Chapter 9 Snare
Snare
Not long after I’ve woken up, I am sitting up in the radio room when I watch a familiar speck crest over the horizon. The yellow and blue flags are a clear indicator of the Starbron heritage, even if I cannot yet make out the emblem. That spark of bright color means new supplies are incoming.
Winter is dragging its feet around the isle and taunting us all with its deceitful pushing and pulling.
Just as I begin to think that spring absolutely must be around the corner—she pulls back away, scared off by the cruel dance of frost. Not that it matters much, nothing grows on the rocks besides some lichen and slick sea moss.
With our proximity to the Arctic Circle even in the spring and summer the temperatures still only crest above freezing.
Because of all these factors and this early cold snap—No, never ending cold applause, I have been running through my fuel and firewood especially quickly.
I’m glad they are coming a few weeks early.
With my brass telescope, I look down at the small dock which has seen better days.
Now a few boards split and jut up as splintered as the rocks surrounding it.
Visually, it’s closer to the jagged teeth of a sea serpent than a functional landing.
I didn’t expect them to come so soon, hopefully it won’t cause them too much trouble.
I’ll have to repair it before their next return.
That storm sure caused some damage. The storm that—“Oh no, Lir!”
I quickly run up the stairs and sound out a greeting through dots and dashes to acknowledge their arrival. I flash on a plugged-in lamp:
--… …--
73: A phrase which means ‘good day and best regards’, all wrapped into a succinct little package. If only regular communication between people could be so easy.
I don't want them to think the supposed old man who lives here has died off. I set down the torch and run barefoot down to Lir. He looks so peaceful half out of the water and lounging against a plushly grown over rock. Reclining back into the short seaweed while holding his bad arm, the water beads roll across him in sparkling Rupert’s drops which slide down his beautiful frame.
I bite my lip and reach out to wake him.
So guilty in my ogling, but feeling even worse that I must disturb his healing slumber.
I lean into his angelic sleeping face, it’s not cherub like but strong and perfect, as if he would wield the fiery sword of Heaven.
“Lir,” I whisper into his ear.
He jerks halfway awake, our faces are suddenly so close. Breathing the same air as him feels unholy. His half open sleepy eyes draw me in closer, to peer between the shrine of his wet curls. “Lir, you have to wake up.”
Still with one fin in the Land of Nod, he groans and flutters his eyes back shut.
I can hear the boat now approaching the dock, the shouts of sailors preparing to tie on.
“Hey Lir! Wake up!” My gentle tone going out the window.
He jolts up, smashing my nose into his. It’s so painful to pull him from his peaceful statuesque slumber, emotionally and physically as I hold my bumped nose which throbs.
“Ow!” He rubs his face awake.
“We have guests,” I say. He stiffens and quickly looks around. Attempting to reassure him I explain, “Good ones, don’t worry. My supplies are getting delivered.”
“I was not aware there was such a thing as ‘good visiting humans’,” he scoffs.
“Well, better than some of the alternatives. And hey, I didn’t know there were even mer-people until a few days ago.
Maybe, you’ll surprise yourself.” I smile, trying to convince the both of us, but my mouth slowly contorts into a tight cringe.
“Actually, maybe no surprises would be better for a while.”
My glance trails down his healed scars that came long before he ever came to be on this rock. They are not in the shape of giant bite patterns, but precise lines and slices that trail down him. I think he probably has, just as I do—good reasons to be weary of men.
I swish my hand in the tide pool’s water that his tail is slinking into. “I know it’s a bit crammed, but can you hide down here until I tell you the coast is clear?”
“Don’t want them finding a merman here? Understandable.
You know, in fact, I don’t want to see them either.
” He smiles, but his brows are pointing down towards the water.
He says it as if he finds them almost detestable, I’m glad he seems to tolerate me, but I can understand his distaste.
He slinks back into the water, hissing through his teeth as he uses his injured shoulder a bit to lower himself.
Quickly, I walk back into the lighthouse and from up above I flash ‘thank you’ in Morse code to the crew as they leave my barrels, pallet and half cord of wood.
Normally, they would just switch out the pallet that’s been left there, but with the swells of the storm it was returned to the sea.
It probably swirled around further beating the fuck out of Lir.
THK: Thanks - .... -..-
Now: -. --- .--
99: Get Lost ----. ----.
I know I’m mixing Telegraphic and Morse code but it’s quicker that way.
I laugh thinking about how years ago talking like this would have been considered so unladylike, but now it’s almost expected of me.
I must perform as the grumpy old man, so I might as well act like it.
Through the telescope, I see one of the crew members chuckle as the other translates.
That makes me smile, just to make another person laugh is a human interaction I’ve missed.
They flash all their boat’s running lights in response, a little wave of acknowledgement.
Their little light show makes me remember the orange blink I’ve been seeing inconsistently.
I pick up the radio and cough to lower my voice, but look down at the tide pool.
What I should do is tell the drop crew, I should tell anybody, but—I want them to leave.
I want them to leave quickly and get away from the merman here.
I release my thumb from the microphone’s press-to-transmit button.
I’ll just keep it myself for now…I’m sure Lir will be gone soon anyways.
After their tug boat putts off, I go downstairs.
I better get the barrels and pallet unpacked while there’s still daylight.
I roll up my sleeves. I’ve got to work for my food, and I sure have to work hard.
They used an onboard crane to unload the damn thing and I have to unpack it all by hand, carrying each splintery crate up the sloped rock.
What a Sisyphus I’ve become. I walk by Lir’s pond and see the little bubbles popping on the surface.
I consider telling him that the men have left, but I don’t want to reawaken him if he’s drifted back asleep.
The forty pound bag of potatoes precariously drags in my tired hands.
I’ve already unloaded three crates of dry goods, but at least those had handles, had grips for my sore cold fingers.
I pray this thin burlap sack holds long enough that I won’t be playing fifty-two potato pick up before I get back to the tower.
I hear little micro tears as the bag threatens to break as I readjust it in my hands and I grit my teeth with every trudge.
It’s all a dreadful balancing act when I am already trying to not slip on the slick sea moss rocks.
By the time I’ve cleared the pallet and the wood, I’m covered in sweat.
My tunic slickly fuses with my spine and lower back.
The sky turns into a gloaming twilight in its outstretched dome above me.
A star or two glimmers between the clouds and I am always appreciative for any of their appearances.
It’s good for those mariners still heading home, they’ll be easily able to navigate back to their warm houses.
I imagine their hovels with fires crackling and hot food ready over the stove.
I’m drooling thinking about a home-cooked meal.
While pushing the second barrel, I stumble on the rocks a little.
Exhaustion is starting to ripple through my tired hands.
This would be an easy job for a small crew but for a single woman, it takes some doing.
I roll it up the first little hump of the rocky shoreside.
Stopping to wipe the sweat from my brow with my now diesel stinking glove, I look out across the vast tide.
A small pink hue floats just above the sea’s divide.
I would stand and watch the sunset longer but the sweat on my body is freezing in the night air that falls upon me.
Trying to push past my sore muscles, I shove the barrel again which is caught a little bit on a piece of rock.
Jiggling it, I think I’ve got it loose, but instead the gravel below me slides backwards, a mini rockslide that I am both the cause and victim of.
I try to hold the barrel, but its contents slosh, causing it to roll back into me with weighted momentum.
I think I can slow it as my feet slip backwards, but then I feel a sharp pain at my back causing my hands to skid on its peeling greasy surface.
“Aghh!”
The barrel makes a loud thud as it slams into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me into a spire of black rock.
At first, I can only take short shallow breaths, the crushing being too great for me to fight against. My vision is blurry from being rattled around, those tiny stars I had seen in the night sky now multiply and spin.
I’m able to move the position of my knee to let the barrel fall at more of an angle towards the boulder which makes it easier to breathe, but I am not any less stuck.
I shake in wild frustration, huffing and wriggling like an animal in a trap, but I can’t get a good grip or back up far enough to push with my whole weight.