Since this story grew out of the Scandinavian tale, “Agnete og Havmanden,” and specifically, the Danish band Virelai’s version1 of the ballad, I encourage you to listen to them sing and play before you read the tale I have woven. This was their story long before I put words to it. I hope you enjoy!
Raven pelts through a white world where the sky and the land blur. His equilibrium shifts and he can’t make out whether he is falling up or flying down. He catches sight of something dark and follows it, upside down or right side up, he can’t be sure. As his eyes adjust, he recognizes the wings and back of a Seagull, an unusual schist-grey shade, and he rights himself midair. Through the snow, Raven follows the Seagull across the island until he spots The Old Woman below, shoving the snow from her cliffside path. The Seagull alights on a nearby boulder and turns an eye on the topsy-turvy Raven. Keeping sight of the steady Old Woman, Raven lands near enough to speak with the strange Gull.
“Where have you been out in this storm?” The Old Woman later asks when Raven flaps in through the cave opening and alights on his usual perch above the hearth. She has pulled her weaving chair close to the fire and is resting her back and limbs that ache from the constant shoveling she has had to do to keep the snow from sealing in the cave. The enormous pile of driftwood she gathered for winter has dwindled. She hopes it will last until the snow melts enough for her to find and gather more wood.
“Rhaak! I have been channeling my inner snowflake,” Raven enigmatically replies. As if to illustrate, melting snow slides from his slick feathers and sizzles on the hearth fire.
Spirit, who sits upon The Old Woman’s loom, opens one blue eye and comments scornfully, “You make a terrible snowflake. You’re not even the right color.”
“I noticed that you didn’t even bother to leave the cave,” retorts Raven.
“That’s because I didn’t want to become one with the snow. We can’t all of us be immortal like you.”
“The blizzard didn’t seem to bother the Seagulls,” Raven comments as he preens himself. “I met one, by the way, who came from a cove far away.”
“I hear a story coming,” smiles The Old Woman. “Let me get my spindle before you begin.”
Raven continues preening his feathers as if he had not heard her.
“I am ready now,” The Old Woman announces, but Raven pretends to ignore her. The Old Woman rolls her spindle down her thigh and begins to draft the fibers. She knows Raven will speak when he is good and ready and not before.
“The dark-winged Gull said that many generations ago, the Seagulls thought they knew everyone who lived in and around their cove, from the Herrings who spawned on the edge between Winter and Spring, to the Whales and Porpoises who swam through in the Summer, to the Salmon who returned to the cove and up the stream that emptied there. They knew the Ravens and Eagles, Herons, Cormorants, and Scoters who ate alongside them. They knew the Spruces and Hemlocks whose tannins kept the cove healthy, and the Five-Fingered Ones who had built a town along the water’s edge. But there was one creature they had never met before, and that was the Havmanden.
“His first appearance was quite subtle. One moment, the slate-blue water was as dark and dense as ever, and the next, a pale shape rose from the depths. The Seagulls could see everything as they hovered in the wind. At first, they thought they were seeing a white Sea Lion, for he swam and hunted powerfully like one, but when the creature broke the surface, they saw his flippers were long like the Five-Fingered Ones’, and his whiskers looked more like a man’s beard, green as shallow water.
“The Sea-Man came up with a Fish in his mouth, so of course, the Seagulls descended in search of scraps. With so many Birds flying at his face, he dove back under the water. To their surprise, he swam circles around the school of Herring, sending them up toward the paddling feet of the hungry Seagulls. After they had eaten their fill, the Seagulls asked the creature about himself, talking over each other in their shrill way.
“He explained that he was a Havmanden, and that his kind usually kept to the depths, far beneath the storms that blow and rage upon the surface of the sea. The trouble was, he told the Gulls, that the Fish were growing fewer and fewer, and his kind were going hungry. Braving the bright Sun and the rough surface, the Havmanden set out to find out why the Fish were disappearing, and what he could do about it.
“As the Havmanden spoke, some of the Seagulls lifted up into the salty air and swept down upon a figure walking along the strand. This person was as familiar to them as the Havmanden was foreign, as she had come to visit them nearly every day since she was a wee girl. She walked the beach looking for Kelp, Goosetongue, Beach Asparagus, or Butter Clams, whatever the tide provided. The Seagulls recognized her by the golden top of her head and her dark, heavy boots. They flocked around, hoping to catch some of the crumbs or bits of gristle she held out in her hands, or left on the driftwood where they could pick them up.
“The Havmanden paused his speech to watch the Five-Fingered One on the land, who spoke to the Seagulls and fed them from her hands. He murmured to the nearest Gulls that he had never seen one alive before, only the occasional dead body drifting down from one of the famed surface storms.
“Who is that, whose hair glistens like the Sun?” the Havmanden asked, his voice as deep as the dark sea.
“That is our Agnete,’ the Seagulls replied.
“The Havmanden slid beneath the surface of the water, and the Seagulls watched his pale form propel into the shallows. The tide was low and still ebbing as Agnete dug for Clams. Out she wandered, following a trail of spitting holes that showed her where to dig. The Seagulls hung in the air overhead, some slapping their webbed feet beside her. From time to time, she straightened up and stretched, then tossed a handful of the Clams for the Gulls to enjoy.
“Perhaps because they already knew he was there, the Seagulls noticed the Havmanden’s face rising up out of the water long before Agnete did. The next time she stretched, however, she yelped and tripped backward. Her bucket of Clams spilled and the Seagulls happily flocked around the feast, scattering to crack the Clams against the rocks.
“They were too distracted with the Clams to see just how Agnete and the Havmanden met, but after that initial shock, Agnete did not fear him. Each day the two creatures hurried to the sand, where the sea met the land, throwing crumbs and fish tails to the Gulls so absentmindedly that eventually they abandoned their efforts entirely. They became enraptured of each other to the forgetting of all else. The Havmanden invited Agnete to swim, and though the Seagulls cried out, reminding the pale figures in the water to send food, the two just splashed about until Agnete shivered with the cold, and her lips turned as blue as the Havmanden’s skin.
“Then she would leave him and the water behind as she lit a fire on the beach, shaking and dripping all the while. She invited him out to join her by the burning logs, but though the two shared similar figures, the Havmanden was not made to breathe air, just as Agnete could not breathe in the water.
“The last time the Seagulls saw the top of Agnete’s golden head, she left her clothes in a pile on the beach, and walked into the arms of the Havmanden waiting for her in the sea. He spread a paste over her eyes, her ears, her mouth, and together, the two pale swimmers dove into the cove. Other Five-Fingered Ones came to the beach, calling her name into the night. They floated out in boats, shining lights into the dark. They found her clothes, but they never found Agnete.
“The Seagulls hatched eggs, and they raised their young on the stories of Agnete and her Clams, of the mysterious Havmanden, and the simple disappearance of them both. The hatchlings grew into adults and laid their own eggs. Generations of Seagulls passed, each telling their young the strange tale of Agnete and the Havmanden, until none of the Seagulls really believed it anymore.
“Just at that juncture, when memory turned into legend, a pale figure rose up out of the depths. With all of the snow and the wind of the winter storm, the Seagulls did not at first notice the golden head that emerged from the schist-grey sea. Soon enough, though, a Gull cried and the others followed to watch the pale one slowly bob and tumble her way towards the shore. She reminded them of the story their parents and grandparents had told them, and so they called out to her.
“‘Are you Agnete? Our Agnete? From the old stories?’
“When she reached the strand, so dark at the tide, compared to the snow piling up above, she stood and wiped her ears and mouth. Then she turned to look up at the crying Gulls. Blinking the snowflakes from her eyes, she answered them.
“‘Yes, I am Agnete. Your Agnete. The eldest of you may have been hatching eggs when last I saw you, but the Gulls I knew must be long passed on by now.’
“Agnete did not stand still for long. She stumbled through the snow, her gait stiff and unbalanced as she made her way back to the town. The Seagulls watched her golden hair disappear under a blanket of white, until she herself disappeared inside one of the nests of the Five-Fingered Ones.
“Night howled in with the swirling snowflakes. The following dawn yawned sleepily into day, keeping one eye shut while the clouds remained thick and the snow blew in the wind. Despite the storm, the sharp-eyed Seagulls saw the green-haired Havmanden rise to the surface. Other pale figures rose like bubbles around the green-bearded one, their heads popping out of the water in shades of green and gold.
“With sad eyes, the green-bearded one looked up at the white Gulls circling overhead. Some settled on the water, their shrill voices overlapping those of the Havmanden’s children.
“‘Are you the Havmanden?’
“‘The one who took our Agnete to the bottom of the sea?’
“‘Have you seen our Mama?’
“‘Agnete, our Agnete, came back yesterday.’
“‘That’s our Mama! Where did she go?’
“‘She went to her nest.’
“‘We landed on the roof of Agnete’s nest.’
“‘Why did she leave us?’
“Krukk! Wait a minute!” cries Spirit. “Who is talking? I can’t keep track.”
“I don’t know,” Raven lifts his wings in a kind of shrug. “I couldn’t keep them straight, either, when the Seagull told me this story. You know how Seagulls are, talking over each other all the time. I think they annoyed the Havmanden, too, because at first he was silent, listening, then he held up his hand to quiet the children.
“‘Can you take me to Agnete’s nest?’ he asked of the Gulls.
“A scattering of Seagulls rose into the pelting snow and flew toward the shore. With the power of a sea-dweller, the Havmanden propelled his sleek body through the water below them. Emerging on land, the Havmanden spread a paste over his neck and stepped ungainly over the sand and through the snow.
“The Seagulls’ keen eyes caught sight of Agnete’s golden hair streaming down her back as she walked to the tallest nest of the town, the one with the bell tower. They led the blue-skinned Havmanden down the narrow trails the Five-Fingered Ones had dug in the snow, until they reached the bell tower. The Havmanden called after Agnete, but on she walked through the great doors, away from him and the Seagulls.
“They landed on the great roof and the Havmanden walked to one of the windows, but he could hardly see inside through all of the colored glass. Again, he called for Agnete, but the bell in the tower tolled, drowning his voice.
“The children in the sea and the Seagulls who had stayed with them heard the clanging, ringing, tolling.
“‘What is that sad noise?’ asked one of the larger children.
“‘It sounds like how my heart feels,’ whined a smaller one.
“To the rhythm of the pealing bell, the children and the Seagulls lifted their piercing voices and cried.
“‘Why is the sea pouring from our eyes?’ the children asked, confused, for they had never felt tears upon their faces before.
“‘That happens to the Five-Fingered Ones, too, when they come sadly to the shore,’ the Seagulls told them.
“‘I want Mama and Papa!’ cried the smallest of the children.
“‘Here comes the Havmanden,’ the Seagulls reassured them.
“With his green head hung low against his blue chest, the Havmanden slipped and slid down the snowy path back to the strand and the sea. The children swam to him as he stepped back into the water and wiped the paste from his neck.
“‘Where’s Mama? Where’s Agnete?’ the children and Seagulls pestered him.
“‘I called and called to her, but she went into a big building with a tall bell tower and she never looked back at me. She wouldn’t come out.’
“‘Papa, what will we do without Mama?’ the children asked in small, scared voices.
“The Havmanden had no answer for them.
“The Seagulls on the roof waited patiently until the Five-Fingered Ones reemerged, their black clothes contrasting so starkly against the white snow. They moved together through the paths they had dug, six of them carrying a big, wooden box. They stopped beside a hole someone had dug through the snow and into the black earth below. The Seagulls landed, searching for Agnete’s face among the Five-Fingered Ones. Like her children, the sea poured from her eyes.
“The Havmanden and the children waited in the cove, wondering if they would ever see Agnete again. To pass the time, the children and the Seagulls filled the air with their shrill voices.
“‘Grandmother says that we stay away from the surface because that’s where the storms rile everything up. That’s where the trouble always comes from.’
“‘Grandmother doesn’t like trouble. But Mama says trouble can happen anywhere and you should face it rather than hide from it all the time.’
“‘Our stories say that Agnete made trouble for the Five-Fingered Ones when she left with the Havmanden.’
“‘Mama sure finds trouble anywhere.’
“‘That’s because Mama didn’t grow up in the deep and she doesn’t always know how to do all the things everyone else does.’
“‘Mama says she misses the surface. That’s why we’re all here.’
“‘Grandmother told Papa that he brought trouble down with him when he brought Mama back, and we’re all going to have more trouble now that she wants to go up again.’
“‘But you’re here on the surface. Is there lots of trouble up here?’
“‘Sometimes the storms come and blow us all around,’ answered the Seagulls.
“‘That can be fun, but occasionally a few of us die.’
“‘It’s just the life we know, and as long as there are Fish and Clams, sea breezes to play in, and families to make, we are pretty happy.’
“On the morning the Sun broke through the clouds, the snow stopped falling, and the wind quieted. Little Redpolls twittered through the trees, and the Seagulls followed Agnete’s warm hat and heavy boots back to the beach. They cried and clamored, waking the sleeping Havmanden and the children. The sight of their mother and the brilliant winter’s dawn filled them with a joy they had never before felt. Like a wave, they rushed to her, all talking at once.
“‘Mama, you’re back!
“‘We thought we would never see you again!’
“‘Why did you leave us?’
“‘Why didn’t you come back to us when Papa called you?’
“‘Can we go home now?’
“Agnete smiled without answering their questions. ‘For your whole life, you have known the calm waters of your father’s home, and you have been told that the surface is a world full of storms. That may be true, but storms are not all bad. Storms test us, they force us to grow stronger, and they give us a chance to grow our love deeper. Do you know what else the surface has?’
“‘What?’ the children all cried together in their ear-splitting voices.”
“For someone who makes a lot of noise,” interrupts The Old Woman, “you seem to dislike when others fill the air with their own.”
“Klook. I don’t know what you mean,” Raven retorts, fluffing his wings and rearranging his feet. “Seagulls and the Five-Fingered Ones are by far louder than I am.”
The Old Woman chuckles. “So what happened next?”
“Agnete told her children, ‘Come out of the water and I will show you the world I am from.’
“At first, the Havmanden drew back. The two smallest children clung to him. Curiosity, however, drew the older children toward their mother.
“‘What if we can’t breathe?’ they asked.
“‘Try,’ Agnete encouraged them. ‘You are both Human and Havmanden, after all.’
“Only one gasped for breath, returning quickly to the safety of the sea. Watching their older siblings walk upon the sand with their mother, the younger children drifted from the protective arms of their father. They pushed themselves up, testing the air. The Havmanden could only follow as each of his children stepped out of the tide and onto the land. When only he and the child with hair as green as his own remained in the sea, he spread his paste upon the child’s neck, and then his own.
“Agnete dried her children’s salty toes and slipped them into boots like she wore. She wrapped blankets around their shoulders and taught them how to walk on land. When the Havmanden and their green-haired child joined the family tottering about on the ice encrusted snow, Agnete kissed her husband and handed him a larger pair of boots.
“‘These belonged to my father, who died not knowing what had become of me. Wear them so that you may follow me in my world, just as I have followed you in yours.’
“Agnete led her Havmanden family along the narrow and uneven path between the cove and the town. The Seagulls flew overhead, ever curious about how the sea dwellers would fare on land.
“While the townsfolk dug and shoved the snow around, Agnete pointed to the morning Sun in the sky, a flock of Juncos in a Spruce tree, and stopped to listen and laugh at a pair of Jays admonishing each other. She led her family across a bridge where a small river flowed, laced with a thin layer of ice. Beyond the bridge, she brought them to her nest, where her parents had once lived. They went inside and the Seagulls landed on the roof and the window ledges, peeking inside.
“Of all the wonders Agnete shared with her family, none was so strange to them as the hearth fire she lit in her nest. They gathered around in wonder, trepidation, and confusion. She cooked them food they had never tasted before, food of the land.
“‘While I have been with you in the deep, green sea,’ Agnete told her family, ‘my parents wept, believing I had drowned. I never saw my father again, and I only had one evening to tell my mother about you all and about my life in the sea, but she died in the night.’
“‘Can we go back home to the deep now?’ one of the children asked.
“‘I am not ready yet,’ Agnete told them. ‘When I was a child, I felt lost here on the land. The world felt harsh and unkind, especially the people. I always wanted to escape to the cove, where the Ocean felt like home and the Seagulls were my friends. So of course, when I met your father, I fell in love. Living in the deeps of the sea, I felt held in the Ocean’s womb, as I carried each of you in the womb of my body. Our life together has been wonderful, but I feel as if I have lost my sense of direction. Just as the time came for each of you to leave my body to grow into your own, now I need to leave the Ocean to walk again on the Earth. I need gravity to ground me and the Sun to light my way and warm my frozen feet. I need storms to blow away my weaknesses and help me grow my strengths.’
“‘Are we never going home again?’ asked another of the children.
“‘Why do we have to choose only one home?’ Agnete responded. ‘There will be times we will want to live in the deep, dark sea, and others when we want to live with the changing seasons, the Sun, and the blizzards.’
“Our own blizzard appears to be slowing down,” comments The Old Woman as she winds her yarn on her spindle cop. “Now that we have passed the midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox, I wonder what the Sun will shine upon, when the clouds lift.”
“Sometimes we need the dark to set us right, not just the light,” muses Raven, recalling his tumble through the sky and the dark wings of the Seagull that set him aright again.
The Old Woman’s thoughts follow a similar thread. “Our ways through the snow and storms don’t always follow the paths we normally take. This story reminds me of you, Spirit, and of Little Snake. Both of you came to us in wintertime, and we have kept you safe here on the island, but I imagine that both of you will want to return to your own homes, your own beginnings, when the opportunity arises.”
“When do you think Little Snake will wake up?” asks Spirit. “I haven’t even met her yet.”
“I’m not sure.” A small frown draws The Old Woman’s face together. “Her body is not used to the cold of our island, so she may sleep longer than she is used to.”
For lyrics in both Danish and English, please see: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/agnete-og-havmanden-agnete-and-merman.html-0