Short Story: A Mystery Woman

Short Story: A Mystery Woman

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

That final year before the children came we went away together, seeking the sun, choosing a wild and formless place with few taverna and a single isolated hotel. It was a charming village with white painted houses, and private villas dotted among the hills. Groves of olive and lemon trees spilled untidily above secluded bays with unspoiled beaches where small fishing craft painted blue or yellow bobbed at anchor. Beyond and surrounding the village, a wide and tranquil sea the colour of jade created harmony. Few things spoiled the symphony of place, as it appeared to we who were outsiders that the heroes of old resided among inhabitants lucky enough to call it home.

Susceptible to heat, we pasty faced newcomers hugged the shade when it proved oven fierce during noon and then turned sultry overnight. Trying to sleep at night after an inactive day proved a trial; often we went to bed after three when a cooling breeze blew in off the sea. Many cold showers were taken, dampening the ardour, but even with the fan at full stretch I’d lay awake until the ferocious reds and oranges of dawn streaked the sky signalling another day of tranquil delight. In keeping with the locals advice we spread yoghurt on the worst of our sunburn, but that appeared to be an added attraction for the biting insects that came after sunset to tease and irritate.

Often at night I’d sit out on the balcony with a frozen water bottle pressed to my forehead, and sometimes managed to snatch a few minutes of ragged sleep in this way, but then my head would fall forward and I’d be awake again. It was during one of these sleepless nights I first saw the woman, who I thought at first to be an apparition or a part of some fantastic dream. She stood beside the sea unmoving, a figure in white with long golden yellow hair that teemed over face and shoulders – at least that was how it appeared beneath the moonlight. I had to pinch myself to ensure I was awake, but it was real. Dogs were barking somewhere far off, with the sound of the sea ever present. Insects buzzed around me and nearby in the darkness snoring could be discerned.

The mystery woman settled onto rocks above the sea, brushing out her golden hair like some marooned mermaid, and then raised her face to the moon. She was not unattractive, but I found it hard to say if I’d seen her in or around the hotel or on the beach. Then she did something extraordinary, removing her dress to dive headlong into the sea. I stood up, clutching onto the rail of the balcony, to gaze directly at the place she had been moments before, waiting for her to re-emerge. When, after a couple of minutes no head broke the surface I grew concerned. There was no sign of her, just the dress and brush where she’d deposited them on the rock. I felt I ought to raise the alarm, but then spotted her, climbing ashore further along before sprinting back to collect her belongings and disappearing into the night.

I remained where I was, staring at the rocks below. There was not a single breath of wind, with no sound to disturb the calm. It felt unreal, as if I’d witnessed something unworldly. I could only believe I was dreaming, or had imagined the entire episode. And when I did eventually crawl into bed I slept like a baby until late the following morning, discovering I’d missed breakfast. I said nothing to my wife; she was hardly going to accept my reasons for spying on another woman in the middle of the night, no matter how harmless. Instead, I concentrated on scrutinising our fellow guests, in the hotel, and as we strolled around the area. There were plenty of blondes, but none that matched the woman I’d seen.

We soon became caught up with having a good time and I forgot about the incident. During a beach barbecue night laid on by the hotel I got talking with an Aussie who had already spent a couple of months in the area. Over a couple of beers he told me the tale of a young German woman who had been caught in a rip tide and drowned when swimming at night. It was years before, and the body had never been discovered. This got me thinking as I asked if he knew what she looked like. He shrugged. “No idea.” It was just me stretching my imagination as usual, but after that the thought wouldn’t let go. She didn’t exactly become an obsession, but I did look out for her on subsequent nights, although by then I was sleeping better. That was until something upset my stomach on the final evening and rather than disturb my wife I felt obliged to sit outside where it was cooler. I was a little dazed by the infirmity, so much so I didn’t spot the woman or which direction she came from before she had appeared. Once again dressed in white, she sat on the rocks to brush out her long golden hair. I felt like calling out to her, but realised it might startle her. Instead, I watched as she put up her face to the moon as before, and then plunged directly into the sea. This time I decided to be present as she re-emerged, and hurried down the outside stairs to reach the rocks before she could disappear.

It took only a few seconds, but by the time I arrived both dress and brush were gone. I stared into the darkness, listening intently for any sound that might give her away, catching only the cry of an infant somewhere in the village. Once again, it felt as if I was caught inside a frozen moment and part of some weird dream. It was perplexing to say the least as I sat on the rock I’d seen her occupy, dipping toes into water that lapped quietly. And then I did something impulsive, stripping off and diving straight into the sea. I’m not a great swimmer and the water was far deeper than I imagined. Soon I was in trouble, flailing around and floundering as I took in mouthfuls while trying to call for help. I thought I was a goner for certain before a hand gripped my arm, and a face bobbed beside me. It was her, the mystery woman.

She held me tight, guiding me back to rocks before pushing me up onto one. She had great strength, and it took a couple of seconds before I regained my breath, by which time she had vanished. I hauled myself higher, spitting out sea water as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. I had been saved, but by whom. Who was she, this mystery woman? I felt I should at least signal my gratitude and called into the darkness. “Thank you, whoever you are. I’m grateful.” I don’t know if she heard, or needed to be thanked. It mattered to me to say something however.

The following morning as we headed for the airport I kept all that had happened the night before to myself. If I had said something I might have been thought crazy, or suffering from the effects of whatever I’d eaten at dinner. In reality, I didn’t want to tell anyone. Some mysteries are better for remaining unresolved. The only thing I did do before departing was to throw a single flower into the sea at the point beside the rocks. She deserved some small token, this mystery woman; some recognition for what she had done.

Undeniably there are things under heaven that do not conform to accepted norms, and places we may visit that hold hard to the patterns of the past. Who is to say we should consider ourselves unique in believing the truth we acknowledge is single and inviolate when so much about this world remains unexplored? There may be a simple explanation for the mystery woman’s appearance in my life, and if there is I’m willing to be informed. Until then, she remains an enigma I may never feel able to solve.