This is at root the same story and style as in the twin previous (prize-winning) novels Black Inked Pearl and its fairytale prequel Voyage of Pearl of the Seas. But this time it is told from a different perspective - that of the garrulous, sounding, wine-dark homeric one, the Sea. It is thus companion and complement (but not sequel) to Black Inked Pearl, with the same number of Parts and (sometimes identically titled) chapters. As with the earlier novels this too somehow emerged, ready-made, in liminal space, predominantly in dream - or, to be more exact, in that in-between liminal state that is neither waking nor sleeping but at the same time both.
Waves crashed onto the beach. The wine dark sea. Today. Or long ago, for what is time? Bit so again I see and tell it, I, your troubadour today, The Sea. Different, for I saw what was hidden. Before. But the same too. For love comes again again again. And time. Everlastingly. Even before my crashing waves.
You will say that that is impossible. I agree with you. I The Sea, your teller, telling it in the murmur of my waves at dusk under the moon. The recycling stars. None could be before Me. Not as I tell it here I think.
Read on. This story is not as you may know it but it is mine, my dream, it is true, I saw it of myself, I the sea. Read on, dear readers, read on.
I felt, I knew. The footsteps in the sand, the edge of my domain. Mine own. Paddling. Happy. Friends (so young - well she was young).
Then. Then. Oh what? (surge storm sea wrack, and lightning strike).
Stop. Clear his (who 'he'? no name, no name still?) clear leg of seatangle. Steps again. Splashes, sea ripple, sparklings in the sun.
Long stop. What? What are they doing?
I knew. (not the first time of mortal love, did I not begin it first in those old days before the fall of the tide?).
Seagulls' distant call. I had it now. They were calling to love.
I felt his arms reach, arms for her. In the mist.
His head bending to her, his mouth to kiss, to trust, to swim with him.
'NO! NO!!'
His head bending to her, his mouth to kiss, to trust, to swim with him.
'NO! NO!!'
I felt her pull away, back, 'way from him. Panic, oh worse than panic, drowning (that terror), then panicking, terrified, she was too young (she thought, I felt it in her, as mothers do) she was not ready she was afraid she was terrified only fifteen not ready yet she must flee fly flight at once now now immediate too young sea loud storm tangled tangle hair with sea wrack caught not get-awaying panic she was too young now now to run run ... run ...
I felt, I heard, the running running running, hers, sand reverberating, thudding, shocking, shocked. I heard. And felt for him. For hurt. But...
Would he follow? No. For I surged. In his way. My destiny, my destinationing. Sorry.
She was lost in the mist, no way to see, to go.
I swept up the shore. Gently up, but I swept for sure. In in. Right up. High water line. Obliteratering the marks. Quite gentle does it all.
She had abandoned him, abandoned, yes abandoning. Why did she not swim? Easy to find the sea then swim, I'd made it gentle, crashing stopped, along the shore, so easy for her then (not after).