Sirens call, youtube.com
The rest of our trip over the next thirty days was like a perfect vacation, with only one glitch. We would do a few hours of chores each day, but the craft was so well designed that with very little work it seemed to sail itself. Every morning and afternoon Claire and I would spend hours sunbathing together on the front deck, Jaime and Samantha always joining us, Mary and Jane too, talking little, rubbing sunscreen on each other’s backs, giggling, frolicking, sipping wine, often joining hands and communing, daydreaming and nodding off to the gentle rocking of the waves.
On the third or fourth day out, I wasn’t sure which, I was approached one morning by Helen. She took me aside and began: “Scout tells us that you have a miracle drug and that you brought some for us and that it enhances the mind and health. I’ve asked her questions, and she seems by far the brightest child I’ve ever met. She can recite long and complicated poems perfectly in several languages. Is this true? I’ve also talked to Mary and Claire, and they all said the same thing.”
When she asked me this question I almost had to shake my head a bit to wake up. I’d been in such an Elysium with Claire that I’d forgotten to mention the wafers for our hosts. I went and got the four pieces and handed them to Helen, telling her it was all true. She swallowed one right before my eyes telling me she’d give the others to her children and husband right away.
As she left me in the galley all alone this lapse of memory began to disturb me, more and more. “How could I forget such an important thing?”
Then I tried to remember other things I hadn’t thought about in the last five days, which I wasn’t sure was the time elapsed. My house, Naomi and Jason and Charlie all came to mind. We’d set up our radio in the living room of the ship, and I remembered that Jamie had made contact with them several evenings, but I couldn’t remember what was said. Then it hit me like a tidal wave. I was a prisoner and under the spell of Claire’s enchantments.
My mind was either impaired or being manipulated, and it was Claire. She was everywhere in it, in all my thoughts constantly, her face and voice, her hands caressing my face, brushing my hair, lulling me to sleep in her lap with a lullaby and I was very, very angry.
The first person I encountered out the hatch was Jaime. I pulled him into the galley and began: “Jaime, I think Claire and Samantha can control our minds. All those sessions, ‘tete a tete’ they’ve had, they’ve learned to do something to us, to lull us to sleep like babies.”
“I don’t know, you might be right,” he replied, “but if Samantha is guiding me along, I’m rather enjoying the ride. I’ve never felt happier in all my life.”
“Don’t you understand, this is serious, this is the land of the lotus eaters.”
I didn’t know if Samantha was using her powers less often or to better effect, but I could see I had no ally here, on this love boat.
I went top deck right away, found Claire there and drew her to our cabin, gently but firmly.
“What have you been doing to my head these last four days?”
“Nothing silly, just helping you to sleep and to forget your worries.”
“First of all, I’m not silly, I’m damned mad. Now tell me right away what you did to my mind.”
At first, there was a blush, then a look of contrition on her face.
She began, “I’m sorry babe, but Samantha and I discovered something we could do, talking about the two of you. We girls spend so much time together, hand in hand, comparing notes, that we found a way to whisper lullabies into your minds when your heads were close to ours and put you to sleep. You don’t even know it, our whispers are so quiet, so pervasive and sweet, blanketing every corner of your consciousness. And both of you respond perfectly every time, falling asleep like newborns in our arms. And sometimes we leave you with an image of ourselves, like a parting kiss, so you’ll think of us often.”
“So now you’re Sirens like in the Odyssey. What next, Harpies, and then Medusa?”
Claire giggled. “There’s only one part of you I can turn to stone. And that’s a trick we don’t need our minds for. Come, darling, I promise never again to lull you asleep without first asking. Come, kiss me again, sweety.”
I was still angry but now my thoughts felt cluttered. “Have you shared these secrets with Mary and Jane. I can just see the whole female gender rising up and using your tricks and chips to dominate the male world.”
“Why that would be a woman’s secret, best kept within the confines of her bosom” she replied demurely.
“This would throw everything off balance” I retorted. “Imagine a world ruled by women.”
“What better purpose could there be for the weaker sex. At least there would be no more wars.”
At this point in some small way, she won me. I leaned over and let her kiss me. But it had much too potent an effect, intoxicating, dizzying. I was wary of her the rest of the day, keeping my distance, talking to the men and tasking my mind with ridiculously hard math problems. That did perk it up a bit. At night lying next to her and her lovely fragrance, I posed myself one more task. I would force myself to stay awake, all night if I had to, picturing in my mind every book in my library, as I had them arranged on the shelves, and be on guard for her Siren songs. I had just started the ‘A’s as far as I could recall before descending into the most blissful swoon, as if helplessly falling at first, but then safely caught and sinking into a warm pool of honey in the charms of my loved one.
The next morning I realized I’d lost the battle again. I was her slave, her teddy bear. She could do whatever she wanted with me and shape my thoughts like putty in her hand. It was as if she possessed an invisible dog whistle at a pitch that other humans can’t hear, and whenever she blew it I had to obey, to come running immediately without a thought and jump in her lap like a puppy, tail wagging. And once in her arms, I was powerless. She was programming me for hours on end to think and act and feel exactly the way she wanted me to be, all the while singing lullabies.
It was while I was shaving alone in our small bathroom that suddenly a solution came to me. I was love struck and love melancholy, and there it flashed before my eyes, the first pages of the third book of Robert Burton’s ‘Anatomy of Melancholy,’ the section titled ‘On Love’.
In it is contained a letter written by a young renaissance man to his best friend who has lately fallen head over heels in love with a maiden and now hardly notices his comrade. It’s a letter to try to gain him back, to draw him out of such a blind, all-consuming love. It’s full of sound, practical and ‘no holds barred’ advice. It’s a letter on how to fall out of love, and it goes something like this:
“Does she have any blemishes, by this I mean warts or pimples or scars? Focus on them. Are her arms or legs hairy, or perhaps her underarms? Dwell on that. Do you remember an instance when she belched or burped or passed gas in company or alone with you? Did she ever trip while you were strolling, or walk too slow or complain of the weather being hot or cold in a finicky way? Was her voice ever whinny or shrill. Was she ever at a loss for words or said something redundant, not to the point, or just plain silly? Were her gestures ever unfeminine, clumsy or gross? These must be the fodder of your daily meditations, treasure them in your mind along with any other faults you might discover in her and as I said, dwell on them constantly.”
The letter goes on and on in this scientific and medicinal fashion. I relished remembering it. The part about blemishes was useless to me as Claire’s were all gone. But it did put one vital idea to work in my mind. If you can’t find fault with a person per se, you can most certainly find it through comparisons.
