I Am The Song Of Her Nautilus

I Am The Song
Of Her Nautilus

     Sweethearts loiter by the sea in the maritime province of the old country for centuries of sunsets over La Mer until Papa tells Galatea it is time to go to the city and seek her fortune there. But when her shore is engulfed by Neptune’s fury her island is adrift in the waves. Galatea and her man wear only their wedding clothes when like refugees from the lost continent of Atlantis they abandon the sinking land of uncertainty as they step foot upon the terra firma of marriage. But he loves the land more than her and chooses to live on one of the floating islands whose citizens undersea people like her are forbidden to join in matrimony.  
     Galatea tells her landlubber husband, “You mean living with the fishies with me sounds too much like a Jules Verne novel? The place isn’t nearly 20,000 leagues under the sea and I had no intention of taking you prisoner like the guys on that submarine which is fictional to begin with. But  
maybe you think marriage is a prison?”  
     “Honey, l am too claustrophobic to live in that fishbowl. Besides, with that cute little laugh of yours, you’ll net a guy before your biological clock runs out.”  
     “First of all, I am not on a fishing expedition to catch a man. Second of all, I am kind of glad we didn’t have kids. You ole landlubber.”  
     “Do I get a parting kiss?”  
     “Are you sure you want to kiss a fish?”  
     “Aww now, you may live with the octopuses, but you are all woman.”  
     “We’ll then, pucker up before I grow a fish tail and turn into a real mermaid.”  
     Her natural form is unvarnished where she sits to survey the maritime creatures whose well-being is her passion. When she swims submerged, she encounters the sea cucumber that is her friend. Though land men see them as cuisine they bring out her playful nature. Like her friend the narwhal or unicorn of the sea she can endure sub-freezing temperatures like an old woman whose hardships have made her stronger.  
     Her very best friends are the starfish and sea horses. Once she saw a starfish hitch a ride with a sea horse. She surmises that they have a sense of humor that though not readily apparent comes from knowing them as she does in their natural habitat of the ocean. Given half a chance she hopes to be reborn as a sea horse. Galatea is sleek as a dolphin. Her biceps are scrawled in Japanese literature of sanguine ink, a scarlet calligraphy.  
     She emerges from the transparent bubble into a school of iridescent fish. The cloud of fish glistens in rainbow colors. She floats lazily in chrysanthemum dreams of seas of rolling indigo where mermen frolic splashing love through the warm waves.  
     She is a golden breasted sea maiden who sparkles in prismatic colors. She plays with porpoises in the crystal ocean. Seagulls, otters, and whales all sing the melody of love she feels. Her periwinkle cheeks are pink with sunset hue. Her raven locks are wet with salty desire. Azure waters foam in crests spraying lash hooded aqua-women whose carmine tresses shimmer in twilight red. She surfaces like a dolphin into the cool evening air.  
     Morning comes and she plunges into her sea home. Her heart leads her to visit her dear friend the Pearl Diver. Every year, she goes down to visit this man in the undersea farm where he collects oysters for his livelihood.  Unlike her, he doesn’t have artificial gills to supply his oxygen while diving a hundred feet below the surface. But he can hold his breath for seven minutes at a time. Like most Pearl Divers he works a plot. When he sees her, he waves and goes about his business. She invites him to come closer, but he is busy. This goes on from year to year.        
    But one day, Galatea lies in his oyster bed. She undoes her mouthpiece and offers to share her oxygen with him. He doesn’t just accept but points to above to invite her to join him where landmen live. This is amazing.  
     She might not see him for a year. Once, she hadn’t seen him for two years. But after their encounter, they are great friends. Now, when he sees Galatea coming, his oyster basket goes unfilled with his attention solely on her. He swims over to Galatea and hugs her. He loves to breathe from her gill apparatus like a true sea creature. There is no doubt in Galatea’s mind that he really digs her.  
     On this morning, Galatea and the Pearl Diver dance together. She grasps his hands and they swim around each other in circles in an aquatic dance of life. Galatea sees the sparkle in his eyes. She is deliriously happy. When she laughs, tiny bubbles rise from her lips. She fills her mouth with oxygen from her fish-breather and fills his lungs with the air from her mouth.  
    What was their yearly reunion becomes their monthly and then weekly rendezvous. His invitation to join him above the waves is renewed and this time Galatea is unafraid. They hold hands on ascension into the crystal blue light.        
     At the beach, Galatea says, “Mama gonna kick my butt out ifin she catches wind of me messing wid a landman.”  
     Cedric replies, “I never knew you studied twentieth-century southern American patois.”  
     She says, “I done learned enough to gab with the gals at a Yazoo City revival.”  
     “Once she sees what a sterling gentleman I am she’ll she’ll have a change of heart.”  
     “To Mama ya’lls all no account scoundrels.”  
     “She’ll see that I ain’t no used car salesman.”  
     “Ain’t no cars round these parts. But you are telling the Gospel truth.”  
     They converge where ocean and land meet. A breeze blows across the sea oats. Wind chimes ring in the salty breeze. They roll in the warm water on the wet sand. His fingers cascade down her spine. Her lips bubble kisses in smoky trails down his nape. They sit together on the sandy beach. Cedric says, “Galatea, tell me your thoughts on love.”  
     “I can’t teach you a thing about love. I’m the all-time loser in the game of love. My score is dismal. The mermen won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”  
     “I can’t imagine why.”  
     “I play melodies on a bamboo flute a landman gave me of pining for the forests. They fear I will steal their children and head for the nearest port on land.”    
     “But the game isn’t over till you’re dead. Look at it like underwater wrestling. Once, my competitor had me in a full nelson. Then I made a miraculous maneuver and broke free just as time expired.”  
     “Do I look like an aquathlon wrestler to you? Believe me, the game is over for me. No upset  
victories in my future.”  
     His chivalry comes to her rescue. “Oh, you are wrong. I’m a good judge of potential. You have it in spades. You’re throwing in the towel when the game has just begun.”  
     She asks, “Do you like kelp salad?”  
     Cedric replies, “It is my favorite.”  
     “Then marry me you fool. Make your home with me beneath the waves. We’ll Get drunk on imported Saki from Japan and sing sailor’s beer drinking songs while watching fish swim by. As a pearl diver the sea is already your home away from home. What do you say Popeye. I’ll be your Olive Oil.”  
     “We would eat kelp instead of spinach.”  
     “That’s the spirit laddie. What do you say?”  
     “I’d get seasick.”  
     “No you wouldn’t silly. But I used to live on the land. Maybe I could get used to lying on the beach and getting a tan.”  
     Galatea swims through the cove. The undulating kelp fronds brush her slick skin. She feels deep peace immersed in the salty water from whence life had evolved. She scissor kicks her legs to propel her deeper into the realm of silverfish and coral reefs. She wears her gill gear converting water into oxygen. The synthesis allows her to live in the sea like a fish. She loves to drift with the current swirling her body like a kelp frond in the aqua blue cosmos which she calls home.  
     Emerging from the kelp she gazes through her goggles at the shimmering bubble where her fellow mermen live. She swims to the gossamer surface pressing the lock. Her pulse begins to increase. The council still hasn’t decided what to do with her. Her relationship with the landman is innocent she thinks. Why the elders are pressing the matter baffles her.  
     The airlock is empty of water and she removes her gill apparatus. Galatea walks deliberately through the translucent corridor. She can see the silver dart fish flash in formation outside. Galatea feels her pulse level out. Ahead is a muscular woman with huge biceps. Galatea pauses. Her heart rate quickens. The woman she knows is the headmistress. The woman blocks her passage. Galatea is afraid. She knows what this implies. The reality dawns on her like the rising sun. The meaning is clear. The headmistress raises her hand, with the palm aglow with red. This is the ancient symbol for outcasts.  
     Galatea retreats into the entrance of the airlock. This is her world. She can’t leave for anyone, especially not a man. But Cedric is also an urgent need. No merman inspires the fire which Cedric’s love does.  
     The choice burns into her like an unquenchable fire. Her need for Cedric is undeniable. It burns deep down in her marrow. The mistress’ palm grows bright red blinding her. Galatea falls onto her knees prostrating herself in a plea for pardon.  The headmistress caresses her scalp. She consoles her with words. “Go Galatea. Don’t bring shame to your sisters.”  
     Galatea whimpers and falls back into the airlock. Donning her gill breather, she swims upward into the dazzling blue light.  
     But the past is not far behind for Galatea and Cedric. Her new life with Cedric on the floating islands takes her into a role she never imagined as Cedric’s protectress from sea-nymphs who are not so different from herself. Galatea’s hopes, dreams, and desires are much like the Sirens. May the best woman win, she thinks.  
     The Sirens of Venus come equipped with sound synthesizers to project their voice in ways that stimulate gamma brainwaves in susceptible seamen such as her beloved Cedric. Once this hyperconsciousness is accomplished there is no turning back for her dear sweet man.  
     And so, it is her mission to turn back the tide of these vixens. She is a lone Nereid among these landmen. But secretly she conspires with her long lost sisters of the sea who also see the injustice in what the Sirens do. The Priestess of the Stones of Faroe teaches them the magic of techno transmutation of sound waves to transform the trance beat of sirens to induce a blanket of alpha waves that turn a rave into the therapeutically harmless sleep waves called theta.    
     Galatea enlists the other Nereids to combat the Sirens after her sojourn to become a sorceress. She and her floating islander are joined at the hip but the Sirens try their wicked trance beat on him.  
     But the softness of the sorceress’ song is the voice of a syrinx in the throes of seduction. And so, her shipmate crush escapes the tentacled trance as his protectresses circle him in a charm bracelet of sisters whose lapis lazuli mood rings signify the dreams in their hearts to enchant him into immunity from the sea silk arias of the minx tribe.  
     She tells him, “Let’s settle on Pitcairn Island and raise a brood. You can dive for pearls in the abundant oyster beds there for our livelihood. I’ll fit in with the locals there who are descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty. My heart must be mutinous to defect from my submerged paradise for a landman.”  
     “I never thought I’d fall in love with a mermaid. But there is nothing fishy about you.”  
     “Where I come from, we are called Thalassans. Besides I have no fish tail.”  
     “You are a naturalized Terran now, says me, your landlubber soulmate.”  
     “I hope you don’t mind if I keep my gill breather and use it from time to time for nostalgia.”  
     “Would you like me to make a pearl necklace instead of an engagement ring?”  
     “I would love it. But you will always be the pearl of my life. Even a string of pearls cannot touch the look in your eyes when you behold me. There is no lechery in your look. No man has ever gazed upon me like that until you.”