Some of the crew grew nervous though none of them faltered in their tasks. Even as the rain became sheets of sharp needles against their skin, nearly blinding their eyes, the rowers rowed and the skilled crewmen performed admirably.Cyril adjusted their course slightly, to just slide by the island, and then he tore into his rowers, almost ravaging them to gain speed. More! More! he demanded. The rowers put every muscle they had to the task. More! Faster!The island could easily be seen now as the rain backed off. Cyril saw the sirens and stared in wonder.Each was as described. Olive skin, beautiful faces like goddesses, dark hair more feathery than human, sharp, beak-like noses of flesh, full breasts with dark tips, dark, feathery hair near their nethers, long, shapely legs which gave way to broad, clawed feet which were tightly gripping the rocks below. Even without hearing their songs, Cyril felt a compulsion to join them.One of the four appeared slightly younger, youthful instead of. He was back and knocked on her door promptly at eight. ‘It’s open! Come on in!’ The smells hit him as he walked in, the broiling steak, the dry wholesomeness of roasting potatoes, the faintest tang of olive oil and tarragon vinegar lingering in the air just under the scent of a fine perfume. It was the most unexpected thing after all the vicissitudes this weird day had presented, and it hit Alan Burnett hard. Hard in the stomach. It took his breathe away. He walked towards the kitchen and called out ‘Honey! I’m home!’ then heard her laugh and the sound wracked through his body like a cold sob. A warmth washed over him, a feeling he had almost given up hope of ever feeling again. He felt a little like a teenager, and the feeling seemed to penetrate a part of his soul he had long thought dead. He poked his head in the apartment’s little cooking space and held out the bottle of wine he’d just bought. ‘I bring tidings of great joy!’ he said as the full brunt of her cooking hit him..
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