Haniver Island

Burial at Sea

Mother's death was difficult, especially as it was the first at home experience I went through without Ram, my twin brother, standing by my side.
It was not fair to begrudge him for that. The decision to keep us separated was grandfather's. And though soon enough our grief was dispelled by other childhood pursuits, whenever nostalgia washed over, I remembered all those things I never found a chance to tell him. The ritual of my mother's deathbed danced on the edge of my awareness, until enough details were lost, and I started doubting it ever happened.

I didn't see the woman of the ritual again, except for the day in which she died. Grandfather came straight from the bay, after a long day of work, to drag us both to her funeral. He didn't even shower. Held by his strong hand and pulled along in a hurry, once in a while I'd slam my small body against him, almost stumbling. He smelled of salted leather and denim.
"Go Ram, into the boat!" Grandfather barked as he was used to. My brother jumped in, always happy to venture into the ocean, he had been groomed for the trade since a babe. All through this, I was briefed about a number of things a little girl should not hear or care about, if she ever intends to be happy.
"You'll get on the boat and sit towards the inside, Jen. Under no circumstances you are to touch the water. Otherwise, you'll have to stand barefoot on the bow and look directly upon the depths."

The idea terrified me. Though mother played at being defiant, bringing us both into close contact with the sea and foam, she never dared untie that boat. I discovered years later, there was a reason for it... Oh mother! How often did you play with the idea of feeding your children to the wet mouth of the ocean? Would you have had the heart to push Ram down until his struggles ceased? Would you have kissed my forehead just once before committing me to the deep? I'll never know. You died before madness set in.

"Why?" I asked my grandfather. Jethro was a hard man, but there were moments in which he won't refuse an answer. Precious instances of vulnerability in which he'd open up. "If the water is so bad for girls, why is the...-hmmm... old lady buried in the ocean?" I wanted to call her witch so badly, I almost made my tongue bleed biting down on it.

"Because there's a breed of woman that calms the deep. And another kind that feeds its hunger." His eyes stayed upon me long enough to make me feel guilty of sins I had not yet committed, and then he started steering the boat.

We joined a solemn parade. No vessel disturbed the waters with the rotation of a propeller, nor anyone made the trip easier by unfurling a sail. Silent men rowed, following the sun on its descent. Women covered in black veils whispered unintelligible prayers; keeping track of her devotions with rosary beads.

"Do you know the women, Ram?"

"I can't tell. I know some of the fishermen. I think they are their missus." My brother volunteered, whispering in my ear the names of people around town. I made him pause with a direct question.
"Do you think Ms. Barber is there? In one of the boats?"

"Ms. Barber?" Ram snorted, making grandfather pay attention to our conversation.

"Ms. Barber is not here, Jen. She has no family to take her out to sea."

"Lucky," I thought, knowing better than to speak, but curiosity always managed to get the best of me, and it was easy to exchange one question for another. "Grandfather, why is there no priest? Mama had a priest."

"The priest holds his duty to heaven above, girl. He has no business with the depth below."

Just as the sun sank beneath the waves, the woman was consecrated to the waters. Grandfather presided over it. He was strong enough to commit the body of the frail, petite old lady, but other men offered to lend their arms as well, showing a sign of respect hardly ever seen outside the fisherman's guild.
"Let's hope it is enough." Grandfather said as the white of the burial shroud disappeared beneath the waves. "She'd find peace, and grant us some. If tomorrow's dawn doesn't break red, her soul and the mercies of the sea will smile upon us."

Grandfather's hand rested upon the crown of my head. It was a gesture only meant for me, as Ram didn't receive the same affection. I wanted it to last longer than just a few seconds, I craved for a blessing that never left his lips. After a quick pat, grandfather returned to his duties, turning the boat and rowing towards the lights of Haniver Port.