...As I relaxed back into the bath, a strange lassitude came over me. It seemed the crackle of the fire hid words I could understand if only I made the effort. The lap of the water against the tub, too, held hidden messages I felt I could decipher should I only listen more carefully. The steam rising from the tub wreathed me in a cloak of well-being, caressed my face and chest and urged my eyes to close.
“Mother,” I said, though she hadn’t spoken. I just knew she had entered.
“Protest not,” she said lightly. “I’ve seen you in the tub before, Adiel.”
“Mother, ’tis glorious.”
The water moved all around me, though I was still. It tingled against my skin, seeking every pore. The water spoke to me above the sounds of the fire and the steam, even above the sound of my mother’s suddenly harsh breath.
“Adiel?”
I wanted to assure her not to worry, but couldn’t find the energy to speak. Nor the desire, it seemed, for the longer I sat surrounded by the wetness, the more it seemed I could understand its summons. It was singing.
“I can hear the water singing.” I opened my eyes. The water’s music rose above me in the steam, each note a different, vibrant color. “I can see it singing, Mother.”
“Adiel, stop it!”
Stop what? I knew not what my mother demanded of me. I was floating and sinking all at once. The water covered me with its music, with the heat of it. The fire joined the song.
I slipped beneath the surface, my eyes still open. Figures danced in the water. I smelled their laughter, just as I saw their song. Every sense was alive, more alive than it had ever been. I was drowning and did not care, for every breath of water into my lungs was filled with color and glorious smells.
My mother’s fingers gripped my shoulders so fiercely, she drew blood. With the strength of someone twice her size, she pulled me from beneath the water. Gasping, I took in air instead of water, and the music faded.
My head felt stuffed with feathers, my mouth seemed dry. I couldn’t understand why my mother’s face looked so pale and stricken, or why she still gripped me with fingers like talons.
“There are universes in every droplet of water,” I told her, wanting to reassure her somehow.
To my dismay, a look of abject desolation filled her eyes, a sorrow so deep she did not even cry.
“Please, by the stars,” my mother whispered, though not to me. “Not my Adiel.”