Gardena High School - El Arador Yearbook (Gardena, CA)

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that I were an artist, to paint her as I saw her— to immonalize that brave figure. She seemed kindred to the sea. Suddenly she turned and looked sharply at me. I knew that she knew 1 had been there, watching her. She did not smile. She turned away again and started walking toward the village. I had offended her, I had intruded upon her sacred solitude, her communion. Later, queerly enough, we became friends. I do not under- stand it, unless perhaps it was because I knew her a little better than any one else ever had. Only a very little better, how- ever. Mine was the only human companionship — if 1 may call it that — that she had ever known. But, somehow, she was not dependent upon human companionship. She, herself, 1 felt, was not quite human. She did not need sympathy, or understanding, or friendship. She needed nothing but the sea; she was dependent upon that — it was her life. One reason, I think, that she liked me — better, tolerated me was that 1 was content to sit beside her when she com- muned with the sea, quietly, not breaking the charm. She was never conscious of me then. Sometimes her lips would move; she would repeat something rhythmically under her breath. Perhaps she was repeating a poem. Perhaps the im- pression came to me — she was chanting an old rune in some strange tongue. When she was younger the people of the village thought her merely a queer little tyke. Now she was a young woman, and they began to look upon her with suspicion. I heard it whispered that she ■as a witch. Old beliefs, old super- stitions, die hard in little, out-of-the-v ay New England villages. One night 1 shall never forget. iVIy uncle was putting his notes in order, and would remain lost to the world until, per- haps, the next morning. There was a storm far out. The sea was terrible; there was a strong wind. Seena and I silently walked up the beach. She seemed to be glorying in the raging of the wind and sea. VVe stopped when we reached the top of a high cliff, directly over the water. It was the wildest night 1 had ever known. The sea seemed actually, diabollically, human, rav- enous, reaching. 1 hated it. Soena gloried in it — in its power, its strength, its invincibility. VVe stood silent. I had the impression that if 1 spoke to her she would not hear me . Thinking back on it, it seems we stood thus an age. Everything--the sky, the sea, the wind, was black and terrible. Seena was inspired; she was triumphant. She was not a woman; she was a creature of the sea. For the first time 1 was afraid of her. She seemed so elemental— so ageless— so inhuman. The villagers ' words echoed through my mind— She is a witch. Then, almost unnoticeably, she stepped