Raven opens a bright, black eye at the sounds of The Old Woman’s rustling as she shuffles out of the cave into the dawn. Now that he is awake, he finds his situation immensely boring. Little Snake moves as slowly as a tortoise in the chill cave, making her a poor candidate for tricking. He could tear a hole in the tapestry, or drop a ladle in the wrong cauldron, but he has played all those tricks and he wants to find some new mischief. Raven gives The Old Woman a bit of a head start, but he hasn’t the patience to wait longer than necessary. He flies out of the cave and soars high, careful not to cast a shadow on The Old Woman as she treads down the cliff steps.
Now that the last of the snow has melted, The Old Woman walks round the island to the protected cove on the northwest shore that lies in the lee of the southeasterly storms. Just as the plants of the island feel drawn out of the earth, shedding winter’s soil cocoon, The Old Woman senses that today is ripe for a spring cleaning. She strips off all her warm layers and stands naked on the beach as the brisk spring breeze lifts her hair and goosebumps. She carries her bundle of clothes, wading waist-deep into the frigid water, and washes them. Her legs feel like a thousand needles are pricking her and her toes ache where they nestle in the seaweed-slick seabed. Overhead, the clumps of soft white clouds darken, and rain drops begin to fall. The Old Woman emerges from the water to drape her clothes over boulders for the clouds to rinse clean. She then returns to the ocean, pushing her aching hands out in front of her as she swims under. Somehow, the cold water rushing past her whole body feels better than just standing half in and half out. As she returns to the surface to breathe, the water swishes past her leg where a Murrelet dives down. Curious Seals swim closer and she speaks sweetly with them.
As she stands in the water, rubbing her hands over her body, The Old Woman sloughs off the dead skin of winter and sings songs of decay and renewal to her Sister Sea. When her legs burn and her toes and fingers finally succumb to the cold, The Old Woman turns and walks slowly back out to the beach where she finds the boulders bare and wet. She stands shivering as the rain mixes with briny sea water sliding down her skin and she looks all about for a hint of where Trickster Raven has hidden her clothes.
His soft chuckle, “Rha, rha, rha,” gives him away.
The Old Woman looks up into the rain to find that Raven has hung her garments from the bare branches of a tall Cottonwood tree. Mumbling to herself about “only that Raven” and how the sticky Cottonwood buds were sure to get all over everything, she trudges around the rest of the island until she reaches the path up to the top of the cliffs. Along the way, she cannot help but notice that the young Willows look particularly bright and yellow today, and the Alders’ red branches appear so bold against the grey of the clouds.
“Why have you put my clothes way up here?” she complains to Raven.
“I thought you might like to smell of spring after your bath,” he explains with mock-innocence.
The rain-soaked clothes are much too high for a human to reach, but The Old Woman is another kind of being entirely. She grows in size until the sky-reaching Cottonwood seems only a sapling to her wise, old eyes. The Old Woman shudders from the cold and the release of old pains: the diminishing, the blaming, and worst of all, the forgetting. She tries to pluck the cloth carefully from the tree, but her shaking hands tear a rip in the fabric when it catches on a branch.
As The Old Woman sighs, an idea stirs in Raven’s clever mind. He spreads his wings and flaps back down to the cave, leaving The Old Woman to wonder what new trouble he is concocting. When at last she has liberated her clothes from the Cottonwood tree, she wrings them out upon the ground and returns, still nude, to the cave to dry off and warm up.
The Old Woman shrinks again in size in order to enter the cave, darting discerning eyes about in search of Raven. As she hangs her clothes near the embers to dry, she spots him up on his perch, looking deceptively calm. She adds driftwood to the fire and blows on the coals to waken them, wondering what he could be hiding this time.
Raven does not have to wait long before The Old Woman discovers that her Porcupine quill needles have all gone missing. He derives great pleasure from pretending to sleep, but watching surreptitiously as she hunts through her baskets and pots and in the cracks of the cave floor for a single needle with which to mend her torn garment.
“Raven, have you seen my sewing needles?” she asks, knowing perfectly well that he has.
“Why? Do you need them?”
“Oh, at some point I shall have to mend this tear,” she replies nonchalantly. “You know, that reminds me of a story…”
“Klook! Klook! Tell! Tell!” Raven hops up, puffing out his neck feathers.
“Sometime, sometime,” The Old Woman echoes back, shuffling over to the fire to get a bowl of broth and another of herbal tea. She takes her time in drinking her breakfast, then rinsing out her dishes in the waterfall beside the cave entrance. Raven’s patience gives out when she begins to sweep out the cave.
“Here!” he cries out exasperatedly, picks up one of the needles, and flies over to drop it into her hair.
“Ah,” she remarks, “I thought you might know where they were.” But The Old Woman leaves the quill needle in her hair as she continues with her morning chores.
Raven paces restlessly on his perch. He is caught in a trap of his own making and he knows it. The Trickster in him wants to retaliate for how long The Old Woman is putting off telling her story, but he is clever enough to realize that the more pranks he plays, the longer he will have to wait. He tries to think of a way to trick her into telling the story sooner…
Raven flies out of the cave once more, returning with a squat little Shrew in his beak. This he also drops in The Old Woman’s hair and the terrified rodent tries to burrow into the wet strands.
“I brought you breakfast, Little Snake!” Raven croaks into the cave. “Come and get it!”
Little Snake stirs as The Old Woman sets aside her broom to try and catch the Shrew scampering about the back of her head. When she sees Little Snake slithering toward her, she decides to kneel down and let the reptile hunt the rodent before her long hair becomes a nest. After she swallows her breakfast, Little Snake reminds The Old Woman that she still has a Porcupine quill in her hair.
The Old Woman rises to her feet and pulls the quill free. “Now where was I?” asks aloud.
“You were going to mend your clothes and tell us a story!” Raven calls out before she has a chance to recall her morning chores.
“Ah, yes, the sewing story.” The Old Woman slides her chair closer to the fire, for she is still nude and chilled from her morning wash. Lifting the torn garment from where it hangs by the fire, she threads her needle and begins to stitch. Raven alights on the shelf above the cauldrons, Little Snake curls up beside her to digest, and she begins her tale.
“There once lived a curious Mermaid with hair like seaweed fronds and skin the deep olive green of bull kelp stipes. She liked to swim to the ocean surface to watch the birds—”
“Ravens?”
“More like Herons, Seagulls, Cormorants, Eagles…” The Old Woman lists with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“I don’t even know why I wanted to hear this story,” Raven grumbles, tucking his head under his wing, feigning sleep.
The Old Woman continues, “She liked to feel the sun on her face, and peek at the Martens, Deer, and the occasional Bear and Wolf along the shorelines. Sometimes, she caught sight of fishing boats and enjoyed watching Human families with children. Her favorite moments included the few times when she locked eyes with a particularly astute youngster of any species, and her whole body tingled.
“One sunny morning, The Mermaid pulled out of the ocean to bask amongst the seals upon a bare rock they favored. As her head dried, green fronds turned to shiny black hair. Likewise, her kelp-green skin dried to a deep coppery shade, and her silver fish-scaled tail dried into two human legs, complete with feet. Absorbed in her daydream under the early morning sun, she did not hear the fishing boat motor until after the seals splashed noisily into the water.
“The Mermaid went to join them when a voice called to her from the boat. She stopped to listen to the words that sounded both strange and familiar. Marveling that she understood such a foreign tongue, she forgot to respond. The boat captain, a young Fisherman, turned off his engine and drifted close enough to step a foot out of the boat and onto the skerry where The Mermaid stood, nude and glorious. Reaching out a hand, he invited her aboard his boat.
“At that moment, The Mermaid knew she had a choice. She could dive off the rock and swim back into her ocean home, or she could take The Fisherman’s hand and embark on a new adventure. Being who she was, the choice was obvious.
“Nestling her safely inside the boat, The Fisherman offered her his diesel-scented spare clothes and rain gear. She moved awkwardly in all the heavy layers of clothing he insisted she wear. He fed her his strange human food, but she preferred the raw halibut he had just caught.
“Between fishing openings, The Fisherman returned to his home town. His friends and family were unsure what to make of the woman he claimed to have found out on a seal skerry with not a stitch of clothing on her. She called herself a Mermaid. Everyone thought those were just fairy tale characters, yet no other explanation seemed to fit.
“The Mermaid had such great fun on her escapades with The Fisherman that when he asked her to marry him, she agreed. She did not really understand what he was asking of her, but he looked so excited and earnest. She figured marriage must be a way of seeing the world from a whole new perspective, like looking down at the ocean from a boat, when all you have ever done is look up from below the water’s surface.
“Word spread through the small town and The Fisherman’s friends and family began to prepare for the wedding. One of these people was a hollow-eyed young woman who never felt quite at home in her own skin. Though her hair was as dark as a muskeg pool, her skin was pale as the underside of a halibut from all the time she spent moping indoors instead of moving about under the sun. She kept to herself, lost in daydreams of a love that would whisk her away to some faraway joy. The townspeople whispered that she caused her loneliness herself, but her Mother carried that same hollow-eyed look.
“In charge of decorations was an Elder Woman with skin the color of cedar bark, and black hair streaked with white. Without saying a word, she directed the young people in draping fabric, hanging lights, and arranging tables and chairs in the town hall. The Lonely Girl came to help decorate, bringing a long, silvery cloth speckled with charcoal grey dots. The cloth glistened in the candlelight, but every time she wrapped it around a railing, or draped it from the rafters, the Elder Woman undid her work. The Lonely Girl had to start all over again in some other part of the hall.
“The Mermaid and The Fisherman walked into the hall to see how the preparations were coming along. He was explaining how the ceremony would bind them together for the rest of their lives. The Mermaid stared at him, then she laughed. In a voice clear as a bell over water, she announced to all in the town hall that the adventure had been fun, and now she was ready to return to the ocean.
“As she was turning to leave the shocked people, The Mermaid stopped short at the sight of The Lonely Girl holding her speckled, silvery cloth.
“‘I have seen you before,’ The Mermaid told her. ‘You were underwater and your hair was swirling above your head.’ With a broad grin, she added impetuously, ‘Do you want to come with me?’
“The Lonely Girl shocked herself by responding, ‘My grandmother was a Selkie, but I can’t breathe underwater.’ Where did that come from? she wondered. I never knew that about Grammie.
“‘Well, I saw you in the water with your hair swirling above your head,’ The Mermaid repeated.
“The Lonely Girl watched The Mermaid walk out of the town hall, leaving the door hanging open behind her. She gazed after The Mermaid until she could no longer see her. Jolting as if suddenly awake, The Lonely Girl dropped the shiny cloth she was still holding and ran to her house.
“As usual, her Mother didn’t look up when The Lonely Girl raced through the door and up the ladder to the attic. All that remained of her grandparents resided in two cedar wood trunks. Opening her Grammie’s first, she pulled everything out until the contents lay in heaps about her, but she found no sealskin. After heaving a deep sigh, she recalled the old tales of how a Selkie could not return to the water if her skin were hidden from her. So, The Lonely Girl tore through her Granddad’s trunk until she found a strange, spotted, silvery bundle tucked in the pocket of his favorite old jacket.
“When she brought the bundle down out of the dim light of the attic, The Lonely Girl discovered two things. The first was that the pattern looked just like the cloth she had been trying to decorate the town hall with for the wedding. The next was that it was not cloth at all, but an empty-eyed seal face and four sharp-clawed flippers. The fur was the softest she had ever felt. Clutching the bundle to her chest, she raced back to the town hall.
“The Elder Woman stood silent in the middle of the hall, holding the discarded cloth as if expecting The Lonely Girl’s return. The younger woman ran her hand over the smooth, silvery length, first in one direction, and then in the opposite. She was not surprised when the fur lifted up.
“‘How did you know?’ The Lonely Girl asked the Elder Woman.
“‘I watched your grandmother come out of the water and shed her skin.’
“‘Why wouldn’t you let me help decorate?’
“‘This wedding was never meant to happen, and that skin was never meant to dress a building.’
“‘What do I do now?’
“‘You must stitch the skin back together the way it grew.’
“‘Will The Fisherman be alright?’
“‘He thought he was a hero for rescuing a damsel in distress, but she was never powerless, nor in need of rescuing.’ The Elder Woman’s eyes seemed to penetrate deep into The Lonely Girl’s, as if seeing a truth the younger woman had not dared to look at within herself. ‘Thankfully, he is still young while he learns that wild women do not like to be collected and kept as heroes’ prizes. It was much too late for both of your grandparents when your grandfather realized his mistake.’ With that, The Elder Woman turned and set about un-decorating the town hall while the young women tried to console The Fisherman in his shock and disappointment.
“Wondering what The Elder Woman had meant, The Lonely Girl returned home to find needles, thread, and scissors.
“‘What are you doing with Grammie’s wrap?’ her Mother asked, barely glancing up at her daughter.
“‘Mending it,’ The Lonely Girl absently replied.
“She quickly found that the mending needed to be done outside, down at the shore. The scissors and thread were useless, for the long skin wrap was made of strips sewn together with sinew, end to end. As she unknotted and pulled the sinew free, she saw as if in a waking dream how her Granddad had discovered her Grammie, dancing under a full moon, her belly curved around an unborn child. She saw how he had taken her Grammie’s Selkie skin, and promised to give it back after seven years. She watched in horror how her Granddad promised to feed her warm meals, but he snuck off to the town’s midwife for herbs he brewed that caused her Grammie to cry out in pain and bleed until a tiny, lifeless, seal baby slipped from her body. Her Grammie had cried herself to sleep, clutching the baby seal, but in the night, her Granddad stole the baby. He tossed the little body back into the ocean, washing the blood from his hands before he went home. In secret, afraid that she would leave him, he cut the head and flippers from her sealskin, wrapped them up as tightly as he could, and tucked them in his pocket. Even that was not enough to allay his fears, so he sliced her Selkie skin into strips and sewed them together with the sinew from a deer he had hunted.
“After seven years, her Grammie asked for her Selkie skin back. He gave her the spotted silvery wrap all packaged as a gift. In his mind, he had won: he gave the skin back as promised, and he got to keep his prize.”
“That’s quite the trick,” appraises Raven.
“That’s quite the cruel trick,” Little Snake amends.
Rolling her needle lightly between her forefinger and thumb, the Old Woman twists its spiral tip into the fabric in her lap. “When she pulled the last stitch free,” she continues, “The Lonely Girl laid all the sealskin pieces - including the bundle from her grandfather’s pocket - out on the rocky beach where they could soak up the rich smell of seaweed and tide pools and salty ocean brine. Her Mother found her there, arranging the puzzle pieces of the Selkie skin.
“‘What have you done with Grammie’s wrap?’ the Mother scolded.
“‘Did you know she was a Selkie?’ The Lonely Girl asked, ignoring her Mother’s tone.
“‘That’s nonsense, and now you’ve ruined her wrap!’
“‘It was ruined before I ever got hold of it.’ The Lonely Girl muttered without looking up. But as she placed the head and flippers where they fit, her Mother saw for herself the unmistakable hide of a seal lying on the beach before them.
“‘What - how?’ The Mother asked, bewildered.
“Taking one of the sinews and a needle, The Lonely Girl began to stitch the pieces together - this time as they were meant to go. As she stitched, she told her mother the story she had seen — and continued to see — as she worked. Her Mother picked up another needle and joined in the stitching.
“‘When Granddad handed Grammie her skin all in a long strip, without the head and flippers, the light went out of her eyes,’ The Lonely Girl explained. ‘You were a little girl then.’
“‘I remember that day,’ The Mother spoke quietly, recalling. ‘I remember when Mom kind of… went away. She burrowed into her wrap and stared in front of her, at nothing. She would run her hand over her wrap until it was so smooth we all thought it was made of satin. I would call her and call her, but it was like she couldn’t hear me. Even when she was engaged, she seemed hollow, like a ghost-mother.’
“‘I remember when Grammie stopped recognizing us,’ The Lonely Girl recalled.
“‘I knew something was wrong the day she forgot to wear her wrap. It fell behind her couch and she didn’t even look for it. Before then, she would have been frantic if she couldn’t find her wrap.’
“They stitched together in silence for a while. Then another memory sparked and The Mother spoke, ‘This wasn’t the only part of Grammie that was cut.’
“The Lonely Girl glanced up sharply, ‘What do you mean?’
“‘When I was a little younger than you are, one day she just started bleeding. She must have been entering her transition to menopause. She went to the doctor for help, but instead of finding the reason for the bleeding, he just cut out all of her female organs and sent her home. She retreated into herself even more after that.’
“‘She didn’t have a choice?’ The Lonely Girl asked, eyes wide in horror.
“Her Mother shook her head sadly. After a few more stitches, she spoke softly, ‘They cut you out of me, you know.’
“Shocked, The Lonely Girl responded, ‘You never told me. Why did they?’
“‘You weren’t coming out on their schedule, and maybe they were afraid something would go wrong. The doctors and nurses had seen so many births, they knew all that could go wrong. They carried that fear into every birth — into your birth — even when there was no reason for it.
“‘I remember lying there on the table and I could see my blood pooling on the floor in the reflection on the glass cupboard doors. Stitching Mom’s sealskin back together is reminding me how the midwife stitched me up after they pulled you out. She was a plump little woman and she made a comment about me not having any belly fat. My womb was gaping wide open and she said, ‘I hate you,’ as she sewed me shut, stitching her envy and contempt into my body.’”
“Ohh,” Little Snake shudders. “That’s dark magic.”
“Indeed,” The Old Woman agrees.
“As they sewed and spoke their story aloud, The Lonely Girl, who had only ever shed tears for herself, wept for her Grammie and her Mother. The Mother wept as well, and their tears dissolved the sinew stitches. The cut skin melded back together until at last, they stitched the head on and the skin was whole once more. The Mother lifted her mother’s Selkie skin and draped it over her daughter’s shoulders.
“Whatever magical transformation The Lonely Girl had expected did not happen. Instead, the skin hung, heavy and awkward, just as the human clothes had hung from The Mermaid. Her Mother screwed up her mouth in thought.
“‘Maybe it won’t work because you’re wearing clothes?’ she pondered.
“The Lonely Girl realized with trepidation that her Mother was probably right and that if she wished to transform into a Selkie, she would have to strip naked on the beach where anyone could see her.
“‘Are you coming?’ The Mermaid’s voice startled The Lonely Girl as it traveled across the water from where she peeked out of the kelp bed along the cove. The sight of that Otherworldly woman, who had been found basking, nude and shameless, encouraged The Lonely Girl.
“Shaking with shame and fear and maybe a bit of release, The Lonely Girl stripped off each layer of her clothes until she stood bare and vulnerable on the beach.
“‘Shake it off and let’s go!’ The Mermaid called out from the kelp.
“‘Shake it off,’ The Lonely Girl echoed as inspiration struck. Grabbing her Mother’s hand, she dragged her toward the water. ‘We have to shake it off! We have to shake off all the bad memories!’
“‘Just a minute,’ her Mother exclaimed. ‘Let me get undressed!’
“Hands clasped and bare to the world, the two women walked into the ocean. They stayed in the cold water as long as they could, dunking their heads and feeling their bodies alive and aching. They reemerged on land washed clean of the pain, shivering from more than the cold.
“Hands shaking, teeth chattering, the Mother draped Grammie’s Selkie skin over The Lonely Girl’s shoulders. This time, the seal body fused with the human girl, but she kept her head and feet free so she could kiss her Mother and walk into the ocean. Willing her breath to remain steady as the cold water engulfed her again, The Lonely Selkie walked out until her head sunk below the surface. Her flippers fused around her human feet while The Mermaid swam toward her.
“‘I told you I saw you with your hair swirling above your head,’ she said in that musical way Mermaids speak underwater. With a playful flip of her hand, The Mermaid popped the Selkie Girl’s seal face down and her transformation was complete.
“As the two swam about amongst the kelp, The Selkie asked, ‘Will you miss The Fisherman?’
“‘Sometimes, perhaps. He was always kind to me. Romance is fun, but it’s not the only kind of love. Had he trapped me on land, I would have missed my Mother Ocean even more, and my kin who live here in all forms. Mother Earth is kin, too, but the fish in me would have floundered up there.’ With that, The Mermaid sped ahead, challenging The Selkie to a race.”
“Did the Selkie Girl miss the land?” Little Snake asks groggily. Digesting always makes her sleepy.
“She was free to return whenever she liked,” replies The Old Woman. “Sometimes, she would come back and share the Selkie skin with her Mother so the older woman could swim free and unfettered in the wild ocean. What did you think of the story, Raven?”
“I liked the trick,” he answers, flapping down to perch on the loom.
“Even though it caused so much harm?” points out The Old Woman.
Raven cocks his head to one side. “The Lonely Girl and her Mother wouldn’t have had a Selkie skin at all if the Granddad hadn’t cut it up.”
“But the Selkie could have gone home to her family in the ocean,” yawns Little Snake.
Raven shrugs and flies out into the day. Life is too interesting to let a little rain bog him down. The Old Woman knots her thread and hangs her mended garment back up. She will have to spend the day airing out her weathered, old skin while her clothes dry by the fire. Little Snake is already asleep beside the hearth.
Oh Selkie stories are my favorite and this was delicious! Thank you for sharing this beautiful and magical story!
So much beautiful imagery, a wonderful storytelling!