Ocean Christening

Anansi had chosen a sheltered inlet on the east coast for the ritual. The inlet gave access to the cold Atlantic while offering privacy and protection from the worst of the night surf. Anansi had been here during the day. They knew all about the flags, flapping from bamboo poles, the piles of flowers. The inlet was a place of spiritual importance for various religious groups, particularly popular among the Shouter Baptists and the Hindus. Local myth claimed that the cave at the Northern end of the inlet was home to a mermaid, and that if you brought a special enough offering, the mermaid might grant a wish. Not many ventured inside, and those who did refused to speak of what they saw. Anansi wasn’t sure what they believed, but they figured that if there was a chance of the mermaid being real, they might as well be respectful.

Anansi loved stories. Growing up, their father would tell them stories before bed. Stories about Papa Bois or folktales, such as the one that explained why the turtle had a cracked shell. They always found themselves drawn to the tricksters. Loki, with his genderfluidity, was particularly special to Anansi, but they were not of that culture.

It was a gamble to show up without material goods, but Anansi hoped to offer something else. Their sister was napping in their car, just a short walk away from the beach. They hoped that if something went wrong, she would hear and be able to help. As much as Anansi knew that this moment was a personal one, that their sister agreed to accompany them in the dead of night to perform the ritual meant more than they could ever fully express. After taking a moment to breathe in deeply and center themself, Anansi was ready to begin.

The moon hung low in the sky, looming large overhead and illuminating the strip of beach where Anansi stood. A Pierrot Grenade costume lay discarded on the damp sand, its many strips of coloured cloth fluttering in the sea breeze. In the pale light, the inlet’s rocks seemed sharper and more jagged, while lighter colours, such as the foaming waves, glowed ethereally. Anansi turned towards the candles they had stuck to. For this ritual, Anansi had placed a black candle, a blue candle, and a white candle on the rocks, near to where the waves were breaking. The colours just seemed right for what they were about to do, though in the moonlight, the darker candles looked black while the white candle glowed.

Focusing on the calm rhythm to the ebb and flow of the water, Anansi could feel the song within them swell to a new urgency. They lit the three candles. 

The song changed within them once again; it was time. They took a deep breath before wading into the breaking waves. They paid attention to the pull of the water, mindful of the possibility of seaward currents, even in this sheltered area. As they bobbed in the water, the ground not too far below their feet, Anansi closed their eyes and focused on the song. It had no words, and was sometimes a hum, sometimes a cacophony of sound, always strongest near the sea. The song filled Anansi’s with this invisible symphony and the more they focused, something within them expanded.

A conch shell sounded. All was still, as if nature itself held its breath after that sound. The deep bellow startled Anansi’s eyes open. They were no longer alone. A feminine figure with long locs floated less than a foot away, her dark skin taking on a bluish hue in the moonlight. Anansi swiped their hand across their face to make sure they weren’t seeing things. The mermaid’s eyes seemed bottomless in the ghostly light. Her lips stretched into a smile, revealing row upon row of pointy teeth. Anansi instantly thought of sharks. It took all of their effort to maintain their composure.

The mermaid spoke without changing her toothy grin, directly into Anansi’s mind. Yuh different. What yuh want? Images of gold or filled fishing nets flashed in Anansi’s mind, offers of what the mermaid could give.

Anansi shook their head. “I want you to witness something.” They were painfully aware of the effort it took to remain afloat as they watched the mermaid’s stillness. The mermaid’s expression remained inscrutable, but she hadn’t tried to drown Anansi yet, so they pressed their point. They tried to share a series of memories—stories—with the mermaid, unsure of exactly how to express their thoughts. There was a flutter of excitement from the mermaid as she observed what Anansi shared with them.

I witness your testimony. Wait here, they commanded, before disappearing beneath the surface of the water. 

Anansi complied but couldn’t shake the feeling that they were at the mercy of the mermaid. The thought of being dragged beneath the water did not leave their mind.

After several minutes, however, the mermaid returned.

This is for you. The mermaid approached Anansi with a small shell.

Anansi accepted it graciously, tucking it into their binder, where it wouldn’t get lost. “Thank you.”

Go forth Anansi, child of the sea.

The mermaid’s head sank slowly into the water until she was no longer visible, not even a ripple to tell of her recent presence. Anansi could no longer sense another consciousness at the periphery of their own. They were alone with the stars again.

Stories were already churning in Anansi’s mind as they swam back to shore. They stood dripping on the sand and looked up at the stars. They’d been prepared for only those glowing points of light to witness them. They felt for the shell tucked into their binder. The sea’s blackness was as opaque as it had always been, but Anansi could feel the mermaid’s song, the enduring song, and their heart felt full knowing that their renaming had been witnessed. This experience would also become a song or a poem. They left their costume and the still-burning candles, climbing up the incline to their sister and the car they both shared. Anansi smiled as they watched her for a moment, then knocked on the car window.

Their sister jolted awake and unlocked the doors. “How was it?” she asked, yawning widely.

“Good.”

“What should I call you now?”

“Anansi?”

“Alright Anansi, lewe go home.”

© 2022 Karyn De Freitas

About the Author

Karyn De Freitas is a writer, academic, and activist coming from Trinidad and Tobago. She considers herself a “wack-of-all-trades,” recklessly engaging in art and creation. You can find one of her poems in issue 4 of Eye to the Telescope. Follow her on Twitter: @pandaraUwU.