Eyes Like The Deep Sea
There are many stories told at family gatherings. Stories of how things were in the olden golden days, stories of what parents did when they were little, or embarrassing baby stories. But eventually these stories get old, and everybody tells new ones. In my family, however, there is one story that never gets old, and never goes without telling. That is the story of how I was rescued by Poseidon, God of the sea.
Details of this story sometimes change – depending on who is telling the story – like how old I was, or how long I was gone. What matters is that I was a tiny baby, and I was gone for long enough that I should have been dead.
My family has lived on Kythira (an island in Greece) since before I was born, but that doesn't mean that the rest of the world doesn't influence us. My Mother was eight months pregnant with me when she saw the movie The Secret of Roan Inish. She thought that the idea of a cradle made like a boat so that the sea would rock it was a genius idea and insisted Father make one for me. Being an understanding man (and not wanting to incur the wrath of a pregnant Greek woman) he complied.
It was a plain little thing, with a shallow hull, high sides to protect me from the sea spray, and a little half roof to protect me from the sun. At the foot there was a hole through which my mother looped a rope and tied me to shore. It was plain, but sea worthy, and Mother loved it. As soon as I was born she lay me in it and set me adrift. Mother had a kiosk at the fish market on the waters edge, so it was easy for her to set me afloat in the mornings and pull me back in to go home in the evenings. I never stayed out all day though. People would stop by to come see the new baby and mother pulled me back in to show me off and tell them "This is my little Sophia" then set me out again. I faintly remember the gentle rocking of the waves and the occasional fish bumping my cradle-boat.
One morning, however, Mother did not tie the line properly when she set me adrift. Mother says the rope must have come undone sometime around noon because she kept looking back at the water to check on me. Father says the rope must have come undone in the morning so I did not start to drift away until noon. When the rope came undone is not important. What is important is that, unnoticed by everyone else, I began to drift away. Mother probably would have gone all day without noticing had not one of her neighbors asked "Where is little Sophia today?" Mother turned around to pull me back in, but all she saw was the rope. She began to scream and call out my name. As soon as people realized what was going on, they began to search for me, fishermen got back into their boats and set out to find me, but no one could spot the little cradle-boat. One thing that everyone agrees on is that I was too young to remember any of this. But if I concentrate really hard, I swear I can remember what happened to me.