Free Siren by Delle Jacobs

descent, and they reached the path from the coast road to the village in late afternoon. As they straggled wearily into the village, eager to reach the hut and rest in its shade, John spotted a stocky sandy-haired man talking to Hiapo. He felt a thud of trepidation hit his heart.
    Tom Bartholomew.

Chapter 12
     
    A fierce possessiveness swept over him at the sight of the man he'd decked in the tavern. No matter that the fellow had more or less managed an apology. John glanced at Siren, glad to see she had not removed the smock shirt he had given her. The odd jealous protectiveness surprised him, for the man had done nothing but help Siren.
    Bartholomew saw them approaching, and he made an obeisance to the old man that surprised John, for few white men would know or even trouble themselves to learn the native way of showing respect to an elder. But then, Kekoa had said they considered him a friend. Bartholomew turned and walked toward them, his eyes fixed on Siren as if she were some sort of ghost.
    "Bartholomew," John acknowledged, but it sounded like he was growling again.
    "Wall. Good to see you."
    John grunted. He'd never been fond of social lies. "What are you doing here?"
    "Come to see Hiapo. Haven't been here in a long time. Used to have me a wahine —she died. Measles."
    "Sorry," John replied.
    "Should of come a long time ago. Just couldn't make myself do it. But it was good to see him again the other day. I should of stayed. I lived here oncet."
    There was nothing for it but to invite the man to eat with them. But Hiapo had already done it, and this time Batholomew had agreed to stay.
    The old man called for a feast to celebrate the visit of his haole friend. Bartholomew sat with John and Siren in the place of honor on Hiapo's platform while they were served the traditional foods, and drums and rattles played the sounds of the feast. John could tell by the sounds that tonight would be one of those nights Hiapo called for the hula. And as tired as he was, John wished they could have simply gone to bed in their little hut without even eating. But he would honor Hiapo above all men, and Hiapo had taught him hospitality was to be honored above all, in dealings with other men.
    Bartholomew could hardly keep his eyes off Siren, and John seethed quietly. But it was not polite for Bartholomew to address her directly, so he did not. John wished he could punch the man in the gut for his ogling, but that too would be disrespectful to the old man.
    Bartholomew set down the wooden bowl that had held his poi. "Did you hear the wind last night, Wall?"
    John frowned at the man. He'd heard the wind and a hell of a lot more. "Yes."
    "Sound strange to you?"
    "Thought it sounded beautiful."
    "So did I. Thought it sounded like the Siren's song. Ever hear the Siren singing, Wall?"
    "Yes."
    "Never heard anything more beautiful. People all over Honolulu are talking about it. They're saying it was the wind whistling through the trees, but it wasn't. I thought it was like the Siren's song. But it wasn't that, either."
    Throwing the man a guarded glance, John asked, "Why do you say that?"
    "Because the Siren's song is so beautiful it makes me weep. Makes me want to jump into the ocean and join her. Didn't feel that, quite."
    "I heard, maybe there are many Sirens," John replied. "And maybe a man hears only the one who calls to him."
    "Scares me so much I almost piss," Bartholomew said. "I seen men walk right up to the gunwale and jump into the sea. That's what I want to do when I hear her. Or see her. Ever see a Siren, Wall?"
    "I've seen her."
    "I ain't ready to die, Wall. She calls me. She devils my dreams with her flowing blonde hair. I can't sleep. That's why I gave up sailing, because I was afraid I'd go overboard, and I ain't ready to go."
    Siren rose from where she sat against her heels beside John, and crossed in front of them. From the still-laden low table, she scooped up thick gray poi into their koa wood bowls and brought them back