Last Boat to Frioul

by Emma Burger

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

Frioul’s jagged coastline curved haphazardly around the sea, the rocky coastline carved over the course of millennia by the steadily lapping waves of the Mediterranean. We’d only traveled a few miles offshore from the city, but this felt like another place entirely. Another country even.

Unsure of the best direction to walk, I meandered along the cliff’s edge, staring out at the horizon, the sun now dipping below the water’s edge. The harbor, along with the few lone sailboats, disappeared behind me as I climbed a rocky hill. Reaching the peak, I sat down on a limestone boulder, fixating on the flat, fiery horizon in front of me. It was perfectly meditative, tracking the slowly setting sun, imperceptible in its movement. By the time you appreciated it slipping, it was gone completely.

It could have either been two minutes or twenty or two hours for all I knew by the time I came to. Large bodies of water seemed to have that narcotic effect on me. There was nothing more peaceful than intently watching the straight line at the edge of the earth where the sea met the sky, comforted only by the knowledge that there wasn’t a person on this planet who knew where I was at that moment. Just four miles off the coast of Marseille, but out in the middle of the sea.

I pulled my knees toward my chest, and I swear I felt I was dreaming. A bittersweet melody grew louder in my head. Or was it coming from somewhere else? It wasn’t a song I recognized exactly, but one I’d undoubtedly heard before. I closed my eyes, allowing the music to wash over me. A single hot tear rolled down my cheek. It sounded like a women’s choir, a perfect melancholy harmony, beckoning me in its direction.

As I traced the crest of the rocky cliff and followed the sound of the chorus, a series of memories flooded my brain in rapid sequence: first love, first heartbreak, first time knowing a goodbye would be forever, first time wanting to die. I searched for something to slow my thoughts, to assure me this wasn’t my life flashing before my eyes, but just some beautiful music in a beautiful place out at sea.

I rounded a bend in the cliff, and the song grew louder. On hearing my footsteps, a large flock of gulls took off, revealing three silhouetted figures reclining on the rocks at the mouth of the inlet — the calanque, as Henri had told me they were called.

Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been nervous to approach a group of singing strangers. Usually I tried to be friendly, especially when traveling alone, but I was rarely the first to strike up conversation without prompting. More often than not, I hoped that someone else would engage with me first so I could reciprocate. Felix for instance. It was always nicer to make a friend.

In this case, though, I strode fearlessly toward the figures, not giving a second thought about who they might be or what they might think of me. Their voices compelled me, seduced me even. I couldn’t say no. I stumbled down the last few feet of the rocky cliff.

“Bonsoir,” a sweet voice giggled from the rocks, their song tapering off to a soft hum as I got close, standing hesitantly on a shoreline boulder. Although it had grown completely dark by then, their three bodies were vibrantly illuminated — glowing even — in the moonlit reflection of the water’s clear surface. Each of the women looked like swimsuit models. Topless, their thick layers of salty curls tumbled down their backs. Despite the pitch black sky, I could tell their skin was sun-kissed and smoothed by the constant lapping of waves.

I’d always admired women’s bodies from an artistic distance — their gently sloping curves, their sculptural beauty — never so personally though. Not like this anyway. The women’s presence was magnetic; I wanted badly to join them in the shallow pool.

“Who brought you here?” asked the giggling one on the right.

“Umm, Felix. Felix and Henri — the Le Bateau guys?” I said, phrasing it like a question, flattered they were even addressing me at all. My stomach churned. A pleasant thrill. An embarrassing warmth crawling up to my cheeks; I was relieved it was dark out. Fortunately I wasn’t nearly as luminescent as they were. Maybe they wouldn’t notice how humiliatingly endeared I was to their half-naked figures.

“Felix!” The one in the middle called, the three of them bursting into laughter.

“He always knows the kind of girls we want,” added the third, swimming up to the rock where I was standing, followed closely by the other two. Was I high or were those fishtails I saw slapping the surface as they ducked underwater? “Sit and stay a while!” The third exclaimed. I sat down, untied my Converse, and dipped my feet in the water.

“Oh wow... you’re so beautiful up close. Do people tell you that? Do people tell you you’re beautiful?” said the middle one, grabbing my bare ankle under the water’s surface.

If it had been anyone else, I would’ve jerked my foot out of the water, taken aback by the audacity of a stranger’s touch. Instead, I left it there, hoping she wouldn’t take her hand away. Her long fingers felt warm and soft wrapped around my leg. It felt nice to be touched after so many days and nights alone. Seeing the three of them now up close, it was clear I’d been right about the fishtails: they were more polished than scaly, and the moonlight bounced against them, explaining each of the women’s radiant glow I’d noticed from afar.

“Let me guess,” said the first; “the boys said they would be back to pick you up soon, didn’t they?”

“Um, yeah, they did. I’m supposed to meet them at 7:30... 19:30.” I glanced behind me, suddenly aware that I’d been the only boat passenger to walk in this direction. “How’d you know?”

“Ha, of course they did! Felix and Henri work for us. We kind of have a thing for sailors,” a coy smile crept across her face. “I wouldn’t count on them coming back for you, you know,” said the first, turning to the other two. “We’ve trained the boys so well, haven’t we?”

Not wanting to seem too freaked out or, worse, lose their interest, I ignored her last comment. Maybe someone had slipped me some hallucinogen on the boat ride out. Maybe I was dreaming. It didn’t matter though; what mattered was I had the attention of these women, and their warm affection felt too good to waste. “What are your names, anyway?” I asked.

“I’m Calliope, and this is Thalia and Clio,” said the first woman, gesturing to the other two.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, really meaning it. “I’m Laura. I hope this isn’t rude to ask. What’s the deal with your—”

“Our tails?” asked Thalia, slapping the water with hers.

“We’re sirens!” Clio interrupted, spraying me with seawater as she dove under the surface, showing off her glittering fin.

“Sirens... wow. I had no idea they, er you, actually existed,” I admitted. “No offense.”

“Almost nobody does,” Clio replied, politely ignoring my embarrassment, if she noticed it at all. “Did the sailors tell you about Château d’If?”

“They mentioned it was an old abandoned prison.”

“It was,” Clio nodded. “Not just any prison. It was the most brutal prison in France. Possibly the world. Let me guess — the boys told you no one ever escaped, didn’t they?”

“They did, yeah. Besides a couple fictional characters, I guess,” remembering Henri’s comment about Monte Cristo.

“Not true!” exclaimed Thalia. “The government wanted a place that was completely inescapable. The waters around the island of If are notoriously dangerous with currents so strong they’d drag even the best swimmers to their death. Well, besides us.”

“The three of us met there, almost three hundred years ago,” said Calliope. “It was brutal there. They’d chain us to the walls, they’d beat us, starve us, force us to work. And we were the lucky ones — we watched the guards brutalize some of our friends to death.”

“Hell on earth,” added Thalia. They seemed calm, rehearsed even, describing the horrific torture they’d endured. “In those types of conditions, only the strong survive.”

“So we became strong,” said Clio. This wasn’t the first time they’d given their spiel, that much was clear. “We were good swimmers, naturally. But we knew we had to be better to escape and survive these waters. We needed to be powerful, supernatural even.”

“We prayed every day in that prison, begging for an opportunity to escape. In exchange for the inhuman suffering we endured, we received an inhuman reward. After many years of torture, the gods answered our prayers,” Thalia explained, again flashing her fin. “Without these, we never would’ve been able to flee that place. In fact, we were the only ones who ever did.”

Calliope grabbed my foot again, this time pulling me fully under the water. Unlike the three of them, I had to fight hard to stay afloat. While they lounged effortlessly, their tails steadying them against the water’s surface, the waves knocked my body repeatedly into the rocks, ripping a hole in my soaked T-shirt. I choked on a gulp of seawater.

“The three of us have lived out here on Frioul for three hundred years, but we won’t live forever. We probably have another hundred left. But you? You’re young, you have lifetimes ahead of you. Stay out here, with us.”

“I don’t know, I’m not like you.” I looked down at my feet, kicking hard to keep my body supported as I clung to the jagged coastline rock. It was a tempting offer, to be sure. Their ineffable beauty, their contagious warmth, their seductive siren song. I wanted to be part of it, badly, even if it was just a dream.

“Laura,” Calliope looked squarely at me, pleading. Despite the frigid water that was now up to my shoulders, my entire body felt warm, relaxed as our eyes locked. “There is no boat back to Marseille. You’re with us now, embrace it. We can make you one of us. You’ll have a voice like ours, a fin of your own. You’ll be a part of the sisterhood.”

“The sailors picked you for a reason,” Clio said. “The three of us? We’re the last of the sirens. Once we die, that’s it for our species. You’re our only hope. They’re bringing more of you too — Felix and Henri. You’re not going to be alone out here, even when we’re gone. They know exactly the type of girl to look for.”

“What do you have to go back to, anyway?” asked Thalia. “A job? An apartment? A family? They’ll be fine without you. You think they won’t, but they’ll learn to cope without you until one day they forget you were ever even there.”

“Life is a storm. You’ll bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next,” Calliope said. “Alexandre Dumas wrote that in The Count of Monte Cristo. Be here with us, bask in the sunlight. Let us make you one of us.”

Looking back in the direction of the port, I thought for a moment that they could be right, maybe Felix and Henri weren’t coming back for me, after all. It could be nice to acquiesce to oblivion. To forget my worldly troubles and succumb to these sirens’ songs. Live out eternity here, on the rocky Mediterranean coastline. I dipped my head underwater, opening my eyes as the sirens circled. It was murky and dark beneath the surface — hideous clusters of barnacles coated the rocks’ surface, dead-eyed schools of fish swam lazily by, densely packed and foul-smelling.

Glancing down at the ocean floor, I blinked my eyes twice, stinging as they were from the harsh saltwater. I saw exactly what I thought I’d see: a rotting pile of carcasses was stacked high, ranging from skeletons to recently deceased, still-identifiable bodies, their clothes and hair swaying with the water’s gentle motion.

Panicked, I reached for a rocky overhang on the nearest shoreline boulder, hauling myself miraculously back onto dry land as the sirens screamed, shrill and petrifying. Panting and soaked, I managed to hobble up the rocks to the main road before collapsing, grateful but disturbed. I looked out toward the sea, so exquisite and calm; you’d never know what monstrous evil it concealed.