First witch: Where has thou been, sister?
Second witch: Killing swine.
—William Shakespeare, Macbeth
The black ship rode the gentle waves about a mile out to sea. The crew had shipped oars and only the helmsman was at work, using the steady breeze to carry them along the coastline. The cliffs had been left behind and now the coast was the white of sandy beaches and dunes topped with the gray-green of marram grasses.
The seasickness and accompanying nausea had gone and Jerry was wishing he had a horse to eat—or even a bowl of cornflakes. But at least the next stop was Aeaea, where Odysseus had promised to get them a good feasting with plenty of meat and sweet wine from Circe. Tastes had changed a tad from Homer's day, thought Jerry. What he was really craving was a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of coffee. It had been good of the paratroopers to share some of their rations which had survived the transition—but split six ways, and being conservative, it wasn't a lot.
On reflection, Odysseus was being very obliging. It made Jerry extremely suspicious. But he was so tired . . . he'd just rest a bit. They'd be safe for a while now, anyway.
He awoke to find that the wind had dropped. The sea was glassy, and the only sound was the arrhythmic sound of oars. Odysseus' crew seemed to be struggling to row in time. No one was calling the stroke. Jerry concluded it was the silence that had woken him. The Achaeans were always talking, and if they rowed, they called the stroke. Now they rowed in silence. It had also become cool and the coastline was shrouded in a soft clinging mist. The sandy point and marram-clad dunes were gray and ghostly, even though Odysseus' ship lay barely a hundred yards off the shore.
"It's eerie, isn't it?" said Liz, from her post in the bow. "It's almost as if someone is singing in the distance."
It struck Jerry like a bucket of cold water. He was suddenly very wide awake. "Sirens!"
Only Lamont knew exactly what Jerry meant. But it didn't need much explaining. The singing was clearer now. And the Achaeans rowed stolidly on.
"The bastards have got beeswax in their ears!" snapped Jerry. The cunning Odysseus had hit on a novel way to get rid of his debts.
"Do we try to block our ears?" asked Lamont.
"I don't think it'll work. But I'll tie you to the mast." Jerry looked around for a rope.
"And then?" Liz asked sarcastically. "What's going to happen to you?"
Jerry shrugged. "It's my fault. I presume I'll jump overboard."
Cruz shook his head. "That Odysseus isn't going to untie us, Dr. Lukacs, no matter who does the tying. We might as well stay loose."
"And without you we haven't anyone who can speak Greek," pointed out Liz.
Lamont stared intently at Jerry. "Listen, didn't somebody else get past the sirens? I'm trying to remember."
"The Argonauts. Orpheus sang a song far sweeter than theirs. I can't carry a tune in a bucket, Lamont. And I've heard you 'singing.' Can anyone else sing?"
Lamont dived for his bundle and unearthed his precious boombox. "I don't think much of their voices so far. Let's see how they shape up against some real competition."
He pressed the play button and turned the volume up. Suddenly, Tina Turner's voice boomed across the still water. "What's love got to do with it?"
The mist seemed to waver. The melodious, but not top quality, club-standard singing was stilled, and replaced by a squawk.
"—but a second-hand emotion—"
It was a pretty good "I-am-a-bantam-and-have-just-laid-an-ostrich-egg" squawk. The sunlight suddenly cut through the mist, revealing a sandy marram meadow, flanked by three raised tumuli. The rank marram grew through the white bone piles that studded the meadow.
"What's love got to do—"
In the midst of this sat two very large birds—rather like overgrown penguins. They sported human heads. Female, to judge by the pale complexions and lack of beard. Hideous-looking things, really.
"—got to do with it—"
Expressions of surprise—then shock—then total outrage—and then rabid envy flighted across their gargoyle-ugly countenances.
Jerry wasn't looking at the legendary sirens that had lured sailors to their death with their sweet voices. He was looking at the boombox.
A golden nimbus clung about it. In the dancing shadows above the CD player you could see the singer. Tina Turner, her inimitable legs flashing and prancing, strutting her stuff. Big as life, and just as loud.
"That's not a CD," he said in a choked voice to Liz. "That's the real thing. It's . . . it's a summoning or something."
Liz laughed. "No wonder the sirens are outclassed! Real singing must be rare in these days. Nonexistent, I'd say. And will you look at those damn Achaeans!"
Not even the wax in their ears could keep Odysseus and his men from hearing Tina Turner. But judging from their bulging eyes, Jerry thought it was her legs which had them mesmerized.
Lamont, McKenna and Cruz didn't notice. They were too busy leaning over the gunwale, laughing as the plump sirens tossed their double flutes aside and waddled in haste towards the sea. They were flapping their wings frantically, but they were far too big to do more than short hops into the air. They plunged into the sea, swimming ducklike after the departing ship.
Lamont reached a hand behind him and clicked the golden voice off. "Let's give them a bit of rap, boys, whaddaya say?"
McKenna and Cruz grinned. A moment later, Lamont and the two soldiers were shuffling back and forth at the stern, doing an impromptu rap session.
"Yo—bitch! I'm talking to you!
"Swim all you want! Flop all you want!
"Ain't getting none o' my—"
Jerry found himself consumed by a deep longing for Bach's Brandenburg Concertos. Or Tina Turner. Anything.