But no, she did leave me something.
A memory long buried washed to the surface of my mind with my tears.
She gave me something. It was pressed into my hand when I awoke that day. There were whispers. My eyes were crusted shut with salt and sand, but the thing pressed into my hand was real.
And I hid it in this room.
I hid it because my Uncle took nearly all that remained of my old life away. I had only a very small box of memories that I could hardly look at and this gift from the sea. My uncle sold my father’s boat and the house in Toulon that my father could not part with because that was where he loved my mother. My Uncle sold the place Papa and I lived in Liverno after we left France. He put all that money into trust for me and he sent me off to school to become a banker and forget who I was.
And I did forget who I was until Adrienne made me remember.
I bought her beautiful beads that looked like the sea because the sea was still inside Sebastien Parodi. The sea didn’t abandon me, I abandoned her because I could not face the memories.
I hid this treasure from my Uncle so he would not take the one thing the sea left me.
I pried up the floor board just behind where the armoire stood in my room.
The kerchief with my mother’s initials embroidered upon it was still there and when I lifted it, I could feel that which I hid still nestled inside. I took it out carefully. My hands shook. I replaced the board and took this treasure back to the bed where Oren Gale was still singing his songs of love softly from the speaker of my tablet.
But just as I was about to unwrap this gift, there was an exuberant knock, and Adrienne burst in with her ever present smile and her not stop talking.
I shoved the kerchief into my satchel.
“Merry Christmas, Bastien! Le petit dejeneur is on the table. Papa brought almond croissants and there are pears! Pears, Bastien! You should come while the espresso is hot.”
I slid from the bed and swept her into a great hug. There was something wonderful about Adrienne’s ability to find joy in even the smallest things, like fresh pears. “Buon Natale, Bella Principessa!” I replied.
She laughed. “Italian, Bastien? I did not think you knew the words! I thought you remade yourself completely French!”
“I thought so too, but you were right. I need to look inside at what I am. I am Parodi. I have to figure out how live my life. Thank you for the gift, Adri, I was thinking a lot last night,” I told her, but I could not say more about it and I quickly changed the subject. “So pears you said?”
“Yes! Golden pears! They look so wonderful!”
QUATRE:
“You must wake, please, you must! I promised him I would save you. I gave you the protection of the water, but I cannot make the knot on your head go away. Oh, please wake up Sebastien. I am so sorry.”
I heard her words.
I didn’t understand them.
My eyes fluttered just a little. I could see just a fraction of what was around me, and that field of vision was filled with just her eyes, eyes like the Ligurian Sea.
“Sebastien,” she whispered as she stroked my hair, “forgive me, My Love. Please forgive me.”
My eyes would not focus. My mouth could not make a word. I heard her weeping and then all was gone again.
I jolted awake in the bed.
The same strange coin that was tightly clenched in my fist when I awoke on a beach near Levanto nearly twelve years ago was tight in my fist this December morning. I did not remember the day I was found. I remembered almost nothing after the devastating bolt of blue lightening shot from the heavens and splintered the mast on my father’s boat. Shards of wood flew through the air like tiny arrows, stabbing, piercing my skin. The sail caught flame and the groan of the wood as the mast began to fall sounded like the scream of a thousand demons sent to their eternal torment. I was calling for my father. My voice was lost in the chaos, and then the crack shattered the night, shattered the boat, threw me off into the icy water and took away everything I had including all memory of how I survived.
I don’t know how many days I was asleep on that beach or how long I lay in the hospital before Uncle Phillipe and Adrienne came. I don’t even remember them arriving or the three of us leaving. I only remember that Adrienne climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around me.
She just held me.
It was perhaps the only memory I have of her where she was not talking.
And I remember the strange coin was in my pocket.
~ ~
I knocked on Adrienne’s door earlier than she would likely be awake. Her father had already left for his work day and I was eager to be out of the house.
“I hope you have something wonderful to tell me if you are waking me this early, Sebastien. If you are waking me to tell me you are leaving to go back to Toulouse, I am going to be madder than a bull in Pamplona.”
“Can I come in?”
“Only if you have words I want to hear,” she said sullenly.
I opened the door and threw myself onto her bed, causing her to bounce as I laughed and she smacked me with her pillow. “Do you still want to go down to Toulon?”
She sat up abruptly. “Are you serious? Oh, Bastien, I would love to! I would love to shop in the market and walk along the sand...” She stopped and pursed her lips. “Why do you want to go to Toulon?”
“I need to see the water.”
“Did I do this to you? Was it the song?”
“I don’t know, Adri. I think it started the moment I bought the necklace and it has been growing inside me. There is something I must do, there is something out there that I must find.”
“At last Sebastien. The mermaids saved you for a reason, you have a purpose.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I know it in my heart,” she said as she placed her hand upon her heart, then moved it to mine.
“What if...”
“No! No what ifs! I believe. Your father believed. You must believe.”
“Believe in what?”
“Magic, fate, love, that is what the song is about. That is what you must find for yourself. That and a haircut.”
“Get dressed, spoiled girl! There are still pears in the kitchen. We can go when you are ready.”
Magic.
Could there be magic? I did not really know, but the coin that I clutched in my pocket was pushing me to go to Toulon.
~ ~
The drive was short.
Driving was not a thing I enjoyed. I had a sensible sedan when I should have bought the sports car that I liked. But no, I lived all these years ignoring the things I wanted, making a secure life so that my Uncle would not have taken me in for naught, which was suddenly ironic given what Adri thought of my life.
I knew I was only thinking about the mundane to avoid thinking about what I might feel when I met the sea again.
And then I began to wonder what I was willing to give up to be with her again.
Would I be giving something up or would I be getting something back, something I missed, something I truly needed.
I knew Adrienne was right, the life I had was not worth living. My parents would not have wanted me to be secure and all alone.
“We should try to be back before Papa,” Adrienne started, bursting my thought bubble.
“Yes.”
“You are going to talk my ear right off, Sebastien! My goodness.”
I laughed. “I could have left you and your sarcasm back at the house.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t. I don’t think you have any intention of going to the market.”
“No, I need to go down to the docks,” I said as I circled the public lot looking for a parking space. “I will leave you my keys. Be careful, Adri, your father would kill me if anything happened to you.”
“I’m a grown woman, Bastien, not a nine year old girl. I live in a city much bigger than Toulon.
I know how to take care of myself!”
I nodded and handed her the keys.
“You are coming back, aren’t you?” she asked seriously, as she tucked them into her pocket.
“Yes. I am coming back. I will meet you here at two. We can go have a nice lunch.”
She kissed my cheek and I watched her walk away into the market. Then I turned and walked toward the docks. I could already smell the sea and all the scents associated with her. While the odor of the fisheries might have put some visitors off, I welcomed it like an old friend and I walked on.
There were many boats in the port. The morning was already bustling with loading and unloading. I wondered if my hands remembered the work. I longed to feel the ropes and the rolling of the deck as the boat tacked into the sea beyond the harbor gates. I longed to watch the waves crash against the hull and see the jewels of water glisten in the sunlight. I longed to see the sun set over the edge of the world as we sailed west into Toulon.
My heart seemed to pound in my chest and the song seemed to be writhing inside me waiting to be sung.
But I did not speak Italian.
I walked on admiring the boats, speed boats, fishing boats, sail boats, so many varieties, but there was one that stood out and I made my way toward her. She was old, handcrafted as surely as my eyes could see. The figurehead was a woman, carved from fine wood, but inlaid with abalone. The mast was hand hewn, and etched with symbols of the stars as though the owner still navigated her in the ancient way. I stood mesmerized admiring every detail of the rails and the deck until my attention was drawn away by a clatter near behind me. A man was struggling with an armload of ropes and a tool chest that was desperately trying to escape his grasp. I reached out and took the chest from the pile with a word of offered help.
“Much appreciated, friend,” the man started with a laugh. “She is quite a beauty, is she not?”
“Incredible. She is like a ship out of a fairy tale.”
He laughed again. “She is like a dream, it is true. I am Armon d’Laurent. Please call me Armon. Come aboard if you like, take a look.”
I leapt from the dock as I’d done a thousand times, without thought. I felt the roll of the deck beneath my feet as the sea adjusted to my presence.
“Ah! You are not unfamiliar with boats, you did that quite gracefully even with the tool chest still in your arms!”
“My father used to own boats. He did business all along this coast. We lived in Toulon when I was young, but I have not been back in many years. His name was Gian Parodi.”
“And that would make you Sebastien,” he smiled.
“Yes, I am. Did you know my father?”
“No. I am sure I met the man. I have been here for well over thirty years now. My uncle probably knew him, he knew everyone. Truly, everyone. Sometimes too well if you know what I mean, but my uncle was good hearted and he loved the sea. He had no sons so he taught me his craft. But that is not so much important to you right now. You want to know how I know your name.”
“Yes, Sir, I do.”
“Well, that is simple. A package arrived for you today,” he answered as he strode to the wheel and opened the wooden chest beneath it. He lifted out a package that appeared crudely wrapped and roughly the size of his hand. Then he turned and handed it to me. “You see? Sebastien Parodi. I found it just this morning on the deck.”
“Do you know who delivered it?” I asked, stunned as I took it from his hand and turned it over in my own hands.
“The sea.”
“How can that be?” I gasped.
“There are mysteries in this world that can’t be explained, Sebastien. Your generation with your fancy computers and phones that can manage a thousand tasks forget that there are forces in this world beyond technology. Most don’t need explanation, and some should not be explained at all. Love will never be mastered on a computer screen and fate can only lead you so far before you must leap. The old ways may seem quaint, romance and chivalry are arts that are very nearly extinct when men should strive to bring such wonderful parts of our nature back to the world. But the sea, Sebastien, she is eternal like the heavens and clearly she is calling you. You see this wrapping? It is a lotus leaf, symbol of endurance, of purity and of water, something one might offer a Goddess.”
“My father believed as you do.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know what I believe. I tried to forget all I knew. The sea made me an orphan and I tried to leave this life behind me but...”
“You cannot deny what is in your heart, Sebastien,” he said with a small smile as he placed his hand upon my chest. “Let me tell you a story about this boat. She was the first restoration I did completely on my own. She was a relic, aged and rotted, but still glorious. A Roman man owned her. Three highly skilled craftsmen turned him away saying she was scrap, best left to the sea. But he could not accept that. The lady upon the prow simply possessed him and he could not give up on this boat. He came to us. My uncle accepted the job the moment it was offered. I feared I did not have the skills, but my uncle insisted that I did and that was why the sea brought her to me. Three years I spent carving and fitting, learning every inch of this vessel. And then one day she was done. What he paid me made me a rich man in Toulon and this job gave me great renown, but giving her up was painful. Anyway, the day arrived that I was supposed to sail her back to Civitavecchia. My uncle came aboard and said that I must wait one day that I would be taking a passenger, who would help me get her to Italy safely. I was eager to go, but afraid of sailing the boat alone. So I waited. This boat has no modern navigation, she sails today exactly as she did the day she was christened. Just as my uncle said, the man came. He had no knowledge of boats, he did not know he would be making this trip with me. But my uncle said the Nymphs told him this man was coming and that he needed to get to Rome. One does not deny the Daughters of the Eternal Water what they ask, they are the living sea. That man worked so hard on that trip.”
“The Daughters of the Eternal Water,” I sighed. “Who was he? Who was the man that sailed with you?” I asked, though a thousand questions wished to come from this mouth of mine that rarely felt the need to speak.
“His name was Oren Gale.”
“The singer?” The words came out sounding like a question, though I think I somewhat expected that answer because that man’s song was tied to my fate.
“Yes.”
“What was his mission? Why did he need to get to Rome?”
“He was seeking the Goddess Vesta on the first day of Vestalia. This boat got him to his fate. And so many years later she has come back to me. Her owner bequeathed her to me, though his family did fight to keep her. She has a destiny still,” Armon smiled as he stroked the rail.
“Destiny is an interesting choice of words,” I grinned.
“It is one of those words that stir things within us,” he shrugged. But he looked around, admiring the boat as I watched him and it was a long moment before he spoke again. “I am becoming an old man, Sebastien, I can’t sail her alone anymore. I have been offered a good price, and I accepted but I must take her back to Civitavecchia. I think you might be heading that way. Would you sail with me?”
“When are you leaving?” I asked eagerly.
“Three days from now.”
“Yes,” I answered as I held the small package close to my heart. “Yes. I must make this trip,” I said aloud, though I was telling myself more so than I was telling him. “Armon, do you happen to know if Oren Gale lives in Italy?”
“He does. He lives near Ostia on the coast, south of Roma.”
“I will be ready to make the trip in three days. I can come sooner if you need help rigging her.”
He laughed. “Three days is fine. The trip will take four days with good winds, five if the sea is still. But I will give you something to think about, Sebastien. I have no children. I think you are seeking
a way back to what is in your heart. If you are truly coming back to the sea, I would take you on as an apprentice and partner.”
Tears came to my eyes. “You would do that? You barely know me. Why would you make an offer so great to a stranger?”
“The Nymphs sent you to me. You have the protection of the water upon you, I can tell. It is fated. I know it is.”
Fate.
I was about to take my leap.
I shook his hand. Mentally I quit my job at the bank right then and there, though the phone call had not been made. This man changed my life in just a few short hours. “Three days,” I said again as I climbed back onto the dock.
“Three days, Sebastien. May the water always be your friend.”
~ ~
Adrienne was sitting on the hood of my car when I returned.
“You are late!” she called as I approached.
I looked at my watch and I was still five minutes early so I protested. “I am not late, you are early! You have no packages?”
“Of course I do, foolish boy! I have already put them in the trunk. And I spent all of my money so you will have to treat me to lunch. A nice lunch, in a nice restaurant, not some roadside cafe,” she said smugly.
I might have argued, but there was no point. I always gave in to Adrienne’s whims.
“The market was so much fun with people bargaining and arguing. There were so many vendors! Oh, I did love it, Bastien! So tell me, what did you do?”
“I went to the docks.”
She tilted her head to the side and gazed at me. “When are you leaving?”
“What makes you think I am leaving?” I asked, surprised.
“Your eyes are already gone.”
“Three days, Adri.”
“Good for you, Bastien.”
CINQ:
My apartment in Toulouse was as nondescript as the rest of my life and as soon as I walked in, I knew I was not going to miss it.
But I did not have time to think about this life because I had to prepare for my trip and I had only vague ideas of what I might need.
I bought myself boots. Good, sturdy, waterproof boots. I put them on and in the moment when I should have felt like a man, actually taking control of my life and finding my own path, I felt like a child again.