmas Eve. I had nothing to keep me here, and I would indeed follow her around the world, wherever her work took her. Even if I had a family and fortune here, I would leave it to follow this magical woman.
Then one bleak day in mid-December, I walked into the cottage whistling a Christmas carol until I saw her stricken face. She wasn’t crying at that point, just sitting, stunned and disbelieving. As she spoke, slowly and haltingly, tears began to slide slowly down the sides of her nose. "Brendan Sears, I just got word earlier today about a very serious situation among my people. I need to go back. Our very survival may depend upon it."
"I’ll go with you!" I cried. "You need to go, but I can go to, and help. Whatever it is, I can help. Please. I must go with you!"
She shook her head. "No, Brendan Sears. Not this time. I must go alone."
"But what about your work? Our work? We needed a year’s worth of data to complete it. If you go home now, how will the work be finished? Didn’t you say that your people’s survival might depend upon your work being finished?"
"That is why you must stay, Brendan. If you love me, if you want there to be any chance of us having happiness together, you must stay and continue to collect the data. Keith Lubbers will see to it that you receive the data as it is downloaded from the satellites, ships, and sensor buoys. You know how massive that data is, you know how to sort it, you know what to use and what is likely to be irrelevant."
"I can collect the data, I can store it, but I don’t know oceanography. I can’t complete the study myself."
"You won’t need to complete the study yourself, Brendan Sears. You just need to complete gathering the data and sorting it as we have been sorting it for nine months. You can do it. You must do it. Please. I’m begging you."
My chin dropped to my chest as panic swirled around me. "Brendan Sears," she continued, "you will have the cottage, you will have the computer equipment, and if you need more, Keith can get it for you. You will have my stipend. You are smart, and if you care enough for me, you will do it."
"I can try," I said. "I will give it all that I have. But will I ever see you again?"
"I certainly hope so, Brendan. You won’t hear from me while I am gone, except maybe for a post once in awhile. But remember the day we met?"
"April 13?"
"Yes, April 13. By the first of April, we will have the data we need. I will send you instructions on where to ship all this equipment in County Galway. And I will send you an airline ticket. You can meet me in Galway on April 13, and then you can make a final decision about whether or not we spend our lives together."
"But I’ve already made that decision. I want to be with you forever."
"You think that now, but you don’t have all the facts, and you can’t have them until then. Keith will work with you and he can answer any oceanographic questions you have along the way. I will be leaving today, Brendan. You cannot go with me, except that you will go with me in my heart."
"Can I take you to the airport?"
"No, Brendan. I’ve already taken care of those arrangements. I don’t want our last time together here in America to be at an airport gate. I want us to go the beach, to go where we first met." So we did. We walked slowly along the rocky sand beach, and I noticed that her eyes were as gray as the waters under the cloudy sky. She refused to tell me any information about the crisis that her people were facing, but she kept getting me to smile by bringing up silly memories of our months together. She clutched my hand tightly as we walked. We stopped and kissed at her dock. "Go now, Brendan Sears. Go, my love. Leave me here. Walk up those steps and go to your car. Drive to your apartment, gather your possessions, and bring them to the cottage. I will be gone when you come back. But no matter what happens, I will see you in Galway. My people’s future is in danger, but my life is not. I will see you in Galway, I promise you that. Goodbye, Brendan Sears. God be with you."
"And God be with you, Trisha O’Casey. You will be in my heart as well. We kissed again, and I turned to climb the rickety wooden stairs to the cottage. At the top of the steps, I turned and watched her back, as she looked out across the ocean. Finally, I sobbed, turned away, and walked to my car.
The cottage was a lovely place to live, but it was filled with memories of Trisha. I tried to lose myself in my work, but when I looked beyond my computer screen, I would see the ocean, and remember her eyes, always the color of the sea. Sometimes I would ask myself questions, trying to wrestle some sense out of some of her inconsistencies and vagueness about these people she was trying to save. Nothing sensible would come, no matter how I filtered the memories through my brain. Each day seemed an eternity, but eventually each day became the next, and then the next. As promised, the Lubbers helped me as I ran into questions, and they tried to be friends. I’m sure that my depression was wearing on them, but they hung in with me. One day I asked, "Did Trisha have anything else to say when you took her to the airport?"
"We didn’t take her to the airport, Brendan. We didn’t see her at all that day. She called us and told us, and made the arrangements necessary for you to finish collecting the data for her project. I was too stunned to even ask if she wanted a ride." She must have taken a cab, then. The Lubbers had me over for Christmas. I hadn’t the heart to even try to decorate the little cottage, small and gray against the December sky. Other than that, I just computed all day, every day, until my vision blurred and my fingers stiffened. Then I would sleep until I dragged myself out of bed the next morning. Thank God for the work, though. Without it to occupy my mind, I would have become so depressed that life wouldn’t have been worth living. With the new year, I tore the first four pages off the calendar, taped them to the wall, and circled April 1, and then April 13. Then I crossed out each day, like a prisoner marking off time to his release. No matter what kind of poverty and hard work awaited me on that island of hers, it had to be a better life than this. At least, I wouldn’t be lonely again.
In January, she sent an aerogram, with a Galway postmark.
Dearest Brendan,
This is the first time that I’ve been on the mainland since I’ve arrived home. It has been a dreadful sorry time for me. I buried some folks dear to me, dead from some of the toxic wastes that you have been measuring. The birth rate here is almost nonexistent, for the same reason, I feel. And I miss you desperately. I want to touch you and hold you close, and cry myself to sleep every night. When I look westward to the great sea, sometimes I think that I can see the cottage, and you sitting there at the computer, lifting your eyes and looking out towards me. Stay strong, my love. Trisha.
And often I would look up above my computer screen and stare off at the sea, the color of my dear one’s eyes, whatever the color it was that day.
In February, it was a birthday card, with a note to cheer me up, and Spring was on its way.
SPRING AGAIN
On the last day of March, a courier company delivered a packet to the cottage. A note on top explained:
Dearest Brendan Sears,
By now, you will have gathered all the data we need! Thank you, thank you, thank you for being faithful to this task! When you have burned the data onto those funny disks—CD-Rs?--you can begin to take apart the computers and other hardware and package them for shipment to Galway, the nearest city with an airport to our island. I have given Keith instructions on other equipment to send. Anyway, all the how’s, where’s, and when’s are in the following pages. Try to get them shipped by the 6th, so that after you arrive on the 13th, you can help deliver them and set them up. You are so valuable to me, because I love you, and so valuable to my community because you are such a computer geek!
Besides the instructions, you’ll find an Aer Lingus ticket to Dublin, to arrive on the 12th. Yes, it’s a round trip ticket. I know that you think that you want to stay with me forever, but there is so much that you don’t know yet, so much that you will lose if you stay, that you have to have room to say no. Once you decide, it will be forever. There will be no turning back, whichever way you decide—that’s just the reality of it, and I can’t yet explain why. When you are ready to come, Keith will explain a little bit more. Please don’t ask him before, okay? Please just bring with you what you need for a week’s trip, plus a very small box—no bigger than a shoebox—of things that mean the most to you, like that photo of your dear, late mom and pop that you showed me. The other stuff—your clothes, car, sound system, etc., either sell, give away, or put into storage. But if you put it in storage, please sign a document so Keith and Karen can sell it for you if you decide to stay. Look at the map in this packet—it is of the city of Galway. I have marked a place and a time for us to meet. And I dream every night of seeing you again.
Love, Trisha
So I did as she suggested. With Keith’s help, I packaged the equipment for overseas air shipment to a public warehouse, for Irish Oceanic Research LTD, to the attention of a Ciara Dunnely. I went ahead and sold my car and some other valuables, and put it and my savings into an account that carried my name and the Lubbers. I planned to stay. But if I didn’t, there were too many memories here. I would take the money, and the large cash payment that Trisha promised me beyond my wages, and move somewhere else. Where? I don’t know. Maybe Nebraska. If I came back, I would never want to see the ocean again, because it would always remind me of Trisha.
Finally, the eleventh of April came. I closed the cottage. Its lease would expire on the fifteenth. Keith drove me to the airport in Boston. "Keith," I asked, before we got to the city limits of our town, "Trisha said that there was something more that you would tell me to help me understand what is going on." Keith nodded, and didn’t speak right away.
Finally, he began. "Okay. First of all, the woman you love is not named Trish O’Casey."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Her legal name in Ireland is Ciara Dunnely, the name that was on the shipment manifest." He pronounced the C in Ciara like a K. Kee-Are-uh. There is an oceanographer named Trisha O’Casey, who lives in Galway, Ireland."
"You mean Trisha—Ciara—stole somebody else’s identity? Why"
"She didn’t steal it. She was misrepresenting herself, because that’s the only way that she could get into the Oceanographic Institute and develop her program. Irish Oceanic Research, she’s part of that, is funding the whole thing, so nobody is being cheated. And she’s using Trisha’s name with permission. Now it will be easier for me if you just listen for awhile, okay?" I nodded.
"A little less than five years ago, I was on shore leave in Ireland, just bopping around in a rental car and visiting pubs, historic sites, pubs, libraries, pubs, museums, and pubs. Of course, I was married to Karen then, too, and loved her dearly, as I still do, and I missed her terribly. The green meadows and hills of Ireland was a wonderful relief after months of being cooped up in a missile sub. I had plans of leaving the navy after my next cruise, and going into oceanographic research. I visited a university in Dublin to see what they were doing in that area, and I met Trisha—the real Trisha. She’s about a foot taller than our Trisha—Ciara—by the way, and has long dark-brown hair. We struck up a friendship—platonic, I’ll add—and she invited me to visit County Galway, where she grew up, so I could see where she developed her love of the ocean.
We discovered that we both loved to sail. On a beautiful day, we set out, not from Galway, but from a smaller city north of there, in a rented sailboat. We both had sailed enough that we thought we were experts, but the winds shifted and a squall picked up, in an area crowded with small islands, reefs, and shoals. The boat hit broadside on some rocks and literally shattered. We were both wearing life jackets, but we were both stunned, floating in a frigid sea. We would have likely died of exposure. But as we came to consciousness, we felt ourselves being pulled gently through the water, and not by the current. We were both too out of it to think much about it. When we finally came to, we were on the beach of a little island. A short woman with bright red hair was drying us off, wrapping blankets around us, building a fire. Yes, it was Ciara. When we were strong enough to move, she helped us to her cottage. She treated us for shock and fever. There was no electricity, no radio, just a wood-burning stove. As you know, she had a brilliant mind, and when we started to talk about the ocean, she always seemed to know more about it than we did, even though she didn’t know the technical words. She expressed her deepest fears of how water pollution was reaching that far, and upsetting the delicate ecosystem—although she didn’t use that word. It was going to make the area uninhabitable for marine life, and eventually for people. We couldn’t help but agree. We talked about ways that we could make a difference. It was Trisha who wished that her people could gather the data that would help them make their case. But brilliant as she was, she didn’t have the academic credentials to come to a place like the Oceanographic Institute, to be able to study and gather the data. After we were well enough to leave, Trisha came back and mentored her, so she could speak the language—not English, the trade jargon. I joined the staff here after my Navy hitch was over, and helped ease Trisha’s way in. Meeting you was a happy accident, but it helped her achieve her goals for the project, and just as important, brought the two of you together."
"There’s more, isn’t there?" I asked.
"Yes, but it’s only fair that you hear the rest of it from her."
I had only been on two plane rides in my life, one a single-engine private plane belonging to a friend, the other a commuter job. So I wasn’t quite prepared for the Aer Lingus 757 that held hundreds of people. Exciting though it was to watch Boston Harbor and then Cape Cod drop away below me, I found out how exhausting and tedious a transatlantic flight could be. I drifted in and out of sleep, and in spite of the great service, I was exhausted when we landed at Shannon airport near Dublin.
Of course, I had jet lag, and my 4 AM brain was trying to live in a mid-morning world by the time I got through customs and climbed on the shuttle that would take me to a bus station. Trisha had recommended a bus ride rather than a connecting flight to Galway as a way of seeing her country. The landscape was beautiful as we crept across southern Ireland, stopping at many little villages, towns, and crossroads--I had missed an express bus--but I kept find myself nodding off. Even my anticipation for seeing Trisha--I mean Ciara--the next day didn't quite keep me awake and alert.
By the time we reached the city of Galway, I had slumped over in my seat. The bus driver woke me up, scolding me, saying that if he hadn't double-checked, I would have been locked in a bus for the night. Mumbling thanks and apologies, I gathered my bag and took a taxi to a small boarding house near the waterfront, near the pier on the map I had been sent. By the time I finished supper of soggy cabbage and who-knows-what, I walked down to the pier and looked around. It was a public pier, extending about fifty yards, and about twenty feet wide. Many small boats, some of them for recreation and some small fishing craft, were tied alongside. Little signs called attention to fines for failure to pay dock rent, running, and other obstreperous behavior. Gulls and terns wheeled about, squawking and arguing. There were lights on the north shore opposite, but to the west was a dark area, presumably running toward the ocean. Galway, they say, is the westernmost city of Europe. I thought more about my relationship with Trisha--Ciara, Ciara, Ciara--and what could possibly be so bad about spending my life with her that she kept offering me an out.
Sunlight poured into my little bedroom, and I jerked awake, realizing that I had overslept. I looked out past the tattered curtains. Old brick buildings blocked my view of the water, about a block away. If I dressed quickly and didn't linger to eat, I could still be there on time. I didn't even put on socks--just old tan slacks, a rugby shirt, and white canvas sneakers. Stuffing some strange pastry in my mouth from a tray at the entrance to the dining room, I assured the landlady that I would be back for my bag before noon, and practically ran out the door.
Running down the street toward the pier, I saw a few people on it, but no short, red-headed females. More than half of the boats that I had seen last night had already left. I slowed down, and walked the length of the pier, walked back again, looking for her. She wasn't in sight. On my walk back out the pier, I had stopped and was watching the water. I don't know what kind of fish were out there, but I kept seeing rings of water rippling outward. Nothing seemed to break the surface, though, Sometimes I thought I saw shadows within the innermost ripples, but just for a moment. Then something gnawed at the back of my mind, a sense that somebody was walking my way, and I was about to turn around, when a hat sailed by. A straw hat skitted past my feet, skimming off the boards. Not the same one, for this was lime green, but I knew it was her hat. I lunged for it, just as it sliced. Success! I had it in my hands and was lifting it up, just as I overbalanced on my right ankle and found myself falling downward, hoping that I wouldn't land on some sharp object in a boat. Splash! No, I was in the water, bobbing up and down, spitting out dirty water, and seeing my true love collapsing in laughter. As I dog paddled to a ladder going up the pier, I felt slight bumps and nudges on my body. Fish, I guess. I hoped that they wouldn't bite. Climbing out the later, I called out "Your hat, milady?"
"Thank you, kind sir," she said between gasps for air, trying to stop laughing at her knight errant. "Oh, Brendan Sears, I really didn't mean for you to go over the edge like that! I'm so sorry! But I am so, so, glad to see you!" She took my hand as I neared the edge of the ladder and helped pull me up. She was wearing a light-green flowered dress, which I promptly soaked with hugs. Oh! How I had missed her. Oh, how I loved her. And oh, how I said so.
It was nearly noon, so we walked back to the boarding house. I had to agree to pay a little bit extra to go back to the room and change into dry clothes. The wet ones I tied into a plastic bag, hoping that later in the day I could spread them out to dry, so they wouldn't be ruined.
"Did Keith tell you a little bit more about our story, dear Brendan? And do you forgive me for being so dishonest with you?"
"It did unnerve me a bit to realize that I fell in love with someone and didn't even know her right name--Trish--Ciara. But I understand why you had to use someone else's identity. But whatever your name is, you are going to have a hard time getting rid of me now."
"I hope so, Brendan Sears, I truly hope so." Another hug, and a deep passionate kiss. Then, at her direction, we walked a few blocks into the downtown and drove off in a rental truck that she had reserved in my name. The agreement called for me to use the truck, and return it to an agency in a town called Cleggon. I had no idea where that was, but I had a good navigator. Our first stop was the warehouse listed on my shipment manifest. We filled the van with equipment. Some of it was the computer equipment that I had sent, but much of the space was taken by metal beams and large shiny silver panels that I guessed were solar energy collector units. "We already have some panels on the island, Brendan, and some of the equipment for converting solar energy into electricity, storage batteries, and the like. And we have on order a giant windmill that will also generate electricity for your computers. We already have a satellite dish, now used by our one little telly, but we are getting another that will allow you to go online through the sky. A computer geek's dream, huh? A remote island, and tens of thousands of dollars worth of toys."
"You're my dream, Ciara. The electronics are just bonuses. I would stay with you even if I would never see a computer again." I didn't think that I would ever say that to anybody.
Everything loaded and trusty navigator by my side, and me driving on the wrong side of the road since everyone else was doing it, I drove northeast, paralleling the water, until we came to a bridge over the estuary. Then we turned right, and drove along the water, seeing the main part of the city on the other side. Eventually, we were in the countryside, still near the water, going through tiny, pretty Irish towns with pretty Irish names. Stone seemed to be the building material of choice, and there were lots of stones unused, sticking up in the green fields.
We found a beautiful little park on a point overlooking the ocean. Even though we had snacked before leaving, Ciara spread a little picnic lunch on a table--bread, cheese chunks, smoked fish, and wine. Nearing the end of our meal, she looked at me with her soulful eyes, as blueish-green as the sea behind her--and said, "Brendan Sears, are you ready for the truth now?" I panicked. Didn't she really love me? What? "Or would you rather wait until we get to the island?"
"I have so many questions," I began, "and the suspense is killing me, and we're in a beautiful place, and you're beautiful, so tell me now."
"You promise not to laugh, or to get angry and leave me here? You promise that no matter what you decide about me, about us, that you'll come to the island long enough to help set up the equipment so we can continue our work?" Her soulful eyes looked almost panicky.
I raised my right hand. "I so promise, so help me God."
"The One will bless you, Brendan Sears. I have been wondering how to tell you this ever since I started to fall in love with you, which I swear was the day you rescued my hat. Remember when you said that I was magical, and not quite human, somehow?"
"Too good to be human."
"Be that as it may, you were very perceptive. I'm not quite human, Brendan Sears. Even though I am quite real, I'm what you would think of as an imaginary creature."
We were sitting near shamrocks. "You're not going to tell me you're a leprechaun, for heaven's sake."
"Brendan! Don't I look way too cute to be a little horny, greedy green man?" She glanced about, almost like she wanted to make sure no such little men were sitting on a toadstool listening to her. "No, Brendan. I'm not a leprechaun. Remember that dress-up party? What was the name of that day, Halloween?"
"A sea sprite? That blue on your skin didn't seem to be on your skin. But that's impossible, isn't it?"
"No, Brendan Sears. Many things are possible--and real--that you haven't even dreamed of. I am a sea sprite. The ocean is my home. Actually, I am a changeling. I began life as a human child. When I was four, my parents and I emigrated, or tried to. Our ship wrecked in a storm, and my parents and everybody else, for all I know, were drowned." I shook my head, either in sadness or incomprehension. "I was carried through the water to an island. Little blue people, no taller than I was but fully mature, took care of me like I took care of Keith Lubbers and Trisha O'Casey a few years ago, like we've rescued and taken care of drowning fishermen for centuries." I started to speak, and she put her hand over my mouth. "No, don't ask. Don't say that I'm crazy. Just hold my hand and listen. They cared for me and loved me while others of their kind looked for my parents, to be sure that they weren't alive. Then they gave me a choice. They could return me to the mainland, I would never remember being with them, and hopefully somebody would take me in, or take me to an orphanage. Or I could stay, and become one of them. They were all I had, and they were so kind. I said that I would stay. They gathered around me in a circle, a wonderful light shown about so that I couldn't see anything but rainbow colors, and when the light dimmed, I was tiny, a sea sprite child, no taller than the span of your hand. Oh, they loved me, Brendan Sears. From that moment on I was one with them, one with the ocean, one with the One."
"The One?"
"The one you call God, Brendan Sears. The same one you talk to when you go to Mass. But the One is larger than any one church. When I told you about the island, I translated just a little bit. By human standards, our island is uninhabited, although fishing boats stop their once in awhile for repairs or for fresh water from our springs. We live more under the island and around the island than on the island. It's honeycombed with caves, some underwater, some above. There are a few stone buildings on the surface. But mostly we are free to live in a beautiful blue world, us, the porpoises, the seals, and the fish. There are less than a thousand of us, though, just as I said, and our way of life is being threatened. Magic can only do so much. Keith and Trisha convinced us that if we could use your magic--the magic of computers and data, we could begin to find ways to stop or slow down the poisoning of our seas."
I put my hand to my forehead. "Wait. Wait. I halfway believe you, even though it's unbelievable. But you're not tiny and blue. You look like a normal, beautiful woman. Are you claiming to be like--a shapeshifter?" We had watched some DS9 reruns, so she was aware of the concept.
"Not quite. I have two shapes. This is my human shape, what I would have looked like at this age had our ship not wrecked. My other shape--well, it's the very same shape, but I'm much smaller, and the color of the water, and I have gills right behind my jawbone, and just a little more webbing between my fingers and toes. I change in the water. Didn't you ever wonder why, if I love the ocean so much, that I never went swimming with you? Come. I'll have to show you." She took my hand, and led me down a steep little path on the hillside. "Promise not to run away," she said, standing on a rock shelf about ten feet above the water. "And if after awhile you don't see me, don't worry. Don't jump in to try and find me, or anything silly like that. Most people--or other predators--can't see us. I will try to stay visible, but if you lose me, don't worry." A shapeshifter with a cloaking device. "Watch my clothes, okay?" she said, kicking off her flats and pulling the dress over her shoulders. "And don't get any ideas." As I had visualized on many long nights, she was shaped perfectly. But before I could get much of a look at her, she dove into the cold water below. When she surfaced, treading water, she called up, "Last Halloween, I just stepped into the sea long enough for the changes to start, and then came out after my color started to change, but before I started shrinking. The whole process takes about twenty minutes if I just relax and let it happen. But if I concentrate, I can speed it up." I couldn't believe it. Her skin was starting to change, like a chameleon, into a blue-green shade. "In my human form, only my irises change color with the water. In this form, the rest of me does, too. And it keeps changing, like a perfect reflection. Isn't it beautiful?" It was, but I could barely see her, except for the bright red hair dripping from her head, and the teeth in her mouth. It was almost like a shadow when she leaped up and jack-knifed back under, then there was an explosion of water as she surfaced, but no Ciara, not even the red hair. Slowly she came back into focus, red hair clearly visible, the rest of her barely visible, and much, much smaller. "I bet you believe me now, huh?" In her naked blue tiny glory, she climbed out onto another rock shelf, just a few inches above the water. "Now be a dear, and toss me down my bra and panties. Then give a girl some privacy, please." After she caught the lingerie, she stepped back against the rock shelf and was out of sight. I sat in shock. It was impossible, but I had to believe my own eyes. I was in love with a being who was mythological--but she was real. What did this mean for our relationship? Could I marry someone who wasn't human--quite?
Eventually, I heard rustling in the brush, and a completely normal-looking Ciara stepped out, and picked up her dress, slipping it down over her head. Emerging, she shook more water from her red hair and said, "Aw, come on. Don't look so stricken. Didn't you say that you would love me even if I stayed blue? And I said that you passed the test?"
I nodded slowly, still gazing off over the ocean. "Yes. I love you. But I'm a human. Can you stay as a human? You did all those months in New England."
"Brendan Sears, my natural form is as a sea sprite. My natural environment is the sea. I breathe salt water much better than I breathe air, although I do have lungs. I can maintain this form for up to twenty hours at a time. The reason I never let you spend the night was that every night I would go out and sleep in the ocean, in my natural state. And I can't really have sex in this form. It is extremely hard work, almost painful, to maintain this form, and the longer I maintain it, the more painful it becomes. You could come to my island, and I could be in this form, but you would never really know the real me that way. You couldn't really love me as I am. But there is another way. You could do what I did. You could become like me."
"You mean, I could be transformed into a male sea sprite?"
She shook her head. "'Tis not quite that simple, Brendan. You could become a changeling, like me, and be able to keep a human form for short periods, like I do, and enjoy being a sprite the rest of the time, like I do. But in either case, you would end up having a female form. There are no male sea sprites. Or male pixies, or male fairies. Elf clans differ--most have a female form, some clans have both male and female forms."
"So I would have to become a woman?"
"You would have to take on a female form, Brendan. When I painted your nails or put those earrings on you, and when I gave Karen Lubbers the idea of you wearing that silly mermaid costume--forgive me--it was partly for fun, to tease you, but partly to test you. Some men could never do what I'm suggesting, they are too wrapped up in their maleness. But you passed my silly little tests. I do believe that you would be quite happy in this form."
"But if there are no males, how do you reproduce? Where do little sea sprites, and pixies, and all those come from?"
"I said female form, Brendan, not totally female. We are all hermaphroditic. We are mostly female, but we have the male stuff tucked away for when we need it. Yes, Brendan, if we were partners as sea sprites, you could get me pregnant, and I could get you pregnant."
"So you weren't just kidding when you told me that mermaids weren't good mothers but that I would be. Wow." For some strange reason, the whole thing sounded oddly appealing, but frightening at the same time.
"Didn't I tell you that for us to be truly life partners you would have to give up everything? That includes your male identity, I'm afraid. It just has to be that way. Otherwise, we could be dear friends, me a changeling, and you a human, but never partners. But you don't have to make a decision now. That will wait. But will you finish taking me and all this stuff to the island? There will be plenty of time for you to decide what you want to do." So we climbed back up the path to the park, got in the truck, and continued to follow the coast northwestward.
I asked her to tell me more about all those creatures that I thought were mythical. She admitted to being prejudiced against pixies. They were smaller than sea sprites, but some of them had big attitudes and teased the sprites because pixies could fly and sprites couldn't. Fairies, though, even though they had wings and flew, were quite nice, humble creatures. She went on to tell me that sea sprites had cousins, water sprites, who lived in fresh water lakes. And that sea sprites lived in many parts of the oceans, usually in less developed areas, because they were sensitive to pollution.
After awhile, she asked me about my trip. I told her of my experiences on the plane, and in customs, and my trouble with jet lag. So I asked her about hers. "Oh, I didn't fly. I swam." That sounded a bit unbelievable. Thousands of miles of ocean? "It took awhile, yes it did," she admitted. "But there's magic involved. We become transparent to the water--we have corporeal bodies, you know, but sprite does mean spirit. For short distances, I could pace Keith Lubbers' submarine at flank speed. But I went slowly, in a convoy with some dolphin friends. Dolphins are quite nice people, by the way. They are highly intelligent--not in a human, analytical, logical sense, but they make wonderful poets, philosophers, and artists. No, they don't paint. More like dancers, I guess. Their art is their own bodies. Seals are nice, too, but they are more like pets, like big, furry, friendly dogs or ponies. Local folks around here have legends about Selkies, children who are raised by seals and become seals themselves eventually. But I think that those legends came from fisherfolk seeing us playing with the seals, and assuming that we were human children."
"But back to your swimming. Why? Wouldn't it have been quicker to fly?"
"That brings up another reality you need to know about, Brendan Sears. A dyad, a tree sprite, can't live more than a few hundred meters from its tree. A sea sprite, even a changeling, becomes weak, nervous, and eventually deathly ill when more than a few miles from the sea. I could survive a flight ten kilometers above the ocean, but I would be more miserable than you could imagine. The sea gives us life, Brendan, and the farther from the sea, the less life we have. If it would make you feel like a prisoner not to be able to go more than a few miles away from any large body of water, you had better stay the way you are. Fresh water is okay, but it's the water itself that keeps us alive. So if you wanted to go visit Chicago or Saint Louis you could, but you would have to swim."
When I told her about the ripples I saw in the water at the pier in Galway, and about the nudges that I felt, she laughed. "Oh, Brendan Sears. I apologize. Those were all my friends and relatives. They swam down to check out my new boyfriend." We stopped for the night at a little seaside village, staying at a little bed-and-breakfast. Ciara only rented a single room for us, but I wasn't surprised when she kissed me and said that it was time for her to go. We walked toward the waterfront and kissed again before she dove in to spend the night. I carried her clothes back, and agreed to set my alarm and meet her an hour before dawn, so she could come back out and dress. I lay awake, trying to absorb a whole new world. I would have to give up everything for us to be partners, even becoming a whole different life form. But what life would I have otherwise? How could I ever be happy? I had asked her what would happen if I didn't undergo the transformation. She explained, sadly, that I would be returned to Galway, there would be a bump on my head, and I would forget the last few days, back to my arrival there. Yes, I would remember her, and remember that I had traveled over to be with her, but that she had never showed up. No, I wouldn't remember why I hurt my head. I thought about what she explained when I asked her how she had learned so much about oceanography from the real Trisha that she could fool the experts. Trisha had allowed Ciara to look into her mind, with a gentle kind of mind reading. It was like a hallway with many doors. She only opened those that Trisha invited her to open, those with cognitive knowledge about her academic field behind them. All this and more ran through my mind, but I kept going back to one thing. Tomorrow, or a few days from now, would I always be going back to an empty bed in a lonely place, or would I have love, but become something not really human?
The next morning we drove to a tiny village near Cleggon, and we, along with a few men hired for the occasion, loaded a motor launch with most of the contents of the truck. The rest we locked away in a fishing shed near the pier. As I helped one of the men, a bulky guy with a huge mustache, carry an awkward, heavy monitor box, he asked, "Going along for the ride?"
"Not this time," I said. "I have to return the truck and hitch a ride back here to catch the second trip. You going?"
"Would I go to that island? Nothing bad happens there, I've heard, but it's a strange place, almost a haunted feeling about it, like you're alone and not alone. Don't our fishing boats stay well clear, now? Nah, I've worked for Miss Dunnely before, jobs like this, but she has more nerve than I do, going to a place like that. The owner of the launch, doesn't he say that he's not superstitious, that their money is as good as anybody else's? But as soon as the stuff is unloaded on the dock, does he even stay for a minute longer than anyone else?"
I knew I was setting myself up to be the next local myth. "Well, I am going, and I will stay until I get this stuff set up. But I love that lass with the red hair, so who knows? I may never come back." He just shook his head at my stupidity. A few minutes later, Ciara and I waved as the launch pulled away. Do you suppose she was worried about whether or not I'd be back when the launch returned? No, she wouldn't have left me alone if she didn't trust me.
The truck back at its agency, I sat on the dock and waited. Finally, the launch returned, we loaded the remaining supplies, and pushed off from the land. Would a man named Brendan Sears ever walk on this dock, on this land again? As each island would appear in the channel, I would wonder if that was our destination. Finally, Ciara pointed one out to me, still gray and fuzzy in the distance, and whisper, "home."
As the island came into better view, it didn't look much different from other islands that we had passed, nor from the landscape of that part of the Irish mainland. It was hilly, with many rocky bluffs overlooking the sea, and rock outcroppings on the verdant green hillsides themselves. There were some trees, but not many, and most of them were short and bent, probably because of constant high winds. Today's stiff breeze was making the water choppy, and slowing our progress. Since the captain was upwind from us in the bow and we were near the stern, I took the chance that he couldn't hear me as I talked with Ciara.
"What role does he play?" I asked. "Is he in on things? Does he know your background?"
"Just hired help. I'm the crazy young lady who sometimes lives on the island to do her oceanic research. Irish Oceanic Limited pays the bills, and I work for them. Of course, he knows the rumors that have been part of the folklore about the island for centuries, and he always tries to warn me about them in his indirect Irish way, but he knows that I'm too stubborn and crazy to pay them much mind. Poor man, the island really makes him nervous."
"That was my impression from the guy who helped load the boat. Fear of the unknown, I guess."
"What's strange is that nothing bad ever happens to people who visit--well, that wouldn't happen naturally. It is tricky water to navigate. But we've quietly rescued many, many fisherfolk and sailors through the years. Of course, though, us modern scientific types know that all those stories of strange creatures in the sea are just superstition, just make-believe, don't we?" She grinned wickedly at me, since up until yesterday that had been my assumption, too.
"Mythological creatures, like mermaids," I shot back. Maneuvering between submerged and visible rocks, our launch threaded its way toward a small dock, where some boxes from the previous trip still remained piled. Evidently, her small blue friends had already moved some into location. Of course, they were nowhere to be seen now, unless you noticed the ripples. I picked up a pebble that had found its way into the bottom of the launch and tossed it toward one set of ripples.
"Brendan Sears, stop that. That's my cousin Karisa! Be nice!" I smiled and waved, and saw a little splash in return.
We docked and quickly unloaded the remaining supplies, the captain not setting foot off the dock. He gave Ciara the paperwork to sign, and said "God bless yez, both," and then muttered "Ye'll be needing it." Up a short path from the dock was a stone cottage, similar to those I had seen on the mainland, with a thatched roof. It looked snug and in good condition, though very old. A scattering of other dwellings, further up the hillside, lay abandoned and desolate, with decaying roofs and crumbling walls.
"Who built these buildings?" I asked. "Was this once a--well, a human village?"
"Yes, Brendan. Human fisherfolk had a small village here for over a hundred years. We lived beneath them and around them, but we never really interacted. Oh, sometimes a tiny child or a very old woman would see one of us, but they just seemed to accept us as part of the environment."
"So what happened to them? It doesn't sound like you scared them away or anything." As we talked, we were carrying supplies up to the stone cottage.
"No, it was just economics. There were tough times all over, and many folk from the islands and the countryside had to move to the cities to get jobs."
"Speaking of economics, how is all this funded? Irish Oceanic funded your research. They're paying for all this high-tech equipment, but how are they funded? Government grants?"
"The real Trisha O'Casey is the brains behind that part of the operation, and she is the one real full-time employee and CEO of it all, back in our office in Galway, and fills out all the paperwork that keeps us legal and respectable. And now that we have started gathering the data we need, she will disseminate the information in the ways that will do us the most good. Funding, you ask? We, the sprites, have no use for money in our daily lives, but to find ways to make our oceans safer and cleaner, we had to have ways to interface with human society. Trisha's our main interface, and Keith in America, and you and I are part of that, too. Me as a changeling, you as a friend and temporary employee, or maybe something more," she smiled, and lightly tapped me on my cheek. "As for the funding, don't you know that antiquarians pay lovely sums of money for sunken artifacts? For Spanish Doubloons, for example? And don't a few bars of gold from a sunken German U-boat give us a lovely investment?" For mythological creatures, these sea sprites were pretty shrewd.
In their natural state, the sprites were invisible to humans, but if they really thought hard about it, they could make an appearance, like a Klingon ship coming out from under cloak. Although they could live and work on land for many hours at a time, it was an exhausting and unnatural environment for them, taxing their rudimentary lungs, drying their skin, and weighing down on their joints through gravity. Early the next morning, Ciara woke me up and led me from the cottage down to the dock. She wore a simple leather garment, hand-stitched, that fit something like a one-piece woman's bathing suit, and had hand-made leather sandals on her feet. She invited me to dress in jean shorts, a tee shirt, my Teva sandals, and a windbreaker. It was chilly out, and some of the cold was seeping into the cottage. "Time to meet the family," she explained, leading me out the door. "Of course, they already met you when you plunged into Galway bay--quite an impressive performance, they all agreed." She pointed to a small pile of rocks emerging from the bay, about twenty feet offshore, the end of a jetty that was underwater at high tide. I waded up to my knees in the chill water, walking on the jetty. Ciara walked with me, helping me keep my balance against the low waves. Teeth chattering, I felt like I was turning blue from the cold, and Ciara was slowly turning blue as we walked. As I clambered onto the above-water rocks, she said, "I'll be back in a minute, hon," and dove into the harbor. A few minutes later, she emerged, blue and tiny. This time she wasn't naked, she still wore the leather garments that had shrunk with her, but this was the first time that I had seen her up close as a sprite. Again, she was a perfect miniature, in blue, of the woman I had fallen in love with. "I'm still the same me, Brendan Sears, and I still love you with all my heart, and I always will, no matter what happens," she whispered, and leaned over to kiss me. It felt strange being kissed by someone so small, and I was afraid to hug her, thinking she might break. When I opened my eyes, four more small blue people were now visible on the rocks in front of me. They all had silvery-blue hair. "Brendan Sears," Ciara announced, "Lia and Kela, the wonderful pair who raised me from childhood." They nodded their heads and smiled, and I returned the gesture. Without looking decrepit or ravaged by age, they looked very old and very wise. "And these are Karena and Karisa, two of my younger cousins, almost like sisters. Karisa is the one that you were so mean to yesterday in the boat." They were both smaller than Ciara, and grinned broadly at me.
Karisa mimed throwing a stone at me. "Do not feel bad, Brendan Sears. You thought I was a fish when I kept bumping you in the waters at Galway. You are a very clumsy swimmer, you know."
"Maybe you can give me lessons," I offered.
"Lessons? You humans need to learn how to swim?" and both the girls doubled over in laughter at my expense.
"I hope that your feelings are not hurt, Brendan Sears," Kela said. "It takes many turns of the son to teach some children their manners." I smiled and admitted that I enjoyed teasing and being teased, or I would have never fallen in love with their foster daughter.
"Brendan Sears," said my tiny blue love beside me, "Aren't there altogether too many of this clan for you to meet all at once? I told all the rest that we could meet as we worked together over the next few weeks, but didn't they all want to say hello to you just now?" And the waters all around the rocks filled with ripples, and hundreds of tiny blue sprites blinked in and out of view, each smiling and waving both hands at me, with palms up to the sky and fingertips pointing at me. I tried to imitate their wave. "Good for you, Brendan Sears," Trisha approved. "The kind of wave you humans usually make is seen as a mild insult among our people, so now they will be glad to make friends with you." I was relieved. I admitted that I had just followed a hunch. "Your intuition will do you well," Trisha explained. "In the water, we can't depend upon human language. We use signs and gestures a lot, and we are telepathic. Now that doesn't mean that we read your mind and discover all your little secrets, but we will be able to hear in our minds what your mind wants to say to us. The more intuitive that you are, the more you will be able to understand us. Keith and Trisha, and others who have visited us through the centuries, couldn't understand much of our telepathic language, but they all learned to be able to speak to us that way, just by willing it." Her tiny blue fingers wrapped around my hand. "It will be a little like being hard of hearing, yet being able to speak enough to get by. Try it, if you wish."
I did. She grinned and said aloud, "I love you, too, my great big lovely man." I felt strange about not feeling strange about the situation, and maybe she and the others were encouraging me with their magic or telepathy, but I had no trouble at all accepting this tiny figure, as tall as a toddler but much more compact, with skin as blue as the sea, as the woman I had fallen in love with. We were an odd couple, to be sure, but she was still Ciara, and I was still Brendan. At least for the time being I was. By this time, all the sprites except Ciara had left, and we were alone again. The tide had gone out just a little, so walking back across the jetty was easier. Ciara swam off to the dock, about fifty feet away, and before I had walked ten feet, had reached her destination. No wonder Karisa teased me about my pathetic attempt at swimming. I made it across to the land without stumbling, although if I had, I'm sure dozens of tiny figures would have come to my rescue. Of course, they would have had a good laugh about it later, at my big clumsy expense.
When we ready to begin carrying the equipment to its destination, Ciara was back in human form. It was very difficult for the other sprites to stay visible and get any work done, so I had to get used to Ciara giving instructions to the air, and watching boxes move by themselves up the path. It would make a lovely special effect for a movie, I mused. I worried about stumbling on one of them and hurting them, but Ciara assured me that they would watch for me since I couldn't watch for them. Climbing the hill I noticed the reflected glare off of a small battery of solar panels facing south on an upper slope. A single bundle of electric wire coming from that direction wound into a cave entrance. Inside, dim lights helped us see to go down rock-carved steps to a larger room. Inside the room, probably forty feet across, the dim lights revealed some rough-hewn tables. Electrical equipment, mostly storage batteries, sat along one wall. Near them, I saw a television set. "That is our one modern convenience at the moment," Ciara explained. We have a small satellite dish as I explained, so we can monitor the news, and see what's happening out there on the land masses. Up until we got the dish a few years ago, we were dependent upon radio. See? Even us mythological creatures are taking part in your technological revolution. There is not enough dependable electricity just yet for you to run everything at once, but we plan to build more solar panels and the windmills to assure us a constant supply. And yes, part of that is a better lighting system." It was going to be an enormous job for just two people and their invisible little helpers, and although I was skilled in electronics, I wasn't as skilled in building electrical systems to supply the juice. She said, "Yes, Brendan, we know. It will be a learning experience, and a lot of work. But I have a surprise for you. We just received a message that Keith received permission to take a leave from the Institute and come back over here to help us out for two weeks. He should arrive in Galway on Sunday." That was good news and bad news for me. It would speed up the process, but it would also speed up the time when I would be done with my work, and would have to make my final decision. Trisha had insisted that I not rush into it, and that it would be better for me not to become a changeling until after we had set up the computer lab, here deep inside the island.
The next few days were busy, unpacking and sorting. Using a good surge protector, I was able to get one of the laptops working, so in addition to the labor, Trisha and I could start working on data again. Eventually, with Keith's help, we would have a satellite uplink so the data could be shared back and forth with the Irish Oceanic office in Galway. I joked that maybe we could set up a web site and call it a sprite site.
"Not a bad idea, Brendan Sears, not a bad idea at all, although the choice of name might be a problem. Not a bad idea, at all, indeed. Wouldn't it be lovely to have a site where people could find out who it is that are polluting the waters? And could learn more about the beautiful world under the surface of the waters, and come to appreciate it more? Now do you see why I wanted your computer wisdom? Not to mention the fact that I do love you so, of course." So, as I unpacked boxes, stretched cable, and wired units together so they would be ready when we had a system capable of sustaining them, I played with ideas of being a webmaster--or a little blue webmistress.
The cottage where I slept had a simple mattress on a board frame, a wood stove, table, and rickety chair, and a kerosene lantern. The sprites weren't into creature comfort, but it did keep the wind out. I used it as my base of operations over the next few weeks. When Keith came, we brought in another mattress. "I'm glad to see that you're not tiny and blue yet," he told me the day after he arrived with another boatload of supplies. "We'll need your strength and size in helping put this operation together." It was good to see our friend again.
"Keith," I asked one day. "Did they ask you to become a changeling? Were you tempted to stay when you were here before?"
"No, they never asked me. But yes, I was tempted. I've spent months underwater, but inside this huge overgrown water heater. It would be a delight to live as the sprites do, with the freedom to actually live in that beautiful environment. I guess that my love for Karen was the main thing that kept me from asking, since I knew through Ciara that it was possible. It was hard just coming over here for this two weeks--one of the reasons I left the Navy was so I wouldn't have to leave Karen again."
"Does she know about the sprites?"
"No, it's too unbelievable unless you've seen them, as you well know. I was just lucky that she trusted me enough that I could tell her about Trisha and I being trapped for two weeks on a deserted island, and Ciara nursing us back to health. Karen believed me when I told her that I never fooled around, because she always knows when I'm lying. And when she met Ciara, she could tell by the way Ciara acted that it was true, and the two became fast friends. Someday, I hope to bring Karen here to visit. Whether she only sees you and Ciara in your human forms, or whether we let her discover the secret of the sprites, I don't know." It sounded like he assumed that I would become a changeling. Sometimes I wanted to, and at other times it sounded much more secure just to stay here as a human, in half a relationship with someone who was only half-human.
When we took our lunch breaks, some of the sprites would come up to visit us, bringing us food on a platter, and staying visible long enough we could get to know one another. Yes, raw fish and underwater vegetative matter made up much of the menu, but they had taken care to clean it and prepare it so that it was attractive and enjoyable, even to us human types. I was glad that I had acquired that taste for sushi back home. As they would tell stories, Keith and I got to learn more and more about their culture, and of other sprite colonies in various parts of the world. They weren't hierarchical in government, but relied on consensus, listening carefully to the wisdom and experience of the elders.
One day I asked Ciara how long sprites lived, since some of the elders were recounting events of many centuries ago as if they were current events to them. "Well, we don't like to talk about this much with humans, but you told me the concept about dog years? It's rather like that, in reverse. You know how you tease me about being an older woman because I am 28 and you are 26?" I nodded. "Brendan, dear, I hope that this isn't too much of a shock for you. If you compare life expectancies, I am 28 in the equivalent of sprite years. Do you remember when I said that I became a changeling when I was a four-year old girl? Your nation was very new at the time. It was 1787, Spring, as I recall. We age at about one-ninth the speed of humans. I really am an older woman, aren't I, dear?" She was right. I was stunned. When I had absorbed this, I asked her to tell me how that could be. "We don't talk about it much, because some of you humans would probably try to dissect us to find a secret, some chemical, which would give them such a life span. But it is impossible, because our magic is part of it, not a chemical. And even if we could make it into a pill, humans do not have the mental stability to deal with it. They are breeding out of control as it is, and that's why they threaten the oceans, the land, and the air." Reluctantly, I had to agree. "Of course, we have a slower-paced life, too. We are a very conservative society in that way, and the only reason that we are becoming involved in computer technology is because we are desperate to save our lives. You humans attack nature like it's an enemy. We live in harmony with nature, and try to preserve it. Like your Indians, we ask for forgiveness from the fish that we kill to eat, and we never kill more than we need. So, Brendan, please keep that in mind before you make your decision."
Later that day, she walked me to a rocky point of land on the far side of the island. Small rock cairns covered the area. "When we die, Brendan Sears, our bodies return to the elements of the sea. But we have set aside this area as a memorial for our own dead, and for those humans who died around here in the sea, the ones we couldn't save. Here is a special one for me." Balanced on the cairn was a small piece of wood, carved to read "Isaac & Eliza Dunnely, 1787, one with the One." We paused a few moments as she reflected on the tragedy that had given her new life. "See these seventeen cairns in this section, Brendan? These were some of my dearest friends and cousins. When I came home last winter, it was to mourn them and help protect the community from the toxins that had killed them. A rusty old ship was trying to make illicit money by hauling barrels of toxic waste out to sea, to dump it into a deep trench. The ship didn't have adequate radar, and ran aground. These seventeen carried the barrels to a nearby island, but one of them was split open. They died to save a huge area of ocean from being contaminated. My only child was one of the seventeen. It was the biggest tragedy for us in over fifty years, when hundreds were killed by depth charges sent to sink a German submarine. One of them was my life partner." Silently, I reflected that even beings who can live a millenium still have to deal with death—their own, and the death of those they hold dear.
Finally, the day came when the setting-up was completed, and everything was ready. When Keith Lubbers was ready to leave, Ciara made him promise to come back and visit, and to bring Karen with him, and to consider coming to work for Irish Oceanic Research, Ltd. As we were loading Keith on the boat, Ciara pulled me aside. "Brendan Sears, if you want to leave now, I will understand. It isn’t fair for me to give up your whole life for us. There are so many things that you would miss."
"No, I’m staying, Ciara."
"Staying as you are, staying as we are?"
"No, Ciara. I want to be your life partner." She didn’t say anything for awhile. She looked at me with love and pain in her eyes. Finally, "Yes, Brendan. We will be life partners."
A few days later, we walked to a marshland, a liminal place between water and land, between my world and theirs. She had given me a leather garment like her people wore, and leather sandals. "They are here, Brendan Sears. Everybody is here. They will witness our vows, they will close a circle around us, and start the magic. There will be a glow. You will see nothing, not even me, just the glow. Step forward." In front of me, the shore gave way to a deep tidal pool. "Do not be afraid when you enter the water. It will seem like death, but it will lead to life." I nodded.
We faced one another. We extended our arms outward from our bodies, hers straight out, me with my elbows bent to compensate for the differing lengths of our arms, and drew as close as we could. She spoke first. "Brendan Sears, be my partner, my lover, my heart of hearts, and I will be yours, now and forever. We are one in love in the name of the One who is Love."
Then me. "Ciara Dunnely, I will be your partner, your lover, your heart of hearts, and I will be yours, now and forever. We are one in love in the name of the One who is Love." That was the whole ceremony. We hugged and embraced, and I felt a sea of warmth and love surrounding me, coming from our invisible friends. "I am now one of you in heart," I said, using the memorized words. "Through the One, may I be one of you in body."
"Then wear our rings, Brendan Sears." I had taken my tiny earrings out in preparation for this. Ciara held two long straight strips of metal, twisted at the back end. She had told me it would hurt, since it would enlarge the holes in my ears, and it did. Once they were in place, she closed her eyes and mumbled something so that the stiff strips of gold became soft and pliable, and I could feel warmth from them. She carefully pulled the ends together into a perfect loop, and I had mobius strip earrings like hers, about two inches in diameter. Slowly, I became aware of the glow forming in a hemisphere around us. Ciara kissed me again and squeezed my hand, and then stepped backward through the light as the light closed in around me. I turned to face the water’s edge. When the glow was so bright it burned my eyes, I closed my eyes and stepped forward, falling into the tidal pool. I had assumed that the glow would stay around me, like a bubble, protecting me. No, something was wrong. I was thrashing in water over my head, and I couldn’t go up. My bubble of light must have popped, and I gasped as my breath escaped and water entered my mouth. But I wasn’t swallowing any. I wasn’t choking. I relaxed, trusting the water that a moment ago seemed so threatening, and trusting the darkness of the pool. Time seemed suspended, and I just lay there suspended myself. Finally, I opened my eyes, and the water had lightened. First a blur, then a shape, then Ciara, in her blue sea sprite form, was holding me tight, embracing, kissing. She pulled the leather garment down from my shoulders, as I did hers. I felt our breasts touch, and knew that now we were the same size and the same form. As we held close, a part of me went looking and found a warm place inside of her. Suddenly, the water seemed as hot as a sauna, and I sighed in release. But then I felt something of hers enter me. These were body parts that I had never seen, but I gasped in joy as I felt her release inside me. Finally, we let go, and grabbed the leather garments that had been floating in the water near us. She smiled, and beckoned me to follow out through a passage from the tidal pool into the ocean. Now we were surrounded, and I could see them, all my blue family members swimming around us, and I could hear their messages of welcome and congratulations inside my brain. Now I was a changeling, and Ciara and I were life partners. "Am I Brenda now?" I asked her mentally as we swam.
"May I give you a new name? One that has been held in honor for many millennia among our people?" she asked. I agreed. "Sprites of the clan!" the words formed loudly inside my head. "This is my life partner, who was once Brendan Sears. She is now Breida Sirros, named for one of our sages of old. She is wise in the ways of technology. She will become wise in the ways of our people!" Breida Sirros. And I had all the time in the world to live up to my partner’s prophecy. Then I heard her voice speak quietly in my head. "Breida Sirros, do you feel a warm spot within you, a little below and either to the right or left of your navel?"
"Yes I do. To the left," I said.
"So do I, Breida Sirros. So do I. You will make a good mother, Breida Sirros. You will bear my child and I will bear yours. Unlike the humans, we know when we are carrying a living baby inside us. In a little over a year, we will deliver new life. It usually doesn’t happen this quickly after a joining, but the magic of the transformation must have strengthened the magic of the joining. May I tell the others?" I agreed, and soon the water was swirling with bubbles as hundreds of sprites danced around us in a three-dimensional jig to soundless music that we all could hear.
After the dance, after the feast, after royal teasing from Karena and Karisa, who surprisingly enough were now larger than me, I followed Ciara into the entrance of a large underwater cave, down a long passageway, and then into a room. Surprisingly, the room appeared bright and light, even though there was no external light source. My partner explained that our vision adapted to the darkness. Rather than the hard, rocky surfaces that I anticipated, the room had soft shapes, simple furniture and artwork on all its surfaces (underwater, we could eat upside down if we wished). A mirror hung on one wall, and I went to look at myself. The features were mine, though softer and more feminine. My figure was feminine, like all the sprites. My dark brown hair hung floating in the water, and my earrings sparkled in the mysterious light. Ciara moved in behind me, and I noticed that she, too, was larger than me. This puzzled me, but first I had other questions. "Ciara, you as a sprite have beautiful red hair and I still have my brown hair. All the others seem to have gray-blue or greenish hair. Why is that?"
"It’s because we’re changelings, dear Breida. It’s our human DNA. But don’t worry. You won’t be looked down upon as an outsider. You are one of us. And Karisa was telling me how jealous she was of your pretty hair," she smiled.
"And we are really pregnant? Will our children be changelings, too?"
"My child, Kala, was not a changeling, and her hair was almost as green as mine is red. This has been the first time in this clan when two changelings have joined, so I don’t know if our human DNA will be strong enough or not. By the way. Did you enjoy the joining? Was it worth waiting for?"
I swirled around her, grabbed her, and twirled through the room with her, and kissed her passionately. "Oh, yes!" I said.
"Breida Sirros, one of the reasons that we didn’t join before this is that our ways are old-fashioned," she admitted, "but another is that if I had gotten pregnant with a human child, I could never again bear a sprite child—not to mention the fact that a human baby needs a mother who doesn’t have to spend parts of each day immersed in sea water. So I’m glad that you think it was worth the wait." She kissed me some more.
Finally, we fell asleep and awoke the next morning, even though we had no sunlight to verify that perception. We ate some food left over from the party the day before, and I asked, "Ciara, why am I so short? I seem even tinier than your cousins, and they aren’t full-grown. Will I be this tiny when I change back into being a human again?"
My spouse frowned. "Breida Sirros, I don’t know. That surprised me, and I heard others comment on it as well. Let’s go up to your work area, out of the water, and see what happens." As we climbed through the underwater passageways, she explained to me that the transformation would come if I were on dry land and I willed it. It was possible to stay a sprite on dry land, but it was easier physically to be in human form. So when we got to the computer work room, we both sat down, closed our eyes, and relaxed. I felt my body stretching and expanding, and opened my eyes to look down. Proportionately, I was the same as in my sprite form, petite and well-shaped. Ciara stood up and walked over to me, my short Ciara, and I looked up at her. "Ciara, I must not be much over four and a half feet tall. I must look like a little girl. Why aren’t I still an adult?"
"I really don’t know, Breida. I guess that when I was transformed, I became younger, too. Rather than a four-year-old, I became like a two-year-old. Since you are twenty six, maybe you became like a thirteen-year-old."
"But I can’t be a child, Ciara. I’m married. And I’m pregnant!" Panic welled up inside me.
"You are not a child, my love. In our culture, we can become partners and join when we are the equivalent of twelve human years, when we can conceive and carry a child. It is called our second birth. We mature faster emotionally than physically. Your size won’t be a problem here, but it might be a problem when we have to visit the mainland. Humans will see you as a child, younger than you really are because of your height."
"But why am I so short? Shouldn’t my human DNA have made me taller?"
"We changelings are always shorter than we would have been had we stayed human, because the larger our human bodies, the more difficult it is to stay in them, to not revert into our sprite form. That would be embarrassing in the middle of a Galway grocery store." Although I had only been on the short side of average height and a little underweight as a man, it was startling to have become such a tiny woman. I didn’t mind it as a sprite, for they were all tiny anyway, but in human form, the size difference seemed to bother me more than the gender difference. I felt weak and vulnerable.
Just then, I became aware of another presence in the room. It was Mother Liana, one of the wisest, most beloved, and most respected matriarchs of the clan. She inclined her head toward me, and I nodded back. Since as a changeling I could hear telepathic speech, I wasn’t surprised to hear her words inside my head instead of through my ears. "Are you at peace, Breida Sirros?"
"Yes, Mother Liana, I think so. I feel the love and acceptance of all of you, and my heart is filled with joy at being Ciara’s life partner. I was just a little surprised to see that when I went back into human form, I was so short. I feel like a little child. My partner tells me that sometimes we shift backwards in age during the transition."
"She is right. We measure four births in our lives. One when we emerge from the womb. Another when we mature and can bear children. The third is when our childbearing days are over, and we are born as sages. The fourth is when we die, and are born into the One. When a human becomes a changeling, her body assumes the form of one who is at a stable period shortly after one of the first three births. But Breida, I hope that you don’t think that you will grow much taller. After the second birth, we grow very little. You will always be smaller than your partner, either in sprite form or in human form. I am sorry if that troubles you."
"It only bothers me when I think about going to the mainland, in interacting with people there. It may be difficult to get a store clerk in a computer shop to take me seriously when I describe a malfunction, for example. But I guess if I can handle being a whole different species, I can handle being a midget."
"Breida Sirros," the older one said. "One thing does concern me about you changing back and forth from sprite to human. We did not expect you to become pregnant so soon. It puts strain on a fetus to change back and forth, and some changelings who changed too often have miscarried. Since our population has dwindled so severely with the ecological changes, we would all hate to see that happen."
My partner interrupted. "Oh, Breida! I am so sorry. She is right. It was so long ago that I carried my child that I forgot about it. We did hope that you could interface with the human community, especially in the technological areas, but would you be willing to do very little of that for a year, for the sake of the life within you?"
This was too much change too soon. It would have been easier for my work and easier for me to make my mental transition if I could spend many hours in my human form. But I thought about the warm glow that I felt inside me when I was in my sprite form, and nodded. "Yes, Mother Liana. Ciara is so sure that I will be a good mother, that I would hate putting my child at risk."
The older one nodded in approval. "May I?" she asked, moving toward my tummy. I nodded again. She placed both hands just below and on either side of my navel. For a moment she looked confused, then a look of joy spread across her face. Her mouth spoke the words, the first time I had heard her voice. "A treasure!"
"Mother!" Ciara gasped.
"Bless the One!" Mother Liana said. "You are going to be a good mother, Breida Sirros. A mother of two! It has been over a century since any sprite has given live birth to twins. You have brought us great joy!"
TWO YEARS LATER
My two children are napping now, with full stomachs after having nursed at my breasts, much larger than they were when I first became a sprite. Sprite infants are a little less helpless than human babies. They would hold onto me as I swam for the first few weeks, but now they swim along beside me. I soon discovered good news and bad news about a sprite pregnancy. The bad news is that the gestation period was fourteen months. The good news is that the buoyancy of the water gave me support as I grew large. And did I grow large! I wasn’t quite as wide as I was tall, but nearly! Karisa, still the tease, kept calling me a manatee.
From the words that Mother Liana spoke when she discovered that I would have twins, I named the older one Trayna and the younger one Azure. That way, I can call them individually by name, and if I want both, I can call their corporate name, Treasure. They both have red hair, like Ciara, which means that they are changelings, too, and can take on human form. They are too young to will the transition by themselves, but when they are near me, my magic brings them along with me. They are much happier as sprites, though, with the freedom and lightness of their water environment, than as human infants, so I don’t change much. In truth, I’m happier as a sprite, too, and I wonder even more at Ciara’s dedication for living almost a year, twenty hours a day, as a human.
But Trayna and Azure aren’t the only ones in our family. Ciara gave birth to Brenda, named after me, just a day before I delivered the twins. Brenda is a changeling, too, and her hair is darker red, almost auburn. So, in effect, we have triplets.
As we are now able to use the internet through the satellite uplink, I don’t have to worry as much about those trips to the mainland. Once in awhile, though, we swim down to Galway. It’s even quicker than driving, since it’s much more direct. Trisha lives on a houseboat there, docked in a secluded area, so we can come and go with ease. When we want to go out into the human world (yes, I sometimes have a terrible craving for pizza), we change into human wardrobe there on the boat. When we go out as a family, Ciara takes on the role of mother. After I measured myself and discovered that I was under four and a half feet tall, I have resigned myself to playing the role of her daughter. Either a frilly party dress, a straight-line shift, or a baggy sweatshirt seems to cover my breasts enough that I can pass in the role. It’s fun, too, sometimes acting in the role, and Ciara really gets upset when I say, "But, Motherrrr!" Of course, our three children are Ciara’s triplets, nicely filling a three-seat stroller and drawing admiring looks from those who see us.
The computerized oceanic research project is working well, between Trisha’s and Ciara’s brains and my computer skills. We have been able to develop some solutions, both technical and social, that bring hope to our clan. Many factories that have polluted the waters have come under public scrutiny and government pressure to clean up their acts as a result of our work. They grumble at Irish Oceanic Research and call us radical kelp-huggers, but the work that we do will ultimately make the world safer for humans, too. We sprites are like the miner’s canaries. What sickens and kills us will eventually sicken and kill you.
When our children are old enough, Ciara has promised us an around-the-world swim, so we can meet other clans of water sprites. Even just in our own waters, I am finding out new things daily. I’ve come to know many species, plant and animal, not just by name, but how they interact with the whole. I have romped with the seals and danced with porpoises—and argued philosophy with them, too.
One final note: Keith did agree to come back and to help our work, and he brought Karen. Karen was, of course, astonished to learn the secret of our island, but soon she was as much a part of our family as any human could be. Sometimes, they worked in the Galway office, and most of the time on the island, doing things that Ciara and I were unable to do because of having to stay in our sprite form during our pregnancy. Keith and Karen grew to love our children after they were born, but we always sensed sadness about them. They had tried many, many times to conceive and had been unable to. Last week, we talked long into the night, with me describing to them my journey from man to undersea mother. Trayna and Azure, clasped tightly to my breasts, made good audio-visual tools.
We discovered why they were so interested when Karen spoke. "Ciara, Breida, you are our best friends. You know how much I want to become a mother. I asked Keith if he would make the same sacrifice for me that you, Breida, made for Ciara—if he would join me in becoming one of you. He agreed. We talked it over with Mother Liana, and the council gave us permission. We want to become changelings. Mother Liana was sure that we would both be fertile. We may not set records like you two, in both becoming pregnant our first time trying, but we want to raise children, even if they are tiny and blue, and breathe through gills."
Since they are already life partners, there will be no marriage ceremony, but tonight Ciara and I will give them their earrings and will then join hands in a circle around them, so the magic will work. Life is good. In the corner of my computer work area, a hat hangs on the wall. To me, it’s like a holy object. Keith and Karen brought it over with them. It’s just a woman’s straw hat, floppy and yellow, with a salmon-colored band and a flower. Every day I thank the One that I had enough good sense to go chase that hat on a windy spring day, and bring a sea sprite into my life.
THE END
A note from Emmie: This story is affectionately and appreciatively dedicated to Crystal, for giving us a special home. She also helped inspire the story by the name that used to appear on her entry page—"Hi. I’m C. Sprite." Thank you, Sea Sprite!
© 2001
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