Writing for Fun
August 2016
Love On The Rocks - Pete Norman
The Wilhelm III was an old boat, old and tired like its Captain but twice as cranky. She knew every trick in the nautical book and was definitely not a boat for the novice. However, Gunter Schneider was no novice, he had been her Captain for more years than he cared to remember and he knew her better than any man alive. He knew her every quirk and foible and he ruled her with a rod of iron, or to be more accurate, a joystick of plastic, for long gone were the wheels with which to steer, nowadays it was more akin to playing a computer game than piloting a boat.
The Wilhelm had a will of her own and was never content with cruising a straight line along the River, she would drift off in whatever direction took her fancy at that particular time. Schneider was all too familiar with her meanderings and he followed his nose: facing directly up the centre of the river he would make minor adjustments to the tiller to keep the point of the bow resting on the tip of his nose.
Some way ahead the river took a wide sweeping bend to the right and on the apex of the bend loomed the massive bulk of the Lorelei Rock, dark and forbidding. The nose of the Wilhelm began to wander vaguely in that direction. Schneider eased the control over to the left, held it for a fraction until the nose drifted back towards the central course and then released it again.
He knew every inch of the Rhine and every fable, fairy tale and myth, although he gave little credence to any of them and neither did he have any patience for the drivel the tour guides fed to the gullible tourists. The latest ‘star’ on the boat was a scrawny ginger headed youth on a gap year from Heidelberg University. With a passion for amateur dramatics he laid down the gobbledegook trowel-thick with lashings of honey to sweeten the taste.
A harsh whine from the PA announced the start of the next fairy tale. Schneider reached over to the CD player on the dashboard and spun the dial – the soprano’s voice expanded to fill the cabin, completely obliterating the sound of the irritating voice.
He eased the joystick to starboard to keep the bow central.
He knew the Lorelei fable but he also knew, as did every true sailor, that the river at this point had some challenging and unpredictable currents. He knew for a fact that the Wilhelm being drawn towards the rock was due to nothing more fantastical than these currents and its own perverse nature. It also had nothing whatsoever to do with over-inflated sirens created by the Brothers Grimm for no better purpose than to terrify children.
He made a slight adjustment to the helm.
The passengers, anxious to listen to the fascinating legend and to see the Lorelei up close, had gathered around the front of the boat. Jonathon alone stood at the opposite end, as far away from the crowd as he could get. He leaned against the stern rail and stared down at the white foam drifting behind the boat in a curiously sinuous way.
This was to have been their holiday of a lifetime – not a honeymoon but rather a prequel to the main event which had been planned for the middle of September – a week cruising the magical, romantic Rhine and exploring the fantasy castles of King Ludwig. It had been everything he had desired but his world had come crashing down around him. He now stood alone and miserable while Michael was off gallivanting with Deiter, the handsome waiter who had paid them so much attention – had paid Michael so much attention – last night at the bier keller.
His dreams were shattered. He had lost the love of his life. He had nothing left to live for.
He could hear the monotonous drone of the tour guide rambling on about the Lorelei legend but they no longer held his fascination, they were stories to share and he no longer had someone to share them with.
He stared at the water as it slipped away beneath him, the white foam swirling hypnotically like a Jacuzzi. It would only take a moment. The water would welcome him, embrace him, it would fill his world with its white foam and drive out every last trace of his misery.
In the distance, over the sound of the tour guide’s rambling, he caught the faint sound of a beautiful voice, a hypnotic, enticing sound. His spirits lifted, his senses exploded, she was calling to him and he engulfed himself in the sound of her voice.
In a state of ecstasy he leaned further over the stern rail until only his toes were in contact with the deck and then he gave one last push and dropped headfirst into the warm, foaming waters of the Jacuzzi.
He hit the surface hard and sank into the freezing depths. The turbulence span him around until he lost his reason, lost his sense of direction. He had no idea which way was up but reality had returned with a cold, wet vengeance and with a desperation borne of self preservation he kicked hard and with good fortune his head broke the surface.
He drew in the sweetest breath of air he had ever known.
‘Bugger this for a game of soldiers!’
The Wilhelm was some distance away and moving inexorably away from him, the beautiful voice had gone and the babble of the tour guide was fading fast. He knew that even if he had been capable of the effort of calling out no one would hear him. He did the only thing he could do, he struck out for the rough spume covered rocks which formed the shore-line of the Lorelei Rock.
He was not a strong swimmer and hampered by his sodden clothing he was making little progress, the rocks still seemed impossibly far away and with every stroke he grew weaker. The cold water was eating into his muscles and chilling him to the bone and his resolve was evaporating. He stopped swimming and tried to imagine what it would feel like to take his last breath in cold, dark liquid form, but he was still treading water with determination and the prospect of a watery grave now seemed far less appealing than it had a few minutes before.
A faint sound caught his ears, a beautiful voice but not the one he had heard from the boat. This one was soft, silky soft but intensely powerful, a ‘Heineken’ voice which reached parts of his soul that others simply could not reach. It was coming from the Lorelei itself, as if the very stones were calling to him, urging him on, encouraging him to make one final effort.
He struck out with renewed vigour and when his knee struck a submerged rock he wept with joy. A few feet more and he hauled himself out to lay panting on the rough pebbles. The song had stopped. Perhaps it had all been in his imagination after all, nothing more than his subconscious mind over-ruling his conscious when he had lost all hope. He surrendered to numb exhaustion.
When he awoke some time later the light was growing dim and he anxiously scanned his refuge for some means of escape before he was no longer able to see the way, but the cliff before him looked to be steep and unassailable. He walked unsteadily around the water-line searching for some way out of his predicament but the rock appeared to be uniform in its impossibility.
He was beginning to sink back into his depressive acceptance of his fate when he heard the sound again. Her song was calling him to her. He gazed upwards in the direction of her voice and there, almost invisible in the gloom was a way – not an easy way, perhaps, but a way. With renewed strength he climbed, searching out the hand-holds, pushing with his tired legs, upwards towards her voice, towards salvation.
When at last his grasping hand struck nothing but empty air he swept his fingers back and forth and found to his joy that just above his head was a flat ledge. He gave one last determined heave and scrambled onto the level ground.
The singing had stopped.
Before him was a cave almost lost in the evening gloom but somewhere deep within was a faint glow. His weary legs would scarcely bear his weight, but he managed to stagger forwards towards the light.
She was there, waiting for him. Tall and elegant, majestic and imperious, sensual and inviting. Her blond hair cascaded around her shoulders like a waterfall, her eyes were ultramarine, her lips ruby red and the rest of her ample charms were barely concealed by the diaphanous gossamer of her gown.
Though her lips were unmoving he could still hear the sweet sound of her song coursing through every fibre of his being.
She smiled, a smile filled with a promise of everlasting and unendurable delights.
He stopped, unsure of what was expected of him, what he should do.
This was definitely not what she was accustomed to, he seemed completely underwhelmed.
She threw out her arms. ‘I am the siren of the Lorelei. Throughout history men have surrendered their souls to my beauty.’
Jonathon tilted his head to one side but made no response.
‘Am I not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?’
Jonathon thought for a moment and then said, ‘Probably.’
‘Probably? Probably?!’
The siren’s face turned dark and menacing. ‘You’re not gay are you?’
Jonathon nodded slowly but then a flash of inspiration spread across his face.
‘I don’t suppose you have a brother?’