Selkie
The scream of the timer startled Keiran from where she stood by the kitchen sink. Through the window she could see the backyard, its unkempt grasses gilded with the first touch of autumn, and beyond that, the thinnest sliver of the sea, slate grey. Reluctantly, she brought her attention back to the kitchen, where dinner was ready to be taken from the oven and transported to the dining room where her husband was waiting.
He smiled at her as she filled their plates with chicken, potatoes, vegetables they had bought earlier that week of a nearby farmer’s market. He’d poured them both glasses of wine while she’d been in the kitchen, and Keiran lifted her glass to her lips as soon as she’d taken her seat. She savored the crisp clean flavor for a moment before drinking a third of the glass. Lately she enjoyed the pleasant fuzziness that accompanied drinking. She refilled her glass after Michael had only taken a few bites of dinner.
“How is it?” she asked nodding toward his plate. She made an effort to cut some of her chicken into bite sized pieces but had yet to put any food into her mouth.
“Amazing,” he answered. “Everything you cook is always amazing. “
She nodded, took another drink.
“I have to go out of town next week,” he continued, spearing a floret of broccoli with his fork.
Keiran stared at his hands as he spoke. She could feel the blankness on her face. The fingers at her right hand twisted the ring on the finger at her left hand, around and around.
“Are you going to be okay here by yourself, love?”
She tried to smile. “Yes. Of course.”
Every few weeks he traveled, for one reason or another. For conferences, lectures, interviews, research. To visit contemporaries. To meet with editors or publishers. Sometimes he brought her along, but she preferred to stay home.
“How is your new book coming?”
“It’s almost done, “he answered.
“Will you read it to me when it’s finished?”
He paused, looking up from his plate. His lips pressed closer together in bemused surprise. She had never asked this before. Her interest now made me uneasy.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Sure, if you’d like.”
She nodded again, drank again. The rest of the meal continued in silence, broken only by the clatter of silverware on china. In the end, the bottle of wine was empty. Hi plat was cleaned and hers almost half-finished.
She returned to the kitchen with the dishes. Despite the exaggerated hiss of water pouring out of the faucet, she heard his footsteps, then the sound of the door opening and closing. She lifted her gaze and watched him, through the window, walking to the cottage that served as his studio, at the edge of the property. He looked beautiful, in the gathering shadows of nightfall, his auburn hair catching the last of the light. Once the sight of him walking through the grass at dusk might have arrested her, stoked a yearning. Once it terrified her. But now she felt nothing. When he had walked out, she looked back down at the sink. She thrust her hands into the water and watched unblinking as the sink filled, then overflowed.
They rose early on the morning Michael was to leave. Keiran had packed his duffel bag the night before, carefully folding in the fine suits, the silk ties, the book he was currently reading, his razor and shaving cream.
“You always know just what I need, “he said as he glanced over her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. She startled at the embrace, then smiled even after so many years she was surprised by his warmth.
She had just showered and her satin robe clung to her damp skin, slightly translucent. He brushed the wet tangles of her hair over her shoulder, bent his lips to her exposed neck. She inhaled sharply, started to pull away, but his hands held her steady in place.
“I remember when I first saw you, “he murmured. Gently he turned her until they were face to face. “Do you remember?”
“Yes.” She nodded. The memory rose in her mind like bubbles rushing to the surface of water She swallowed, close her eyes, tried to banish it.
“Look at me”. His hand cupped her face. She felt the callus on the knob at bone where his palm met his wrist. He stared into her eyes, as if asking or looking for something, but she didn’t know what.
“You are just as beautiful now as you were then,” he said. He leaned into kiss her. His fingers peeled the satin from her skin. She tried again to step away, to catch the robe as it fell to the floor, and again his hands quieted her.
“I love you.” His whisper was wet and heavy.
She shuddered, then succumbed.
Now she sat in bed with her knees drawn up while he dressed for the journey. The morning light was then. She examined her hands; awash in the paleness, the look mottled and discolored, like dead things.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Because you can always come with me. I can change the flight time, book another ticket for you….”
She raised her eyes to him. Uncertainty pulled his eyebrows together. “What? No. Everything will be fine", she said brightly.
“Are you sure?” he asked again.
“Of course.” She smiled reassuringly.
“Okay. Well, I’ll call you when I’ve arrived, okay?”
“Yes. Okay”
He kissed her temple. The tenderness pained her.
“Be safe while I’m gone, love. I’ll see you soon.”
“Have a good time.”
He nodded and left the bedroom, descended the stairs. Waited until she heard the sound of the car driving on to the gravel road before she wearily got out of bed to begin her day.
In the kitchen she stood at the window over the sink once more, gazing across the lawn. Beyond the grass she could glimpse just a sliver of the sea, slate grey. She held the image in her mind and tried to summon back all the memories she had slowly forgotten during her years here with Michael. She could sense them floating in the opaque blackness of the nighttime ocean, just out of reach. But all she could remember now was the weightlessness she felt in the water, the liquid coldness pressing in on all sides, the silence in submersion that made very underwater sound perfect and clear, the sharp tase of salt.
She placed her mug in the sink, the last swallows of coffee now too cold to drink. She turned away from the window and prepared to search the house one last time.
---
“Don’t stray so far form the sea,” her mother had said. She warned her daughters of the land dwelling men, one of whom had stolen her sister from her man years ago. Time passed, and one day the sister returned with tales of her life on the land, of the children she had left behind on the shore.
“But she was never the same,” her mother said. “And some are not so lucky. Some never come back home again.”
But she had let these warnings roll of her like waves. She could not resist the allure of humanity, even if she possesses it for only a short time. She was careful to sneak away to the shore only at night, to places that seemed mostly undisturbed by people.
She came through the rocky shallows with her hair thickened and tangled by the saltwater, dressed in cold froth and gritty sand. She shed her sealskin as she reached the starlit beach; it rippled heavy down her back and formed a show at dark, met folds pooled on the sand. She left it there and began to explore the narrow beach, crouching to examine broken horse shoe crab shells littered amongst the pebbles. She failed to notice the man sitting on the rocks nearby, barely visible, against the dark.
As soon as he touched it she knew She felt it as though her shed skin was still a part of her. Strange, uninvited hands on the most intimate place to touch. Her human skin prickled with eh most acute fear she had ever felt as she turned to see him holding her sealskin in his hands.
“No,” she whispered. Then louder, and louder still, screaming across the open water.
He approached to quiet her, his own jacket offered up like some sort of trade.
“Please,” she begged, reaching for the pelt he held out of reach. “Please. Please”
“Hush,” he said, draping his jacket over her bare shoulders. His voice was quiet and not unkind, but it did nothing to quell her fear.
“Come with me,” he said, and began to lead her out of the sand and into the frosted grass. “You’ll be safe. I promise.”
And as she could do nothing but follow, she understood for the first time what it was to not have a choice.
He took her to the bathroom first, where she learned of faucets and bathtubs. She leaned toward the mirror above the sink startled by the clarity at her own dark-haired reflection. Her face was drawn, the jaw tightly clenched. And his was alight with some-thing she couldn’t name. Later she would find the word for it-marvel. He marveled at the newness at her she filled the tub with water.
“Here,” he said when he turned off the faucet. Steam coiled off the foamy water, erased their images from the mirror. “feet in.”
She dropped his jacket and warily held his extended hand to step into the tube. Never had she felt water so hot before.
“Sit down.”
Gently she lowered her body until she was submerged. She remained underwater until the agony of not beathing became unbearable, so much sooner than she was used to. Gasping, she lurched forward back into the air, and his hands were on her, combing her sopping hair out of the way at her nose and mouth.
“Be careful,” he said, reaching for a washcloth and a bar of soap. Turn your back to me.
She did as she was told. Water quietly lapped at the sides of the tub when she moved. He swept her hair over one of her shoulders. The wet strands stuck to her neck and breast. Then he began to wash her back, his fingers moving the soapy cloth in small circles across her shoulder blades down and her spine.
“My mother used to do this for me, when I was young, “ he said.
She tensed beneath his, quiet. She didn’t know what to say. Several long moments passed as he continued to bathe her, the lathered washcloth glided over her body. He even cleaned the sand from between her toes.
“What’s your name?” he asked eventually, beginning to wash her hair.
She gave the smallest of shrugs, “ I don’t have a name, “ she said softly.
“I’m Michael,” he answered. “I’ll give you a name. And you will be happy here. I’m going to take care of you. Okay?”
She nodded. Swallowed.
“Good. Come here, “ he beckoned. He held a towel open in his outstretched arms.
She paused, uncertain, then stepped out of the tub and into his embrace. Her heart pounded painfully hard and fast the feeling of his body against hers was alien and terrifying, but a brief moment later he released her, pulling the towel around her shoulders.
“Wait here,” he instructed, and left, closing the bathroom door firmly behind him.
She tried to calm herself while he was gone, raking her fingers through her tangles of hair. She had to think of a way to escape, to get back her seal skin and return to the sea. Soon her mother and sister would be missing her. But before her racing mind could slow down enough for her to focus, Michael returned.
He led her to the bedroom, where one map cast a weak yellow glow that didn’t penetrate the shadowy corners. It looked like it had once been an elegant room, but had been left unkept for a long time. She stood tense at the foot of the unmade bed, clutching the towel to her body while he sat on the mattress and pulled off his boots and then his sweater. His clothes formed a pile on the wooden floor.
“Come here.” He commanded softly.
Slowly she took the few steps from the foot of the bed to stand before him where he sat on the side. He looked up, saw her wide, dark eyes. He saw the muscles in her delicate, pale throat move as she swallowed.
“I’m not going to hurt you, “ he whispered.
He reached for her and gently tugged the towel from her body so it fell to the floor. For a moment he just drank in the sight of her. She watched his expression flicker between lust and something else, something more complex. Then with unfathomable tenderness he placed his hands on her waist. Her sin felt unnaturally soft beneath his palms. He caressed the waves of her hips, splayed his fingers across her ribcage.
“Its okay,” he murmured.
Leaning forward, he kissed her navel, his mouth hot and wet. Fear was making her heart race, but the desire stirred by his touch was making her breathless. She gasped when suddenly he stood, closing any remaining space between them and kissing her with the same inexplicable tenderness.
She wept, she tasted at a salt and greenness, at darkness and sweat.
When he had fallen asleep beside her, she crept from the bed and slipped out of the room. There were three more rooms and another bathroom on this floor, and she searched each one as quietly and thoroughly as she could. These rooms seemed even less cared for than the bedroom where Michael slept. Dust covered the surfaces. Even though she could tell these spaces had been untouched for weeks or longer, she still pulled open bureaus, looked under beds, rifled through cabinets and drawers. In one room she found a large trunk. She flipped open the clasps and lifted the lid. Her hands shook as she pulled blanked after blanked form inside, but when she reached the bottom, her pelt was not there. She bitterly stuffed the blankets bank inside and shut it. She should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.
One of the closets was filled entirely with women’s clothes.
When her search of the upstairs rooms turned up nothing, she sneaked downstairs and stumbled though the rooms there, becoming careless as her desperation increased. After ransacking the living room, the den, the dining room, and the kitchen, she found herself in the laundry. With the last of her hope fluttering wanly in her heart she opened the washer and dryer to discover them empty.
She dropped to her knees. The floor was hard and cold, unforgiving. Sobs ripped through her chest. She felt as though her grief and terror might strangle her. She was trapped here. She knew she was never going home again.
As light began to gather in the house, she crawled back into bed beside Michael. His sleeping silhouette slowly swelled and deflated with every inhale and exhale. In sleep he seemed less threatening, but she sat as close to the edge of the mattress as possible, her limbs protectively pulled close to her torso. She tried to remain perfectly still as the pale morning light gradually illuminated his features: the foam-pale skin, the auburn hair curling boyishly around his ears, the full lips now slightly parted in slumber. She had expected the men who kidnapped selkie brides to be physically gruesome, and his beauty surprised her. He looked like a man she might’ve been pleased to flirt with, whose attention she might’ve coveted.
He began to stir and she quickly averted her gaze.
“How long have you been awake?” His voice was thick and gravelly.
“Not long. “
“Hmm.” He stretched, yawned. “Are you hungry?”
She shrugged.
“All right, let’s make some breakfast.”
In the kitchen, she leaned against a counter, wrapped in a blanket, watching while he cooked. The room filled with unfamiliar smells. When he was finished, he led her into the dining room and presented a plate to her, a mug full of black liquid.
She stared at the items before, trying to make sense of them. “What is it” she asked finally.
He laughed, looking pleased with himself. “That’s coffee”, he said, pointing to the mug. “Be careful, its hot. These are scrambled eggs-“ he pointed to a fluffy pile of yellow-“and this is bacon, and this is toast.”
He looked on intently as she nibbled on her toast.
“How is it?” She could see he was eager for her approval.
“It’s fine” she said. Bacon was surprisingly good.
Several long moments passed. Michael quickly cleared the contents of his plate and moved on to slowly sipping his coffee while she picked over the food.
“I have some clothes for you upstairs” he said eventually. “But we’ll have to shop for more in town soon.”
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked quietly.
“Do to you? I’m not going to do anything to you,” he said carefully.
“Why did you bring me here?”
He looked away, his body stiffening.
“When can I go home?”
His head snapped back to look at her, his face twisted. “That’s enough!” Then his words very measured: “This is your home now.”
He pushed his chair back from the table. His silverware clattered loudly against his plate as he picked it up and took it back to the kitchen.
When he disappeared from view, she stood, quaking, and fled the dining room, tears clouding her vision. The blanked whipped away from her as she tore through the house, desperately searching for the door that opened to the outside. She flung it open and ran through the grass, glistening with dew and clinging persistently to her calves. She would hear the ocean roaring, calling to her. The further she ran from the house, looming behind her, the grass gave way to pebbly sand and finally to frigid tongues of serf that licked her toes. The water had never felt this cold, but she kept running until the depth of the water slowed her down. Waves gathered and crested and the ocean swallowed her, dragged her against the rocky bottom, pulled her farther and farther from the shore. She shimmered gratefully in the icy embrace. The she breathed, and seawater burned insider her. She convulsed, struggled involuntarily to the surface, and the next swell of waves caught her and rejected her, spitting her back on to the shore. The cold water that had surrounded her ebbed, ran back to the whole of the ocean, rushed rapidly away from her, leaving her alone, naked and quaking, on the sand.
She choked on the ocean she had taken in. Coughing and gagging, the water poured from her mouth salty and vile. Every breath like a tear. She could not believe it. That the ocean-her ancestor, her mother-had abandoned her, refused to take her back. The ocean where her family dwelled. The screams ripped from her, unearthly. Unaware that they originated in her, she had never heard any sound so awful.
--
He found her sobbing in the shallows. He wrapped her in the blanked she’d dropped and scooped her up. She didn’t struggle, and she didn’t struggle when he bathed her again and gently put her to bed, still crying. Even though he lowered the blinds, she saw through searing eyelids the day grow brighter, brighter, brighter, then as it began to darken again, finally she slept.
Once the Earth was only ocean, her mother had told her and her brothers and sisters. For eons, only water. And from the water emerged the origins of all life, the greenish ooze that floated on the surface, breeding, breeding, biding time to become more complex. Eventually it gave birth to dumb rudimentary beings, too unimportant to even call animal, and then those to the simplest of worms, then fish, then frogs, then snakes evolved. Until finally there were mammals. Until finally there were seals and humans, and selkies.
--
Grief had weighted her so deeply in sleep that she was undisturbed even when Michael quietly, quietly, entered the room, undressed and with much care pulled back the sheet to slip into bed beside her.
In sleep her face was almost peaceful, and in its stillness he could imagine her features transformed to the way he first saw her: awed, curious, pleased. He longed to draw his fingertip over the swell of her bottom lip, to kiss the silky hair at her temple, to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the nape of her neck. But he didn’t dare.
He laid as close to her as he could without touching. When his heart finally slowed to its rapid, thrilled beating, he slept.
--
She woke with the first faint tinge of light. When she opened her eyes, she felt her heart twisting her chest. It seemed impossible to cry more, and yet --. She woke to the same nightmare she fell asleep in. She covered her eyes. Tears hot and wet in the creases of her palms.
She could hear every breath of the man sleeping next to her, and each inhale seemed to inflate her despair She felt the heat of his body radiating through the bedsheets, and her skin prickled against it. When he began to stir beside her, she tried to calm herself, to relax her muscles tensed in grief, to wear the mask of sleep. His gaze weighed on her. She could feel him raise his hand as if to brush her shoulder, then change his mind. She felt it fall uselessly, stupidly to the mattress. Then he rose, dressed quietly, and left.
All day he brought her meals, and took them away, untouched, as she slept or feigned sleep. The feather pillow under her head as damp as a sponge. Her eyes raw and swollen. She knew he never went too far from her, but when she thought he couldn’t hear, she let go of her anguish, choking on it, writhing in it, hands clawing at her human scalp, as though she would shed this skin, too. But she knew better. Handfuls of dark hair collected on the floor.
“You must eat.” “I know you are not asleep.” “You are safe.” “I want to make you happy here.”
--
Days bled together. She closed her eyes against the daylight, against the darkness, against Michael’s face- the brows pinched together in worry, the lips forming words of comfort, the eyes despondent and deep blue. She shrank away from his hands as he reached for her. She no longer pretended to sleep or tried to hide her tears from him. Through the black veal of suffering, she grasped moments of clarity. When she was alone, she hovered near the bedroom window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring in the direction of the sea. There had to be a way for her to return, to escape. Her thoughts raced through her head like the unstoppable tide; the door that opened to the outside, the stretch of grass that eventually led to the beach where she’d been captured, her family dwelling beneath the waves, searching for her, waiting for her. She imagined them coming ashore to bring her home, their loving embrace submerging her. Maybe if she swam far enough, until she couldn’t see land in any direction, maybe then the hold Michael had on her would be broken. Maybe if she found a different beach, a bay, a river that opened into the ocean-maybe-maybe-
But every time, the memory of the sea violently repulsing her back to the shore behind Michael’s house crashed through her thoughts, and the glimmers of hope she tried desperately to hold on to trembled and vanished slipping back into the shadowy fold of the veil.
--
Michael made the smallest bedroom into a temporary study while he waited for her to emerge. At the end of the hall, it was close enough that he could hear her stirring and it would be impossible for her to sneak by him, but far enough that he imagined it afforded her the illusion of privacy. After his several repeated attempts to console her, he decided the best course of action was to give her space and wait , convinced that after a few says spent grieving she would come to accept her new life on land with him.
