The Book Man, Chapter 49 (Revised)

49 THE WOMEN IN THE WATER

“Oh, dear,” Christian said. She was such a strange, moody creature, and he could no more work out whether she liked him or disdained him than whether her company cheered or frightened him.

He gazed in the direction of the stream, afraid he would forget which way it was if he fell back asleep. The sky lightened as he waited. After a while he thought he could make out, a few dozen yards from where he sat, a line of willow trees off the way Narodnaya had indicated. He cursed himself. Everyone knew willows grew by water.

Christian arose as the sun peeked over the horizon and made his way toward the willows. As he drew closer he heard the sound of running water, running water and the shrill bickering of jays and other birds. A chipmunk took up cries of alarm at his appearance, but none of the birds flew away. They carried on with their business as though he was not there.

The stream rushed clear over rocks, shallow and narrow but noisy. Christian wriggled down onto his belly and held out his hands. The water was so cold it hurt his teeth, but he slurped it up until he couldn’t hold any more. He pushed himself to his feet, groaning from stiffness. All his muscles ached from walking and sleeping propped against his tree. His feet hurt, too, but there was spongy moss along the stream bank. He stripped off his shoes and socks and walked barefoot beneath the willows.

Sunlight shone green through the leaves overhead, dazzling where it pierced through gaps in the canopy and hit the stream, which widened out to several feet across as he walked along. It was blinding in the tangled dimness of the trees, but Christian’s bare feet picked a careful way downriver in the moss. It was so soft, and the song of the birds and the stream so sweet, that he decided his journey would be pleasant from this point on. He whistled tunelessly as he walked along, his mood so uplifted that he felt certain of finding Liza soon.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon he came upon a spot where the land fell away sharply below him, baring a wall of rock. Water thundered down the rocks and fell into a deep, wide pool with a brown river flowing out from it. Christian cheered at the sight. He could bathe, and perhaps there would be fish for him to eat, although how he would catch a fish was a mystery since he was a poor fisher even when he had bait and tackle.

He had to go a ways away from the stream to find a gentler descent to the pool. Even then he picked his way down with his loafers in one hand and his other hand gripping tree limbs like a railing. At the bottom he placed his shoes and socks on the sandy bank of the pool and looked about furtively. There was no one around—of course there wasn’t, Christian told himself crossly, no need to be embarrassed—but he couldn’t help ducking behind a bush and scanning the forest as he peeled off his clothes.

He took a lap around the pool, reveling in the feeling of the water against his bare skin. It was warmer than the water in the bog and the rain had been, clean and clear; though it was deep, he could see to the sandy brown bottom. No drowned men here, thank God. He dove under and came up feeling refreshed and less stiff than before. Swimming was the one physical activity he had always found easy and enjoyable.

Before long he began to feel someone was watching him. He stopped swimming and let his feet hit the bottom of the pool, looking left and right for the presence of the person or persons unknown.

“Narodnaya?” he called, but she did not appear. “Liza?”

The forest was silent except for birdcalls.

“Imagining things,” he muttered to himself, but when he turned around he saw three beautiful and unearthly women staring at him silently from beside the waterfall. Their skin had a deep blue tint, their hair fell in damp dark waves past their shoulders, and silvery markings like strange tattoos covered their long, lean bodies. All three were utterly naked, yet they seemed not to share Christian’s embarrassment as he covered himself inadequately with his hands and looked away from them.

“Forgive me,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize there was anyone about.”

How could he have? He had looked around and seen no one. He was not sure how they had come upon him so silently; perhaps the waterfall had masked their approach.

He was also not sure what had happened to their clothes.

“Forgive me,” he said again. “I meant to bathe, but—perhaps it could wait.”

So saying, he made his way back toward the shore where his clothes lay. At that moment, the women took up a song unlike anything he had ever heard. Their voices rolled and swelled like the ocean in smooth harmonies, but the unfamiliar language in which they sang was eerie and made the hairs on the back of Christian’s neck stand up. He shivered but could not stop listening. Nor could he make himself continue to the shore and dress himself, though part of his brain was urging him to do so.

The women closed in on him, still singing, and a different part of his brain (or perhaps something other than his brain) took fierce joy in their closeness and the smoothness of their skin and the curves of their bodies. One of them ran her hands through his hair as she sang; another traced circles on the small of his back with her fingers. The third ran her forefinger down his nose and lips and then stopped singing long enough to kiss him hotly on the mouth.

It was that which broke their spell over him, for as she kissed him he thought how it would be to kiss Minerva this way, hard and slow and long and warm, if only he ever had the courage to do it. As he thought of her, he remembered himself, where he was and that he was naked and that three women (also naked) were singing their way into some sort of hold over him. He wrenched himself out of their grasp and gasped, “Forgive me, but—No, no, don’t come any closer. No, you stay there.”

Their blue eyes dimmed with displeasure, and they advanced on him as he backed toward the other end of the pool. Their singing recommenced, but it took on a different tune, one stranger and more menacing and full of dissonant chords. He retreated each time they glided forward, trying to get to his clothes (it never occurred to him to escape without them), but now the water weighed him down while the sirens moved effortlessly through it. They looked less and less beautiful as he withdrew from them. Their eyes grew darker and darker until they were swallowed up in blackness, claws erupted from their slender fingers, and silvery fish scales shimmered on their legs, all at discord with the lovely leanness of their bodies.

Christian stood rooted to the spot in the center of the pool as the sirens surrounded him. One of them grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat to the one who had kissed him. She ran a claw down his neck gently and smiled at him, and fangs showed behind her scarlet lips. He shuddered. His throat raced up and down as he breathed. He twisted in the grasp of the other siren, trying to escape, but her hand tightened in his hair and he cried out in pain.

He was going to die, he thought. He was going to die here, now, quite unpleasantly, and then there would be nothing to stop Goblin from returning to Celadon Park and finishing off Minerva and the fairies and Mr. Catcher.

The sirens’ singing broke into an awful screech as something grey-green appeared in midair and hissed at them like an angry cat.

“Narodnaya!” Christian cried gratefully.

He heard her voice in his head even as she matched the screeching of the sirens with a louder and more horrible screech of her own. Run. Follow the stream. I will join you when I can.

He splashed through the pool and climbed out onto the bank and was about to run off when he remembered the garden gnome frozen in his pocket. He doubled back, intent on grabbing his trousers, but Narodnaya’s voice came sharply: No, you foolish human! I will bring your clothes. Go.

So he ran off, naked, through the forest.