ones – the beat of your blood through your body, the shock waves of your hands and legs as you paw at the water, the smell of your sweat, urine, shit, unfamiliar land smells. The storm spirits’ quarrelling drowned out any other sound on the surface – but underneath, I could hear your heart beat, faintly, and followed the sound, circling as sharks do and letting the vibrations guide me in.
When I felt myself close, I leapt, with the full upthrust of my tail, and saw you. You were on the surface, arms and legs flung to the winds, tossed as if in a game, but you weren’t struggling any more. Your head rested on a bright half circle of orange, buoyant, tied around your body: that was what kept you up. Your face was turned to the sky and your eyes closed. Blood ran from a cut on your forehead. Soon it would bring sharks – that and your strong heartbeat, which I could still hear like a call through the water.
I thought about leaving you to them. I knew already what a human looked like, no need to drag home another one. Anyway Che wasn’t there to help and it’d be a long pull. You’d drown soon enough, before even the sharks got to you. You might be dead already, for all I knew. I watched you for a moment. Your beautiful anemone mouth hung open, seawater sloshing inside like the tide into a cave. Your Dry Land lungs weren’t meant for this.
I thought of Father, and what would happen to us both, if I brought back a human, dead or even worse, still alive. They’d have to kill you and I’d have to let them.
I remembered what Grandmother had told me, about the mer woman who tried to help a human, and ended up skinned on the Dry. But what could you do to me, out here, your little floater upturned and broken? I dived up under you and lifted you up with my right arm, keeping afloat with just my tail and the other arm. Your head lolled on my shoulder, as if we were in a tide pool sleeping. I touched you, and could hardly believe it. Not because it was strange to me, but because it wasn’t.
You weren’t dead yet. I could still feel your warmth, the life blood pumping through the tiny channels of your body. Water spurted out of your mouth, your chest constricted by my grip. Your eyes didn’t open, though. To live, you’d need to get to the Dry. Your skin was thin, the salt and the water and the wind would eat it away.
I knew where it was – the Big Dry. Not only because the males boasted about it, but because the great current led there. You only had to follow its pull towards the setting sun. Some of the elders said that you could see a line of white, green stuff like the forests in the water, only reaching up into the sky, great cliffs and sometimes – so the elders said – stone buildings where the humans took shelter from rain and wind and sun. The humans were very weak and easily harmed, and needed to hide themselves from anything that could damage them, some mer said – even the good rain and the kind sun. Others said they hid from the spirits, being so wicked and dirty.
But the Dry was too far for me to swim with this human weighing me down, despite his floating orange sack. I trod water, and remembered that before you got to the Dry, there was the Trapped Moon. You swam in the same direction, the males said, and at night you could see a light casting its long beam out over the sea. Humans lived there, sometimes. It wasn’t so far as the Dry – maybe half a day’s swim. I could carry you there, maybe. And yet if anyone found out, I’d never be allowed out of the lagoon again. It was forbidden to swim out so far towards the Dry, especially for a mer female, alone. It was forbidden to look at a human, go near one, touch one. It was forbidden to be too curious. I don’t know how many times Father had told us, while Casih picked sea lice from under his arms and dodged an irritable snap of yellowed teeth.
“ Females stay within
When I felt myself close, I leapt, with the full upthrust of my tail, and saw you. You were on the surface, arms and legs flung to the winds, tossed as if in a game, but you weren’t struggling any more. Your head rested on a bright half circle of orange, buoyant, tied around your body: that was what kept you up. Your face was turned to the sky and your eyes closed. Blood ran from a cut on your forehead. Soon it would bring sharks – that and your strong heartbeat, which I could still hear like a call through the water.
I thought about leaving you to them. I knew already what a human looked like, no need to drag home another one. Anyway Che wasn’t there to help and it’d be a long pull. You’d drown soon enough, before even the sharks got to you. You might be dead already, for all I knew. I watched you for a moment. Your beautiful anemone mouth hung open, seawater sloshing inside like the tide into a cave. Your Dry Land lungs weren’t meant for this.
I thought of Father, and what would happen to us both, if I brought back a human, dead or even worse, still alive. They’d have to kill you and I’d have to let them.
I remembered what Grandmother had told me, about the mer woman who tried to help a human, and ended up skinned on the Dry. But what could you do to me, out here, your little floater upturned and broken? I dived up under you and lifted you up with my right arm, keeping afloat with just my tail and the other arm. Your head lolled on my shoulder, as if we were in a tide pool sleeping. I touched you, and could hardly believe it. Not because it was strange to me, but because it wasn’t.
You weren’t dead yet. I could still feel your warmth, the life blood pumping through the tiny channels of your body. Water spurted out of your mouth, your chest constricted by my grip. Your eyes didn’t open, though. To live, you’d need to get to the Dry. Your skin was thin, the salt and the water and the wind would eat it away.
I knew where it was – the Big Dry. Not only because the males boasted about it, but because the great current led there. You only had to follow its pull towards the setting sun. Some of the elders said that you could see a line of white, green stuff like the forests in the water, only reaching up into the sky, great cliffs and sometimes – so the elders said – stone buildings where the humans took shelter from rain and wind and sun. The humans were very weak and easily harmed, and needed to hide themselves from anything that could damage them, some mer said – even the good rain and the kind sun. Others said they hid from the spirits, being so wicked and dirty.
But the Dry was too far for me to swim with this human weighing me down, despite his floating orange sack. I trod water, and remembered that before you got to the Dry, there was the Trapped Moon. You swam in the same direction, the males said, and at night you could see a light casting its long beam out over the sea. Humans lived there, sometimes. It wasn’t so far as the Dry – maybe half a day’s swim. I could carry you there, maybe. And yet if anyone found out, I’d never be allowed out of the lagoon again. It was forbidden to swim out so far towards the Dry, especially for a mer female, alone. It was forbidden to look at a human, go near one, touch one. It was forbidden to be too curious. I don’t know how many times Father had told us, while Casih picked sea lice from under his arms and dodged an irritable snap of yellowed teeth.
“ Females stay within
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