Hadesa, My Love.
- Anthony Roberts
- Jan 2
- 15 min read
A Short Story by Anthony Roberts
There was a violent flurry in the water as the old man drug the food across the rocks. It had been too long since her last meal and what he provided was not enough. He was failing her. How long had he loved and cared for her? And now, when she needed him the most, he faltered. Tears fell from the old man’s eyes as he dragged the food to the water's edge. He was weak but his love for her remained strong. She came to him in a spray of salt water as he whispered, “Hadesa, my love.”
"It's 3 am, Joe. Time to close up."
"Just give us one more, Pete, and then I'll shove off. You can do that for me, can't ya mate?"
Pete sighed and glanced around the Black Anchor. The neon light from the front window cast an eerie glow across the tables and worn-out leather bar stools of the small fisherman’s pub. Photographs of sailors long forgotten hung from the walls and the air was thick with a pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, and stale smoke. A few patrons sat at a table near the door, nursing their drinks long after most of Pete’s customers had packed it in and gone home. And then there was Joe, a typical lost soul trying to drown his sorrows like so many broken men who had sat at this bar before him.
"Fine. One more drink, Joe, but then you're done. I'm tired and ready to ring the bell."
Pete poured Joe a final whiskey and watched as the hapless man gulped it down. Joe sat the glass down gently on the bar top in a show of appreciation and proper pub etiquette.
Pete took the glass away as Joe pulled out three twenties from his wallet and laid them on the bar. The bartender gathered up the bills then reached over to a brass bell and gave it several sharp yanks.
“Last Bell! Last Bell! The Black Anchor is closed for the evening. Come back tomorrow and we'll set sail again."
"Cheers, Pete," said Joe as he slipped from his barstool, stumbled forward against one of the empty tables, then fell over backwards onto the floor.
Pete watched as the drunken man pulled himself up and headed for the door. Six months divorced and Joe was badly adrift. "You go home now, Joe, and get some rest."
Joe waved him off and stumbled out of the pub, his vision blurred from the long hours of drinking. Jenny. Home. He had no home without her. She was everything to him and he lost her to the drink. How stupid had he been to give her up? And for what? Long nights at the pub drinking himself into oblivion? She loved him, and he knew that. Even as she left him, there was love in her eyes. Her beautiful face was streaked with tears begging him - begging him! "It's me or the drink," she said, and he chose the drink. What a fool. He couldn't stop drinking but he couldn't stop loving her either.
Winter was coming to Bluff Harbour early and the nights had turned cold. There would be snow and ice on the docks soon with fisherman bundled up against the elements and the pubs full of men seeking a brief respite from the hardships of bitter and freezing labour.
Wisps of thin clouds cut across the full moon as waves lapped against the wharf like persistent little slaps. Joe took a few unsteady steps before tripping over his own feet and crashing down onto the grimy boards. He cursed his drunkenness and rubbed his bruised knee before noticing a dark figure standing a few feet away from him.
"Enjoying the show?" said Joe to the stranger as he tried to regain his balance.
"You look like a man who's seen rough seas," replied the figure, his voice deep and gruff. "Need a hand, young fellow?"
Joe squinted into the darkness, trying to focus on the stranger. He was a short barrel of a man with bandy legs and the big meaty hands of those who made a living with rope and net. The old man's face was worn with lines deeply etched above his eyes and a heavy beard of stubble across his cheeks and chin. Probably one of those retired merchant marines that hung around the docks drifting from bar to bar telling stories of faraway ports and all that 'back-in-the-day' rubbish.
"Do I know you, mate?" asked Joe. He had a bleary memory of this old salt sitting alone at a table back in the Black Anchor.
The old man smiled, revealing a set of chipped teeth too small for his thick head. "The name is Damon," he said. "Like you, I fancy a drink or two. Never been much for sleep. Too long on the night watch, I reckon." His eyes were clear and sharp despite the late hour. "I finished up at the Captain's Galley when I noticed you stumbling out of the Anchor. Been there many times myself, lad, and in your condition as well. Drink has long been the sailor's curse.”
A look of concern crossed Damon's face as he regarded Joe more closely; almost unconsciously he reached out and placed a hand on Joe's shoulder. "Are you all right, young man?”
Joe nodded, still trying to shake off the effects of the alcohol. "Yes, I'm fine. I lost my balance, that's all. Happens a lot these days... and nights."
Damon chuckled. "Sea legs don't work so good on land, do they lad? Fancy a walk to clear your head? I've got a flask of the Irish if you've a mind to share a drink with me."
The old man didn't seem like a pervert and he could sure use another drink, besides, there was nothing for him at home since Jenny left. Joe hesitated for a moment before nodding, “My name’s Joe, and I could use another drink or two to steer my ship to harbour."
"Come on, then," said the old man offering Joe his hand then pulling the young man up to his feet with surprising ease.
The two of them walked in silence as the night's cool breeze helped clear the fog from Joe's mind. The wharf gave way to beach and the two seamen trudged across the hard packed shoreline as small cutting waves ushered in the high tide.
"How about that drink, old timer?" asked Joe.
The old man dipped into his peacoat and pulled out a silver flask. Under the light of the moon, Joe could see the relief of a mermaid on the flask and the name Hadesa etched beneath it.
Joe took a hard pull then handed it back to the old man, "Hadesa. Is that the name of a ship or a woman?"
"That's a woman's name, lad. I've loved two things in my life - the sea and my beautiful Hadesa."
The old man took a drink and handed it back. Joe saw that the man's hand was trembling as he passed over the flask.
"Did you ever love someone so much that love became a sorrow?" asked the old salt looking out to the black sea.
"Can't say that I have," said Joe, "it's the leaving part that's a sorrow, the love was always good."
"Then you've never known the depths of true love," said the old man reaching for the flask and taking another swallow before returning it to his pocket.
"I've ached with love for Hadesa since we first met, but I love her more now than ever even after all our years together."
"Then what are you doing out here drinking with me, you old sot?" thought Joe. With the whiskey tucked away, Joe had little desire to share stories of lost love with some drunken old fool.
Sensing his companion's restlessness, the old man said, "Up ahead is a cove where I often watch the sunrise. I keep a bottle stashed up there. Care for a lash before before setting sail?"
With the promise of more drink, Joe decided to endure the old man's company awhile longer... but the idea of loving someone so much that it became sorrow, well, that was plain wrong. You might as well say that sugar is salt and the moon is the sun. It was the absence of love that brought sorrow, not the act itself.
As they reached the old man's cove, Joe felt a prickling on his skin, the feeling you get as you watch a huge swell gather strength before it breaks hard across the bow. The air grew heavy and thick as the darkness of the night pressed in on him.
The cove was silent save for the sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks. Plumes of icy spray slashed into the night air. Damon appeared unmoved by the oppressive atmosphere and guided Joe to a nearby alcove where a deep crevice provided refuge from the tempestuous sea.
"Sit down, lad," said Damon, gesturing to a large rock. "Don't be afraid. The sea can't touch us here."
Joe hesitated for a moment before sitting down. The small alcove was smothered in seaweed and bleached shells, leftover relics from the ocean's relentless sweep. There were pieces of frayed netting, two barnacle-covered buoys, a corroded rope cleaver with its handle tightly wound, and an old wooden box perched atop a pile of driftwood. As if called forth by the sea itself, the man extracted a crusted bottle from a broken crate and proffered it to Joe.
"Brandy, lad. Brought up from the deep. It'll keep you warm on a night such as this."
Joe took the bottle and raised it to his lips. The liquid burned his throat, but he welcomed its warmth. He took another swig then passed the bottle back to the old man.
"So, Damon, you old sea dog,” said Joe, breaking the silence. "Tell me about your sorrowful love for Hadesa. She's a mermaid, isn’t she? Something fanciful like that? All you old salts have your feminine fish tales."
The old man's face grew serious, and Joe could see a flicker of anger in his eyes.
"Hadesa is no mermaid. She's a siren! A ancient creature of the sea that binds sailors to them with their song, both fearsome and beautiful they are, and she's as real as you and me."
Joe's eyes widened in surprise and he almost laughed. This 'love so great it was sorrow' was about a flippin' siren straight from Jason and the Argonauts. The old man was either having a laugh or he had no oars left in the water.
"Let me tell you a bit of truth, old man, before you spin your yarn," said Joe riding the liquor's courage, "Whenever a ship crashed onto the rocks - or any other convenient disaster - the sailors and the shipowners, well, they needed someone to blame and so they invented the myth of the sirens, which I see as an excuse for poor piloting. Oh Great Ulysses, it must have been the melodious song of the siren's luring us on to those rocks; and not bad luck or the shite weather or too much vino for the helmsman."
Damon shook his head. "You young lads think you have it all sorted, but you can never fathom the mysteries that lie beyond your schoolbooks and fancy learning. Such mysteries have been around since before the first ship took to sea. I say to you now that sirens are real, and that my sweet Hadesa is no fanciful tale!”
"All right, old fellow, calm down. Give us another pull from that bottle and tell me your story."
The old man shot a harsh look at Joe then passed the bottle to him and began, "I met Hadesa when I was not yet 18 years of age. Our ship, a trader called The Gallant, was running before a great storm. The Captain decided to take refuge behind the Island of Benbecula up in the Outer Hebrides. I was one of a group of men sent ashore to gather fresh water before the storm hit. We never made it to shore for we fell under the siren's call, Hadesa's call."
Joe frowned, "And what exactly was her call?"
Damon beckoned for another swig of the brandy before continuing. "It's hard to explain to one who's never heard it. The siren's call is like a song that fills your head with wonder and overwhelms your heart. All you can think of is how much you love the song and how much you desire the songstress. You would kill your own mother just to keep hearing that beautiful music. It’s everything a man could ever desire."
"Bullocks," said Joe.
The old man ignored him and continued, "She surfaced not far from our dinghy. She was so young and beautiful then. She rose from the sea naked, her long blonde hair twinkling with tiny shells, a bountiful bosom, and eyes as green as the calmest seas. She was a sight to behold, lad. And then she began to sing to us and her voice was so achingly beautiful that we all wanted her. We were like dogs after a bitch in heat. We abandoned our boat and swam out to her, each one of us lost in her beautiful song and our desire to be the first to have her."
"And then what happened?" asked Joe, his voice barely holding back a laugh imagining some aquatic orgy with a mermaid and a bunch of young horny sailors.
Damon leaned back, his eyes taking on a faraway look, "She devoured my shipmates, one by one, saving me for the last. Their bones cracked beneath her powerful jaws, her delicate face ripped out their guts, and through all of that horror, I loved her more. Through the blood and the gore, I loved her. That song, her beautiful sweet song, wrapped around my heart and held me captive. I watched her with unbearable longing for my turn to be with her."
Joe chuckled, "That's quite a tale, old man. But for the sake of argument, how did you survive when all of your mates got gobbled up by your one true carnivorous love?"
"When it came to be my turn, I looked into deep into her eyes and she into mine. There was something in the way that she held my gaze that bound our souls together. Was it love or mere pity that moved her to spare my life? I do not know, but spare me she did. She asked only that I love and care for her. And I always have. Hadesa has followed me halfway around the world and I remain faithful to her still. Not out of pity but out of love. For I have always loved her, holding nothing back until the day I draw my last breath."
Joe applauded then commented, "Bravo, sir. Cheers for that wonderful tale. The next time you're in the Black Anchor, the drinks are on me. And on that note, I think I'll call it a night."
"But you can't leave yet."
"No? And why not?"
"Because you don't believe me."
"Well, of course I don't believe you. It's a fanciful yarn. You old salts are full of them."
"But I can prove it's true."
"And how could you possibly do that?"
"Because she's coming here tonight. To this very cove."
"Alright, I'm done. Good night, Damon," said Joe as he started to turn away from the old man.
But then the two men heard a splash and the lilting sound of a young woman's voice filling the alcove with the sweetest music. Joe closed his eyes and forgot all about leaving. He felt a surge of warmth run through his body. All of his pains eased away as the blood rushed to every extremity with a stirring visit to his crotch.
"She calls to us," said Damon, "She calls to both of us. Come, Joe, let us go and look upon her."
"So beautiful," said Joe, but then another snippet of song echoed around the alcove and the tenderness of the voice wrapped itself around him like Jenny used to wrap her arms and legs around him back when she still loved him, back when she swore she would never leave him.
"I am loved," Joe whispered.
The old man smiled like an eager schoolboy, "Yes, young man, she waits for us. Hadesa is calling!"
Joe laughed as if he was swimming in alcohol and lost forever in the loving touch of Jenny's embrace. Love poured over him in waves and he was lost to the siren's call.
"Yes," said Joe, "please, take me to her."
The two men clawed their way along the sharp rocks, bracing themselves against the crashing waves that threatened to pull them into the chaotic sea. The wind howled and the swells reached out for them, but the distant song of the siren drove them onward.
They finally made it to the rock's edge, staring out into the inky blackness that stretched before them. The wind shrieked its demands, as if daring each man to take another step and be sucked down to a watery grave. The waves crashed spewing foam and salty spray into their eyes but they stood fast, mesmerised by a voice that only they could hear.
Joe felt nothing but love in his heart as he stared into the blackened depths of the cove. Through a haze of churning waves he saw her slowly rise like a spirit released from the darkest shadow. When she emerged, and he got his first clear look at her, Joe could not have loved her more, more than Jenny, more than the booze, more than life itself. Her skin was corpse-white and her long grey hair was matted with seaweed and fishing line. Netting pulled tight across her naked torso like a straight jacket. Vicious hooks pierced into her bloated and ravaged breasts. She sang as barnacles clung to her face and tiny crabs skittered across her emerald eyes that glinted like gems in the moonlight. Joe’s throat tightened as their eyes met - her eyes so green and set with such sweet hunger, her lips cracked and swollen resting along long rows of razor sharp teeth. His desire for her was primal and overwhelming; he wanted nothing more than to possess this beautiful creature no matter what the cost. Her bewitching song bore into his mind and dashed away all reason save his burning desire for her. He would pay any price for her affections for he had never felt a love so powerful or a passion of such fevered agony.
The old man was sobbing next to him. He reached over and touched Joe's hand and spoke, "You see her, don't you? You see how beautiful she is. She only wants to be loved."
"I see her," said Joe, "And she's everything you said. So beautiful. Sweet lovely Hadesa."
"And you see what they've done to her. The fisherman. The sharks. She's hurt and wounded and can no longer hunt for herself."
"Poor Hadesa, my poor beautiful Hadesa."
"She followed me all around the world - and I cared for her - but I will be gone soon so someone else must care for her now. Someone who loves her. Do you love her, Joe?"
“Oh yes, I love her with all my heart."
The siren looked at him with weeping eyes as deep as the ocean and as threatening as the greatest storm. The love Joe saw in those eyes was without end. His love for Jenny was a mockery of what he felt for this creature. "
"Hadesa, my one true love," said Joe, "What have they done to you?"
"Will you care for her, young man?" asked Damon.
"Yes, I'll care for her."
Joe imagined himself leaping into the water and swimming out to her, their lips meeting and their bodies intwined in passion as she devoured him with her ravenous love. An orgasm of pain wracked through his body. He wanted to be with her, to have her, to surrender to her, today, tomorrow, and forever.
"And will you feed her?"
"Yes, I will feed her."
"Every couple of days, she needs to be fed. You need to bring her food. Fresh food. The kind she likes."
"Yes. She needs to eat, my lovely Hadesa."
"And you will feed her... men."
"Whatever she desires."
"Then it's settled."
The old man looked at the siren for the last time. Tears strewn down his face as she stared back at him, licking her swollen lips, her eyes filled with desire and anticipation. The old man pulled a knife from his coat pocket and handed it to Joe. Joe looked down at the knife and then into face of the old sailor.
"Remember, feed her every two days, do not let her go hungry for more than three days or she will weaken and-"
Joe drove the knife deep into the old man's neck then drew it savagely across his carotid artery. The blood spurted warm and black under the moonlight. Damon gasped as Joe drove the knife into his midsection and sawed upwards until the blade met the old man's rib cage. Joe's hands were thick with blood as the man collapsed upon the rocks.
"You must ... feed her..." stammered the dying old man.
Hadesa sang to Joe as he stripped off Damon's coat and shirt. Her song grew more angelic as he cut through the skin around the old man's arm and she filled him with renewed passion as he hacked away at the tendons and muscles that bound the arm to the shoulder. Joe placed his boot on the old man's chest and wrenched away until the arm snapped from its socket. Joe turned from the lifeless body and offered the old man's appendage to the sea.
A strong wave brought the arm to Hadesa and she fell on it, her razor sharp teeth tearing into the meaty flesh of her old faithful lover. Joe watched in awe as she devoured her food and he ached to be with her. She was the love of his life and he wanted her so badly. When she finished savouring the last morsel of man flesh, she sang to him again and the melody resonated deeply within his soul. She sang to him of their mutual desire and passion and Joe knew that he would never be lonely again.
Joe felt the knife in his hand and knew that true love required sacrifice. He could never make that sacrifice for Jenny, but for Hadesa, he would do anything. He knelt down to the old man's body and began stripping away the rest of his clothes. Her sensual voice filled him with a white-hot fever as he hacked away at the old man’s flesh separating meat from bone. He would care for Hadesa until his last dying breath for her song filled him with love.
© Anthony Roberts, 2024.
