Maureen McCarthy — The Missing Children

‘Here Come. Look!'

It was the urgency in the voice that had the other divers stop what they were doing and rush to the side of the boat. They stare down in amazement. An enormous cast-bronze figure, gone green in the sea and caught in a mass of tangled rope and covered in mud and slime and weeds, is rocking gently in the water right there beside their boat. The outline only gradually becomes clear. A woman. And near perfect.

 See here the head covered in a delicate scarf, the breasts and belly, the perfect feet. What does it mean? No one moves. Is it a sign? The men are silent. A few close their eyes and bless  themselves. 

 The captain’s easy expression becomes dark with unease.  He lights a cigarette, blows out and snarls: ‘Get her up’ 

 Quietly the men fall into line and begin to haul the statue into the boat. 

 Once done, the divers look at each other and risk a smile. What a find!

They dragged you from the sea. From the depths of the ocean. After centuries among the sea creatures, the weeds and sponges, how do you feel about facing the world again? The elegant folds of drapery wrapped closely around your large body tell me you’re a mother, middle aged I’d say, dignified. Maybe a Goddess.

I have a strong feeling that in spite of your sightless eyes you’re looking for someone. And that hand at your face? You are living in some kind of torment. Waiting perhaps?  

Some say you’re Demeter. The mother of Persephone. That your daughter was taken to the underworld and you’re waiting for her return. Maybe you’re are trying to work out a way to get her back. 

I stare at you but you are indifferent to me. I’m tempted to tap on the glass. Grab your attention. I know what it is like to have a missing child, I want to tell you. My son Joe, gone now for two years. I know about the wrench in the gut every time his name is mentioned. 

How we long to throw our arms around our missing children.

You wonder if someone is looking after her. Do the Gods treat her with respect or use her as a plaything? So many mothers in wars everywhere must witness their daughters being harassed and abused. Kidnapped and raped.

But maybe she’ll be home soon. Maybe she’ll come looking for you! Come rushing into the museum breathless, only to find you behind a glass case.  She'll hesitate a moment then burst into peals of happy laughter.

‘Oh mother you always were such a drama queen!’

Until then Lady of Kalymnos, keep praying for her safe return. Stay there and keep watch.