How to Drown

Mother always said I would die with a song in my throat. Marcus, my brother, agreed, but the two of them had very different interpretations of what that meant. Mother recognized my tendencies toward questioning and, at times, disobeying. “Never lose your voice,” she always said. Marcus always just shrugged and said that since I was always humming and making up melodies, he figured I would do so until my dying day.

Mother understood me. She died yesterday.

My voice went with her. On a good day I let myself believe that it left to escort her to whatever’s next. Usually I think it decided I had nothing else of consequence to say. I’ve lived my whole life with a song in my head, and now the silence within my ears is louder than any song I’ve sung. I can’t speak without bursting into tears. My heartbeat, my natural drumbeat, my melodies have all quieted since Mother drew her last breath.

I’ve been worried about her since that day a few months prior, the day she first started to complain of exhaustion even though she’d slept away the last several days. That was the day she first started to cough. I stayed by her bed at all hours, only leaving her side when Marcus shouted at me to feed the chickens, or sweep the barn. As soon as chores were done, I was back with Mother, trying to coax her to eat. At first I could get her to drink a few cups of soup. By the end, I was lucky if I could get her to take a bite of bread or a sip of nettle tea.

When she declined food, I begged Marcus to ask the priest to heal her. Or at least ask the medicine man to come and see her. He threw his hands in the air and shouted, “Ara, we don’t have the money! How do you expect us to keep the farm going? We already have so little. Now, go and check on the hens!”

“Ara!” My brother’s shout pulls me out of my reverie. The sound of my name on his lips makes my skin crawl. I drew a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in my chest. I often wonder what it’s like to drown. Mother died gasping for air, a woman drowning.

I hurried out to the barn, where Marcus was holding a rake and looking cross.

***

That night, as Marcus and I slowly ate our meager supper of porridge and goat milk, he announced that he was going to America.

I dropped my spoon in surprise. “You’re leaving me behind?” He didn’t answer. “I can’t live here by myself, Marcus.” My voice was cracked and weak with disuse. My eyes spilled over with tears, little drops of warm salt water, as though I held the entire ocean in my body.

Marcus heaved a sigh. “I figured you’d say that. Fine. Let’s find someone to take this farm. That way we will get some money to use when we get to the States.”

I stared at my lap, watching the shape of my thighs blur as teardrops fell silently onto my apron. I was relieved that at least Marcus would take me with him, but I couldn’t shake the ineffable knowing that he fully intended to leave me here alone. Would that be so bad? At least if he left me here, I wouldn’t have to worry about him climbing into my bed at night.

“Come on, Arabella. You really should eat. You’re withering away.”

He finished his food and without asking, took my bowl and finished it off, too, as though he had not just asked me to eat.

I sighed, excused myself, and retreated to the single bedroom at the back end of our small farmhouse. Mother’s old bedroom. Marcus had tried to move his things into it just hours after her body had been taken out of the house. I had screamed at him, my body filled with a rage so intense that I felt as if I may burst into flame. Marcus was so shocked by my sudden outburst that he agreed that we would leave her room vacant.

I often go into her room and sit on her bed and speak to her. I know she cannot hear me, but it soothes my aching throat to imagine that she can. Never lose your voice, the walls whisper.

“Well. I suppose we are going to America.” I pause and swallow. “I do not know when Marcus plans to leave. I don’t want to go, but I cannot be here by myself. Marcus and I can barely do all of the work here together. He likes to remind me that without his help, I would surely starve. He hasn’t changed much since you left. Perhaps once we get to America, I can go my own way.” I fell silent. I will never go out on my own. I will remain beholden to my brother until we are both gone.

***

Boarding the ship that would take us to America remains one of the most surreal experiences I have ever had, in my twenty years. It was enormous. I did not know that any sort of object could be that big. I stared at it, mouth agape, for several moments, before Marcus took my elbow and dragged me up the ramp onto the ship.

“Remember. Your name is Leo. We are brothers, not brother and sister,” he hissed in my ear. “And for the love of God, do not take that hat off around anyone on this ship, save for me. Do you understand?”

I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

“No singing. It’s probably best to be quiet around everyone here, unless you can lower your voice a bit. If you are found out as a woman, these men will throw you overboard. Do you understand?”

Again, I nodded. We had spent the evening going over this plan. Marcus drilled my new name into my head and had cut my hair so it could fit under a cap. Redheads, along with women, are bad luck on ships. I had cried silently as my long red hair fell to the floor. He was the only member of our family to not be born with red hair, so he wouldn’t need to hide any sort of himself. It was only me who had to be someone else.

Marcus shook my elbow, waiting for a response.

“I understand,” I whispered. He nodded, pleased, and took us to the small room that we would be sleeping in until we reached America. Thankfully, it had two beds.

“You should probably just spend most of your time in here. You have your Bible? You’ll need something to do.”

I nodded. Again, too overwhelmed to speak.

Marcus grunted and disappeared into the crowd of crewmen.

I read my Mother’s Bible slowly and hungrily until the sun went down.

Marcus finally returned, hours after sunset, stumbling and reeking of something strong and bitter. He tripped over his feet, finally falling onto his bed.

Alarmed, I rushed to his side, assuming he was ill. I’d never seen him like this. In fact, until this moment, I had never seen a drunk person, which is what he shouted at me.

“You know Ara, eh, oops, um, you know, Lee, I don’t tell you enough how much I love you.”

I was stunned and confused. What on earth was this substance and how had it taken control over my brother so completely? I was suddenly curious, though also terrified. “I love you too, Marcus.” It felt nice to say these words aloud. Marcus was not always kind to me. In fact, he rarely was. But he was still my brother. And he remained my last connection to my dear Mother.

“I know I’m a prat sometimes. I don’t know why I can’t control myself around you. I just need to be close to someone sometimes, you know?” he hiccupped and continued, while I held my breath in terror. “I know you don’t love me like that, and that’s ok, but I do love you that way.” He hiccupped again. I glanced at the doorway and realized that there were several men right outside our door. They were clearly within earshot, and I was terrified of what they might hear. What if our cover was blown, and it wasn’t even my mistake that did it? Would I be able to convince these men that I am a man, or if not, would they allow me to stay on the ship? Would they allow Marcus to? If he got thrown overboard (a concept to me that was very new, and horrifying) what would I do when we reached America? Was Marcus really serious when he said we’d be thrown overboard if we were found out? Or was he just trying to scare me?

I glanced out the door again, and my eyes met those of a crewman standing mere feet from the door. He narrowed his eyes when he saw me looking. I quickly looked away, heart hammering in my chest.

What would it be like to drown?

I shook my head, trying to rid the thought from my head. I started to hum, barely noticing what I was doing.

Marcus shot up from his bed, where he had been motionless for several minutes. “Ara SHUT UP!”

I froze. He didn’t even remember my new name.

I found myself looking out the doorway again. The same man was staring at us suspiciously.

***

Marcus slept nearly the full next day. I nibbled on bread that we had packed for the trip, ignoring my stomach’s cries for more food. We didn’t have much, and Marcus always had a bigger appetite than I, and I knew he would be furious if I ate more than my share.

As suggested, I barely left our room. That morning, though, I realized I was in trouble.

My clothes and thin mattress were stained with blood.

Now what? I panicked and wadded up a spare garment and tried to stuff it into my pants. If I had a dress on, this would be no problem. But pants made everything much harder to hide. The bulge of fabric would be very obvious. I decided I would not leave the room until I was done bleeding. Marcus was going to be outraged when he woke up. I had explained to him countless times that when the blood came, I could not control it. Mother told me that this was the curse of being a woman. I suddenly wanted more than anything to be Leo. I didn’t want to be Arabella anymore, if Arabella was going to be the reason Marcus and I were thrown overboard.

I sat on my soiled bed and sobbed. In my head, I’d already been found out. Each heaving breath I took was a blessing. It was clear to me that they were limited.

Marcus began to stir, and I quickly gathered up a blanket and laid it across my lap, to hide the blood, and did my best to control my breathing and stop the tears.

“Mornin, Leo. I feel like the dead. No more whiskey for me. The boys will be pleased, more for – “ He paused, looking at me with an odd expression. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak without the next outpouring of tears.

“What is it, Leo?” His voice had lowered, his eyes darkened.

I knew he would find out eventually. I sighed. “I’ve gotten my blood. I don’t know what to do. Help me, Marcus.” I hadn’t expected the plea to leave my lips.

An expression of confusion quickly turned to rage. He leapt to his feet, and grabbed the blanket covering my lap. I started to cry.

“It’s - it’s ok. Don’t cry. We’ll fix it.”

I drew another gasping breath and tried to gain my ground. My head was swimming and I was feeling weak and dizzy.

“Boys! A word?” Marcus and I both jumped. It was the man I had noticed watching us yesterday. I felt my heart jump to my throat. I looked at Marcus, desperate. Marcus was shaking. He would not meet my eye.

“She’s a woman! She is my sister! I’m sorry sir, she made me smuggle her aboard. It wasn’t my idea! I didn’t want to do it!” He started to sob, a man ashamed; he had just sentenced us both to our deaths.

***

Having my wrists and ankles bound was not as horrific as I expected. Never mind Marcus, still sobbing his eyes out. I hadn’t sprung a single tear since before Marcus had folded. I resigned with absolution that I would be with Mother soon.

Marcus begged, offered the crewmen money, sexual favors - both performed by himself and by me - and sobbed. They completely ignored him. The men tying my restraints paused to look at him, make eye contact with each other, and shake their heads. Small smiles tugged at their lips. A mere day ago, the implied insult would have enraged me. Or at least I’d have felt something. PerhapsI would have used my voice. Today I feel nothing, and today was the last day of my life.

Marcus went over first. He squirmed and wailed as he fell. Finally, he hit the water with an awkward splash and continued to scream, sob, and beg to be pulled aboard.

“Come on there, girl,” the crewman growled in my ear. I stood, and without anyone prodding me or grabbing at me, I stepped off the edge and, eyes closed, accepted my fate.

By the time I hit the water, Marcus had already sunk. I did not attempt to return to the surface. I did not look for Marcus. I didn’t even open my eyes. I was ready to go. I allowed the black, salty water to fill my sinuses. I opened my mouth and let it fill my throat.

As it turned out, drowning was not so bad. I almost felt as though I could breathe.

Drifting in the water, suddenly all I could think was that I was disappointed that Marcus had cut my hair. Absurdly, I wished I looked more like myself as I drowned, alone.

Water filled my lungs. An unimaginable pressure in my head. And, oddly, a fiery sensation in my legs where they touched. I opened my eyes, and I could see the entire way to the top and if I turned my head I could see down fairly far, until the water seemed to thicken, becoming darker.

The pressure in my head slowly fizzled away. Was this what dying was like? Had I drowned already? Had I been cursed? Maybe my ultimate punishment was to never see Mother, or anyone, ever again. Panicked, I tried to free my hands, and suddenly realized that the binding over my feet had fallen off. Wait. Where were my feet?

“Welcome, sister!”

I shouted, expelling the rest of the water in my lungs and spun around. Suspended in the water in front of me was the most beautiful, incredible sight I had ever seen. A woman, yet not. She had seaweed in her hair, and an enormous tail where her legs ought to be. I looked down again, frightened. I now had a tail as well! I raised my hands, still bound at the wrists. I tried to speak, and found myself sputtering, coughing, and sneezing.

“No no my dear. Don’t try to speak yet. We need to get you to the surface to clear your body of water. Once you dry out and start to crave the water again, you’ll swim below, and your transformation will be complete. We call ourselves Sirens. Welcome, sister. I’ll explain more later. First, let’s get you above water for a moment, and I’ll untie those.”

A Siren. I could remember an old story I had heard once. A band of sea-women, who sang beautiful songs to lure men to rocky shores. They allowed their ships to crash, put them under spells, and ended up feasting on their flesh after. I was horrified when I first heard that story. But now it made perfect sense. , and I’d never be alone again.

We swam up to the surface together, the light shining through the water, growing brighter until it blinded me. I closed my eyes, and as my head broke water, I opened my mouth to release the last bit of air from my lungs, and let out my very last human song.