“Help me! Help! A medusa!” The cries for help and “medusa” interrupted my hazy soporific sunny afternoon. I looked toward the sound of the cry for help. It came from the aquamarine water where bathers had been enjoying the warm water. The cries continued in a warbling plaintive and pleading cry as the swimmers splashed furiously to get out of the water.
The young woman pulled herself up on the ladder to the boat and the angry red striations were erupting across her chest, shoulders, and neck like wildfire.
Marco, the captain, on the sound of the cries for help, had raced to the back of the boat to help the jellyfish victim. While the husband of the victim dabbed her dry, Marco sprayed a medicinal tonic on the jellyfish bites. I do not have any photos of the bites as I was not taking photos of the victim. But the bites looked like long strings or red mosquito or wasp bites.
This was last summer and I was enjoying the shade from inside the boat while the rest of the group were swimming off the shore of Salina island near Sicily. That’s when I learned that the Italian for jellyfish. Medusa.
