I Listen
I would always spot her through my window every evening. She would always swim within the Green Lagoon as the sun set which left its orange rippling reflection on the calm glassy water. She never saw me. She always played in the water, her lengthy, purple hair forming tiny ripples as each strand glided along the water surface. She would often dive to the bottom of the lagoon and not reappear till minutes later when she would break the surface, water drops glistening with soft light from her fair skin which appeared unblemished, her hair drenched and clingy, her mouth gasping rapidly for air. Yet when she opened her eyes they sparkled. She would then semi-float drifting where the water went. And then she would sing.
It would begin as a soft melodic tune made not out of words but formed from vocal pitches, first as a low but audible hum to a stronger melodic tune. It would further develop into a song with words. But I could not understand the words that flowed from her lips. I just could not translate her song. It had the resemblance to a chant from the old Italian Gregorian chants sung in the Renaissance era but not identical to the Latin language. Her language had an aura of an ancient language lost in the depths of time itself. I would sit at my window and just listen. I would listen to her singing that flowed beautifully to the light wind and the quiet waves. It was as if listening to the voice of an angel. I would listen to her song which brought an unexplainable life to the view of the teal water of the rocky lagoon surrounded by the open sea, and the empty cloudless sky as it slowly darkened as the golden sun continued to set.
I would listen to and sense her emotion as she sang her strange song.
I heard her sing since a few days after I moved to my new bungalow at the edge of the lagoon. The bungalow had a heater yet no air condition but here in Europe I did not need one. The fresh breezy air that blew through my panoramic windows, air vents, and the mahogany front arch were refreshing and the sound of the wind blowing against the house and the one coconut tree beside it were enchanting. And then on one evening, a few days later while washing the dishes, I heard a loud splash. At first I thought that it were the pesky town kids trespassing onto my lagoon. One shot fired should scare them, I thought as I reached for my pistol and walked to my bedroom facing the lagoon. But I did not see any kids. Or anyone in sight. Maybe it was a coconut falling from the tree, but if it was a coconut I would see it’s floating form on the water. I stayed at the window waiting and watching for any movement. Nothing. Maybe it’s just me I thought as I holstered my firearm and returned to my dishes.
Before long I heard the splash again and much louder. There was no doubt that someone was there. Back to the window I went with my pistol in hand once again scanning the lagoon and the rocky wall that surrounded it. Once again I saw nothing except for the remaining circular ripples, ripples that indicated an impact. An impact that someone made. I crouched under the window keeping out of view from any possible looking eye. Still nothing. As time past and the darkness began to creep I grew restless of waiting, now believing that it was all in my head as I stood up and began walking to my kitchen.
And then I heard it. The most beautiful singing I have ever heard. I slowly tiptoed back to the window. It was then when I laid my eyes on her semi-submerged in the water. Just seeing her and hearing her melodious chants were enough to make me forget that my first intention was to scare her away. As if in a trance I stood and listened till the end when she swam out into the open ocean.
Every day since then I yearned to hear her song. To listen whilst I read, whilst I worked, and best of all whilst I took in the night air before I slept. I even bought a new armchair for me to sit comfortably whilst she sang. The chair was custom-made out of polished cabreuva wood and fresh Bentley leather. I named it my ‘listening chair’ and arranged it adjacent to my window. At that particular angle I could see her but I was hidden from sight if she glanced through my window. Before long I was addicted to her music like some strong and dangerous drug. I truly believed that there was no one who should match her talent in music. Yet somehow I showed not a slight hint of jealousy. I preferred it over the modern, uncouth, pop cultured musicians, which also undeniably included myself.
I always wanted to meet her, to say ‘hi’ to her. But I could not bring myself to do it. Just the thought of myself asking her out formed butterflies in my stomach and made my blood run icy. But I was puzzled as to why I was afraid of her. Maybe I did not want her to swim away. Maybe I was too timid. Maybe it was just intimidation involved. Whatever the reason, I did not meet her.
As the days turned into weeks and months stacked into over a year she was always someone I would subconsciously think of. I stopped watching television as much as I used to and opted to sit on my armchair and listen whilst I read a novel. Before long I purchased a footrest, also made from polished cabreuva wood and fresh Bentley leather, to match the chair. With the chair and the footrest, a novel, and the voice of an angel, I could not ask for more. But I did. I began to think of her as more than just someone with an amazing voice but someone that I could befriend or consort with. I could not deny the obvious truth that I have gotten attracted to her since the evening my eyes laid sight on her; like a blind crush a naive fifteen-year-old would have. But my attraction grew to love. I always tried my best to arrive home from the studio at six o’ clock because to me, missing one minute of her presence because I dawdled was comparable to missing a multi-million dollar deal. I ceased from reading the book over time since I preferred to stare in a daze at her. While in a daze I would picture myself with her, swimming in the lagoon with her, having dinner at an ambient lit restaurant with her, sitting at the peak of a zephyr midnight on the only smooth rocky bed underneath the coconut tree looking at the multitude of different stars in the cloudless sky with my arms draped around her while she rested her head on my chest. Then the antique wooden cuckoo clock in the hall would call seven times which lassoed me into reality.
There’s no chance between me and her, I thought, she would probably say no.
One afternoon, while framing and hanging my old family portraits, I came across a black and white picture of my great grandfather in his twenties. Oberstgruppenführer Kubach. He was wearing a German Schutzstaffel uniform complete with his weapons, his hat on the ground next to his feet, and the bright swastika symbol on his left sleeve. According to the date at the lower right corner of the picture, the image was taken not long after the end of World War II. Seeing the picture brought back memories about him. After his imprisonment because of his SS position and war crimes he migrated to the British isles. There he married and started a family. He was in his seventies when I was born. He would visit me every week when my mother and father went to business meetings. He was the best great grandfather I could ask for. He would help with any problem I had, he was a better teacher than any teacher at school. When I was fourteen and I learned that he fought with the Nazis I held hate towards him at first. But he calmly reassured me. He told me that he was strongly against the ideas of the Nazis but it was his duty as a soldier to fight for his country. He also told me that luckily he was only part of one of the intelligence operations and not in charge of any concentration camps. I was so relieved. When I was nineteen years of age a drunk driver crashed into his car, ramming it over a bridge into the river Lugg. He was rescued by a group who dived into the river to dismount him from the wrecked car. He was unconscious. But as he was taken to the hospital he passed away. To me there was never an unthinkable day as that day even though I inherited everything from him, including his millions of dollars in English and German currency (I am still not sure how he obtained such wealth), and his Mercedes-Benz which was presented as a gift to him from Adolf Hitler himself just before the war. I was so tear-struck about his death that I did not care about the inheritance or even life itself. I did not even get to say goodbye to him.
I also remembered something else he used to say to me when I was a lad. You better go for what you want while you can before it gets blown away by the gale. He used to tell me that every week before he returned hove every Saturday night. Upon remembering that quote I made up my mind to meet the mysterious woman despite my fair. My great grandfather would have wanted and encouraged me to, I thought.
That same night, as the dark clouds rolled overhead partially covering the stars, and while the mysterious woman sung her enchanting melody I walked quietly to the part of the lagoon where she swam, not making any sudden movements to frighten her. I was twitching nervously, glancing both towards the lagoon and back towards my house, pondering to speed to my house and forget about it. But I continued to hear my great grandfather’s words which made me plough on. She did not notice me when I sat at the rocky edge. She was facing the opposite direction. While my heart pounded I took a deep breath.
“U-uh, h-h-hello.” I could not bring myself to stop stammering. She slowly turned around and faced me. I could see her face more clearly close up. Her hair was not only purple but it contained strands of bright teal. Her eyes which reflected the light from my house were a deep shade of violet. A tiny smile formed on her lips. I could hear the awkward silence as she looked at me.
“Oh hello,” she replied with little expression in her voice. I kept racking my brain around thing what to say. What would be the best thing to say?
“M-my name is Kurt Kubach. What’s y-your name?”
She snickered at my stuttering. I must have sounded like a halfwit. A hopeless halfwit. But she smiled warmly and thankfully she replied. “I’m Aria. Aria Blaze.”
I smiled back while thinking and thinking of something to say again. But all I did was look at the water and say, “Umm.”
“What’s wrong?” She asked me. I looked up. She looked concerned about something as she looked at me. “Your face is red. You okay?”
“Y-yes I’m fine,” My heart was now pounding at a rate unknown to mankind while I fiddled my thumbs. “This is a nice view of the horizon from here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have two sisters. One older and one younger. My older sister was bossy and my younger sister was the worst. We used to live together. We entered the same school, Canterlot High in San Francisco. They’re now gone with their own lives, so now I live alone here.”
“Oh, I uh, don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Okay, I’m pretty sure that you didn’t come to talk to me about a view or siblings, and you look as twitchy as the rabbits that live near the bay,” Aria tapped my nose with her index finger. My face turned a deeper red. “You’re blushing like crazy. Don’t be shy, what did you want to tell me?”
“I uh came to ask you. . . .” I tried to say but finished the rest inaudibly.
“Huh?” Aria looked at me with her head tilted and a perplexed expression on her face. “Didn’t quite catch that.”
Take deep breaths, I thought to myself, you could do it. “I-I uh came to ask you if you’d like to, uh, go out with… me.” There. I said it.
“See?” Aria laughed as she playfully winked at me, “That wasn’t so hard was it?”
But it was hard. I have never asked anyone out before. On the contrary, I was not really the person to start a conversation and if I did, I did not know how to keep the conversation moving. Aria then continued.
“And to answer your question,” Yes this was it. I could hardly contain myself. I had already made preparations, I washed my car that afternoon, I even made reservations in a restaurant in town. I felt like I have accomplished something truly magnificent. “No.”
That single word kept echoing in my head for what felt like lengthy hours; the type of hours that seemed to take as much possible time for the minute hand to move forward. My confidence deflated like a popped balloon. I could not hear my great grandfather supporting me anymore. I could not hear anything at all, just ‘no’ which repeated within my empty head.
“W-what?” My voice began to crack. “Why?”
She smiled, and without warning I felt her soft but cold, damp, yet grippy hand grab my wrist. I could compare it to being touched by an angel. I then felt a strong tug and then the biting chill of the water as I was pulled down deeper and deeper. I have never set foot within the lagoon before and its depth was unexpected. But the depth was nothing compared to the complete sight of Aria as she circled playfully around me.
Aria had never surfaced more than her upper half of her figure over the water. I never gave it a second thought but now I knew why. Instead of legs and feet there was a violet fish tail shimmering with reflected light. Running out of breath I surfaced.
“Do you see now?” Aria questioned me as she surfaced.
“Y-you’re a mermaid?” I saw but I could not believe my eyes.
“Not exactly, I’m a siren.”
“But I don’t understand, weren’t sirens part birds instead of part fish?”
“You’re thinking about the sirens from the Greek Myths. Yes, some sirens were part birds but what most didn’t know was that there were others that were part fish. Both types were still good at singing.”
“I bet. I heard you sing through that window over there,” I pointed with my finger to the window that had the brightest light emitted, “your voice is really beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Aria replied but then she looked at me with a slight frown, "but now you know that I’m a siren you know why I can’t go out with you.”
“Yeah, I did want to take you to a restaurant. but that’s no problem, we could have dinner here,” My face shone with excitement that my eyes probably had even glittered.
“Um. . . ”
“It could be a picnic and I could cook the food.”
“I don-“
“Even better, I could bring a proper table and put it at the edge of the water. It would be perfect especially with all that sky above.”
“Kurt, it’s more complicated than that,” I stopped and looked at her while she continued. “If we were dating then there will come a time when you’ll want me to live with you, and as you know that can’t happen.”
“I don’t see why not,” I regained my excitement. “I could extend the house.”
“That’s-“
“It could cover this lagoon, it would be like a really really huge indoor pool.”
Aria rested her palm on my cheek. “Kurt, we both know that it’s not going to work out.”
“I could carve the floors and it could be like a big waterslide. I could put a heater to heat the water,” My voice was beginning to crack again and tears were beginning to form in my eyes. Aria wrapped her arms and her tail around me as I cried. “I just want it to work somehow, I would do anything.” I continued to sob on her shoulder as I returned her hug.
“I know, I know. You seem like an amazing person and I want to go with you, I really do. But we both know that’s not going to work.”
I knew that a relationship with each other would not work since the second she told me that she was a siren but I did not want to accept the fate. I tried to hold on to whatever solution I could think of, but she was right. I had to let my dream go.
“Yeah, I understand,” I wiped my tears from my face with my hand while she released me. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
I turned around and slowly swam back to shore, soaked and shivering. My suit was ruined but I did not care. Inside the house I forgot to add sugar to the hot cup of tea I brewed but I did not care. I was still alive but I did not care. As the lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, and the rain pitter-pattered on the roof I closed the windows in the house. As I closed the bedroom window I looked at the lagoon. As another flash illuminated the outdoors I saw that it was empty. As I closed the window in the lounge my eyes fell on the black and white photo of my great grandfather, now framed and hung over the couch.
"Grandpa, what would you do if you were me now?" I asked the picture not expecting an answer. I sat on the couch and buried my face in my hands. I don’t know what to do now, I thought, I just don’t know what to do.
After that night my life slowly returned to the way it used to be before I saw Aria in the lagoon. I no longer heard her sing, I no longer saw her outside. Maybe it was because I was more active in my occupation. Maybe it was because I never opened the bedroom window anymore. A year later, I received an eight-figure-paying offer to compose different soundtracks for a new movie. I took the opportunity. I saved most of the money and used a fraction to service Grandpa’s Mercedes-Benz and purchase a new one for myself. Two weeks later in the evening I collected the car from the dealer and parked it in the dim underground garage. Carrying the owners manual with me I went to my bedroom, sat on my armchair and began to study the car’s features. While reading the manual my ears pricked as I heard a familiar voice outside. I opened the window, hearing the sound of the old, unmoved, forgotten, flaking rust and squeaks and noticing the extra brute force it took for me to open it. But I opened the window and there she was, semi-submerged in the depths of the lagoon. She looked as angelic as before. But she was watching me. I began to think she came to see me again. But something was not right.
Why would she want to even see me again after that night? Why was she staring longingly at me; a look that drew me closer to the outer window towards her still presence as I leaned over the sill?
Why were there tears streaming from her eyes?
