The Octopus Woman

Dreamwork story by Laurie Kemp

'You have neglected me,' she says as she clutches my stomach with two of her arms, sending sharp bolts of pain up and down my spine. My body cramps but does nothing to resist her; the flu has weakened me. I've been bedridden for days.
I'd do anything to stay awake but know that the only way through is to meet her. To relieve myself of this pain, I must go where the water flows. As I close my eyes, she beckons me to follow her into the night's silent darkness. 
We move through murky waters, wild rivers and crashing tides. Sucked in by the currents, I have no choice but to let go. As we descend into deeper waters, green algae stain our views. I remember why I dislike it here: life is dim, misty, acidic, slow. I'd do anything to go back home.

'You have forgotten me,' the octopus says as we arrive at a kelp forest, shifting shapes and colors, orange to red. 

She's right. I prefer the desert, its sun, the heat. 

'I'm so sorry,' I say, unconvincingly. 'I will do better. Just tell me why I'm here.'

'Follow me,' she says as she swirls around me. 'I want to show you something. Before we go in, I need you to take off your clothes.'

'Why?'

'It'll help you move and get used to the cold.' 

She is right, I think. As we enter the thick black kelp forest, I feel my body getting used to the cold. I want to tell her I need to go back up to grasp air, but before I speak, she releases ink, allowing me to breathe down here. 

The deeper we go, the more animals appear: red corals, curious seahorses, large schools of fish that gently touch my legs and feet as they swim by. 

'Who are you?' I ask, as I try to feel my way forward in the dark. It's difficult to see down here. 'What's your name?' 

'Don't you know?' she asks begrudgingly.

The sudden softness of her voice disarms me. 'No, I don't. I'm so cold. Can I have my clothes back?' I start crying.

 'Finally,' she says, as she leaves me be. While tears turn into ocean drops, the dark, muddy waters start clearing up. 

She smiles, pointing to huge rocks, covered in dirt, on our right side a small opening. 'We're here.' 

We enter a cave, kelp giving way to ancient stones. The cave is decorated with thousands of oysters, clams and stones. 

'I want to go back up.' 

'Don't worry, there is nothing to fear,' she says sweetly now. Before I can respond, my sister, my mother, aunts, grandmothers and other ancestors appear. 

I try to touch my grandmother, but every time I get close my ancestors transform into lifeless shells and stones. I yell my mother's name, but she just stares at me, stoically. I realise the women cannot move. They've lost their limbs.

by Laurie Kemp

'Why did you bring me here?', I ask the octopus, as the undercurrents push us back and forth. The octopus takes my hand and pulls me back into the kelp forest. 

'It's time you stop carrying their heavy bones.'  

'Take me back to my family,' I scream. 'I do not want to leave them here.' 

'Swallow them, then,' she says as we re-enter the cave. Somehow, her suckers can grab hold of them. I start crying again, as she feeds them to me piece by piece. 

Once she's done feeding me, I'm succumbed by pain once more. My hips crack and bleed as my womb pushes, retreats, contracts and then lets go. God knows what I'm giving birth to. I cut my fingers into a nearby rock as I continue to scream and moan. 

'Please, just make it stop.'

More blood and contractions, to the point of fainting. 

The octopus shakes me awake. 'You need to push.'

'Make it stop,' I weep while my body cramps uncontrollably. Sharp, aching pains, moving from my back to my thighs. A thousand cuts in my uterus, then intense, soaring pain in my lower back. I need to push this thing out, whatever it is.

'Don't just float there, help me please.' 

Then a sudden release. A pearl-colored egg drops as I throb myself onto the ocean floor. Instinct takes over. I have to find a way to leave this place. 

She reaches out to me, caressing my cheek and stomach, touching and holding me tenderly. With arms extended, she covers my entire torso. 

I panic. Isn't this how she hunts her prey? 

'What are you doing? Why am I here?'

'You're not a little girl anymore. You knew that once you were here, you'd belong to me.'

I try to swim back to the cave, but it's too late. The current too strong, the octopus too fast. She releases more ink, this time blinding me.

'Every time I tried gently, you wouldn't listen to me,' she swirls around me. 'I've lived in the shadows way too long. It's time the world remembers me.' 
Her tentacles grab hold of my body, sucking the life out of me bit by bit as the world goes back to black.
My stomach twists and turns as I'm spit out by the water, washed up on the ocean shore. For a moment I wonder if I'm Venus reborn, produced from shiny pearls and sweet ocean foam? 

I'm not sure. My body feels too heavy. It's as if I've forgotten to walk or breathe up here. At least the octopus is nowhere to be seen. How long have I been away for? 

The piercing light cuts like honey on my skin, as I move towards the dunes. I fall seven times before I realise what has happened to me. 
I have become the octopus woman, my legs turn into tentacles and back again, skin shedding, falling into the sand to, creating room for new toes, fingers and hair to grow. A thick dark pelt appears where the octopus' suckers once were. 
'What have you done to me?' I scream, though all I hear are moans and roars.  Long, dark curls keeps growing and flowing from my head, as if trying to reach back into the water. 
I pick up the trident that has washed up next to me. As I hold it up and push it back into the ground, the earth quivers and trembles, shockwaves sent across far-away ocean shores. What to do? There's too much strength. Wild, untamable power coiling and being unleashed inside of me. 

The world falls silent as I start howling an ancient song:

"I am the one you've been waiting for,
I will not bend nor bow to you anymore."

The earth continues to shake, as I suddenly find myself back at home in Amsterdam. White bedsheets stick to my body, stained with sweat, tears, and dirt. They barely cover my trembling bones. Hazily, I exit the bedroom and walk down the glassy stairs, careful not to slip or fall.  

As my morning coffee brews, its thick black mud dripping like drops of ink, I am reminded of a long-forgotten poem a childhood nanny used to whisper in my ear. I feel its words coming alive inside of me, wrestling their way up, emerging from a place deep within my bowels:  

"To be a woman
Does not mean
To Wear
A shroud,

The feminine
Is not
Dead
Nor is she
Sleeping.

Angry, yes,
Seething, yes.
Biding her time;

Yes.
Yes."

We meet again, my sweet, wild soul.

Poem: To be a Woman by Alice Walker