by Tala Bar
It was a hot summer day, the land bare with no shade. Finbar the Minstrel had been walking since morning, and when noontime approached, he felt the need for rest. He stopped and looked around him. He had been told at the village where he had stayed the night that the way he was going led to a river, and he was looking forward to reaching it. Pausing for a minute, he dropped his bag, raised his head and sniffed the air. Had there been any breath of air blowing from the direction of the river, he would have been able to sense its moisture; but throughout the morning no wind blew, and he began losing hope of ever reaching the river. Finbar stood, deep in thoughts. If only he could control the wind – to raise it when needed, like now, or to calm it down when it blew too hard! As if his thoughts affected the air, a light breeze stirred, barely felt, and he turned his face toward it. It caressed his face and dried the sweat on his skin, and then he felt that trace of moisture he was hoping for and knew the direction he should go.
On his way, Finbar went back in his thoughts to what had happened last night at the village. He stayed there less than a day, having arrived late after noon. He found a place to eat, where he lingered, idly talking to other customers. Soon they found out his occupation, inviting him to present his stock of tales and songs at the village's central fire on the Common that evening. Being too tired to make proper preparation for entertaining his audience, he asked them to make their own choice. There was no agreement among the villagers: the young men wanted to hear tales about wandering knights and their horses, their armor and heroics. The girls wanted romantic songs of love, and the old women wanted to hear about witches, dwelling in the forest and practicing their magic. The old men preferred proverbs of wisdom, but Finbar, for reason of his own, did not listen to any of these requests; his tired mind rejected all suggestions until he heard the voice of one youngish woman saying, “Why don't you tell us about water nymphs who charm men and drown them in rivers or ponds.”
A burst of laughter erupted among the villagers. "Ha, Sarina," the men cried from all sides, "you don't need water to charm men and drown in your bosom!" and the women giggled among themselves in agreement.
Finbar raised his eyes to look at the woman. She had stood up among the sitting people – tall and full of figure though not fat, her body curved in the right places. Her face was well chiseled, with high cheekbones that enhanced her large, lively eyes, their color shining the blue-green of water. Her nose was straight and her mouth full, ready to kiss and be kissed.
The Minstrel smiled at her, weariness miraculously dropping from his body, as if he was drawing liveliness from the woman called Sarina. "I do know a few tales and songs about water nymphs," he said; "d'you want to hear a happy ending or a tragedy."
"If you ask," a middle-aged man burst out, "she would prefer a tragedy – it adds flavor to her sense of power."
"You shut up, Mundy, your tragedy has never gone farther than you making a fool of yourself," Sarina teased him. "No, Minstrel," she turned to Finbar, "I do like a happy ending, or at least, a beautiful ending even if it is sad."
That evening Finbar accommodated her, singing the sad song of a girl abandoned by her lover, who jumped into the river, drowned and turned into a water nymph, who attracted men with her sad song to drown them in the river. When he finished the song, he let the villagers know that he was too weary to present another. He was then invited to stay the night in one of the village houses, having a bed made for him by the Mistress of the house at a corner of the yard; he slept deeply till morning, not even dreaming about Sarina and her desirable body.
II
The memory of that incident now stirred in Finbar a desire to reach the river. He widened his steps, and soon caught the flicker of gold reflected from water under the sun. In a few moments he was standing on the river's bank, watching the water flowing lazily over the flat bottom. Without much delay Finbar stripped of his clothes and waded in, advancing until he could lift his feet and swim without touching the riverbed. He dipped his head in the water, worked with his arms, turned on his back and blinked at the shining sun. Blinded, he turned on his stomach again, floated on the water with his face dipped in it; again he swam a little and stopped, stretched his arms wide and floated, again he dipped his head and closed his eyes, giving himself in to the refreshing effect of the current.
When he opened them again, something was caught in the corner of his eye. A movement, which was not the waves, interfering with their slight sway. 'A fish,' he thought, 'fine, I'll have something fresh to eat.' He swam toward the shore to get his rod from the sack, to catch the fish for dinner. As he stood up in the shallows, something took hold of his ankle. He shook his leg to get it loose, but the hold strengthened. He bent to take a better look at the water, which churned and frothed around him, hiding what was in it. 'A strange fish,' the Minstrel reflected, 'instead of escaping it comes out to be caught.' But the thing did not look like a fish. His leg seemed to be held by human hands! He bent again and put his hands in the water, trying to catch whatever it was. A long, sleek body with no scales twisted and slipped out of his hands, at the same time releasing his leg. The Minstrel sunk in the water, dipped his head in with open eyes and looked around him. A golden body swam around him in circles, smooth as an eel but glowing in the sunshine, with blue-green hair crowning its head. A woman? He had never seen anything like her, but she looked very much like the water nymph of his stories.
'So,' he murmured, 'you want to play, then, let's play!' He returned to his swimming, but she leaped ahead of him. He came after her and she turned toward him, jumping above his head out of the water, pulling at his hand and turning him toward her. Then she slipped away again and went back to her circling, and he came after her again. He tried to meet her face to face, but she was too quick for him, slipping away and returning, crushing into his body and getting away... He could not take hold of her, or stop her in her rapid motion. At last he got tired of this frustrating game; he swam to shore, stood up and got out of the water. He stood on the bank, erect and nude, his maleness quivering to the thought of caressing the nymph's hair as the water had done, taking hold of her small, firm breasts, twisting his legs with hers...
Indeed, she had legs – not a fish's tale as in the legends. She was a real woman, young to look at, desirable as fresh water on a hot day. She stopped her pranks, then, stood up and faced him, her face smiling and her eyes glittering, grinning at him.
"Come!" Finbar called out to her, "step on the shore and let's see who wins outside the water!"
She shook her head, her hair flowing around it like water, glittering with golden flakes in its blue-green watery color. She said nothing, only lifted her arm and signed to him to come back into the river. He stood there, hesitating, recalling his own tales about those water nymphs, who drew their lovers to drown in the river. Was she able to do it to him? She did not look very strong. But his blood stormed in his veins, the cool water only inflaming his desire.
Slowly, she drew him to her with the movement of her hand. He advanced back into the river, going step by step through the shallows. The water reached his ankles, touched his calves and knees. He crouched in it, his hand playing with it, and the woman came nearer; he stretched his hand and touched her skin, and it felt like touching flowing water. This nontouch stirred him even more than any woman's touch he had ever experienced. He swam toward her and she stretched her arms, which interlaced with his. She drew him into deeper water, and as his legs stretched to swim, she swam by his side with her legs entwining with his, exactly as he had imagined.
There was nothing to stop him now. As their bodies interlaced together, he entered her body as if flowing with the water. They were now one body with the water, circling and twisting with the waves. He did not exactly lose his consciousness, but his mind fogged and connected with his body and the water. Time itself scattered in the fog and he lost all sense, years seemed to pass untill him mind cleared again and he felt the chill of the water. He found himself floating alone, his eyes blinded by the westerly sun.
III
Finbar swam to shore and climbed out of the river, shook his body and lay on the bank naked, drying in the sun. He fell asleep and slept till evening, waking up hungry, not thinking of the river maiden. Putting on his shirt and pants, he took his rod and walked into the shallows. After a little time he caught a nice-size fish, drawing it out from among the stirring waves. He took out his knife and cleaned the fish, gathered some stones in a circle, found some dry sticks and built and lit a fire; in it he put some loose, clean stones, on which he roasted the fish. From his bag he took out a loaf of bread given to him by the Mistress of the house where he had slept the night before. That evening he had a filling and tasty meal.
Twilight time cooled the heat of the day. Finbar sat for a long while on the river bank, watching the breathing wavelets stretching on the water, pondering on the day's adventure. Who was the girl who swept his body into such stirring and satisfying, the like of which he had never known before? Was she the same water nymph, about which it was said that she drowned her victims in the river? Evidently, she did not drown him. Was he going to see her again? A sense of yearning rose inside him. She did not seem like any other woman he had ever known – those village women, young and not so young, who would sometimes find their way at night into his temporary bed… More than one individual woman, she seemed to be an ideal of all women, one you can only experience in your wet dreams…
***
In his youth, finbar was a handsome figure with whom the girls had no qualms spending a night. He was tall and slim, with a shock of dark hair, clear blue-green eyes, long nose and a laughing mouth. His cheeks were rather hollow from never eating enough, but his limbs long and flexible and his gait light and quick. During the years his tall figure bent slightly from carrying the bag on his back for such a long time; and his legs grew slightly heavier with the time that had come to lie on his shoulders: the troubles of all the people he had met, and sometimes his own sorrows to which he had no solution.
Finbar's profession as a minstrel was an expressive cover for a nature that very few people he had met on the road would get to know. Behind the continuous exchange between jolly and sad folk songs and tales of horror and romance, lay a sensitive but also an inquisitive soul; he would not stop his curiosity about the world and about people from acquiring as much knowledge as he could; but, the more he knew the more he felt both the tragedy and the comedy of life. He absorbed everything, expressed it in his lore, but had to fight continually to continue his own life without being crushed under that load of knowledge.
The Minstrel was never a hero. He did not rush into a battle that occurred on his way, thought nothing of running away if there was a good chance for it. But he also was not a coward, and if forced, he would stand his ground and tried to make the best of every situation. In short, Finbar was as a complex being as any other human being, and more so for his very varied way of living.
IV
Darkness fell. Finbar stretched on his back on the ground, his face toward the sky. It was clear and chilly. The stars scattered around, glittering cold, and he began telling himself stories about them, about their constellations and the mythological figures they represented. At last his eyes tired and he closed them, falling asleep on the bare ground as he had done many times in his wanderings.
Finbar dreamed, and in his dream he was back in the water, lying under a clear, sunless sky. The Water Nymph was there too, but they were not making love, buy lying on their backs, swaying as in a cradle on the light ripple. She was talking to him, and her voice was like the mumur of the water.
She seems to be answering his unasked question, “They always drown before I have a chance to talk to them,” she murmurred softly.
"Why didn't I drown, then?" he asked, wondering.
"I don't really know,” she replied. “You must have some special watery talent…"
He paused, then whispered, "I've never met a watery creature like you."
"Ah," she said, "not everyone can…"
They fell silent, the breeze blowing softly over the ripple. He shivered, but it was a pleasant sensation. After a while, he asked, "Why do you drown them?"
"I don't,” she protested, softly. “In their excitement, their souls leave their bodies, floating astray on the water. Then they lose their bearings and don't know how to come back, before they sink into the water and drown...”
“Enchanted...” Finbar murmurred, recalling hiw own feeling. But he did go back, being too – “ he was unable to define it, and in his confusion the dream dissolved into utter darkness, and he slept soundly till morning.
V
Finbar woke when sunrays penetrated through his eyelids. He breathed in deeply before opening his eyes, then stretched his arms sideways, as if trying to swim again. He was not being cradled by the water, though, but lying on hard ground. Something stirred in his heart, the memory of something beautiful, glowing but so slippery that he was unable to grasp it, lost it both from his hands and from his mind.
He rose to his feet, put his clothes on and went down to the river, where he had a drink of water and washed his face. There was no sign of anything alive in the river, and he turned to pick up his belonging, put everything in his bag and threw it over his shoulder. Looking around him, he noticed some wooded hills and decided to go in that direction; it would be a good change from the flat, dull country he had been waking in.
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