by Jordan, G R
"And on a Sunday. That noise is going to travel."
Donald tried grabbing the mermaid's arm but he was sent backwards as soon as he grabbed it. The strength of the creature stunned him, and he reeled into the wall. Kiera jumped onto the Mermaid and was bounced about on top but managed to provide the loosest of restraints.
"Donald, she's boiling. She's so dammed hot. Look at her skin."
Reaching an arm round the mermaid, Kiera pulled the silver effect chain attached to the plug and the gurgle of disappearing water soon took over. Donald grabbed a moment of inspiration and turned on the cold tap before pushing down on the shower diverter. Cold water erupted from the head some five foot above covering Kiera and the mermaid. Gradually, the mermaid calmed down and Kiera looked at Donald as she tried to recover her breath. He was staring straight at her, soaking wet in her gown and exhausted from her recent exertions.
"I think you planned this," she said.
Donald kept staring.
"Donald! Clothes!"
"Right, of course."
A blushing Donald raced out of the room.
Wow, thought Kiera, bit of an interesting afternoon. She started to shiver and grabbed a towel to cover herself. Not that it matters now, he must have seen just about all there was to see.
She looked down at the mermaid in the bath. It was true that the creature had calmed down, but now it was watching Kiera intently. Occasionally, it would look around briefly before settling back into monitoring Kiera. During one of these moments, it grabbed a fish shaped soap sitting at the end of the bath and bit down on it impatiently. A few seconds later, the mermaid spat out the soap and cupped water to its mouth. The scan for food began again.
Donald knocked on the door and came in on Kiera's request. She was about to criticise his choice of underwear but remembered these were the items that had been on her bed. They were the remnants of a hen weekend she had discovered in a shoebox that was cluttering up her bedroom. The shoebox was gone, but she hadn't managed to get back to remove the offending items. It was amazing Donald was still standing given the lack of material involved in the item’s manufacture.
Having not disillusioned Donald, she sent him to the living room while she dressed. Part of her felt for Donald's embarrassment in all this, but in the other hand, he had brought the problem to her. The mermaid was beautiful, and Kiera watched her in wonder, similar to the day she had seen the blonde haired one at the beach.
There was a sudden belch from the mermaid but it looked unmoved by it. Hungry, Kiera reminded herself, she's hungry. She leaned out the door and called Donald.
"What do they eat, Donald?"
"I don't know," said Donald half squinting at Kiera at first, making sure this time she was decently dressed. This wasn't the sort of Sabbath he had been expecting. Certainly he couldn't remember any sermons that taught the proper actions for this sort of thing.
"She tried to eat a fish shaped soap of mine. Maybe fish, Donald. There's some fish in my fridge. Bit of salmon. Top shelf, can you get it?"
Donald duly returned with the salmon but asked Kiera if they shouldn’t cook it first. After asking if he was wise, Kiera proceeded to place the fish on the edge of the bath. After a few moments staring at it, the mermaid grabbed it greedily and stuffed it in to her mouth.
"Are there any more fish in the fridge, Donald?"
"I don't know. Didn't really look. Certainly never noticed anything."
"No matter, I'll take a look."
Kiera proceeded to her kitchen and scoured the fridge and the freezer in search of seafood. Having no luck in the fridge, all she found in the freezer was a bag of prawns. Emptying the packet into a bowl and then boiling a kettle, Kiera quickly defrosted them. Returning to the bathroom she placed the bowl on the bath edge in front of the mermaid. The creature just looked at the bowl.
Ah, I know what to do, thought Kiera, and popped one into her mouth. The mermaid cautiously followed her lead before indulging herself in the shelled seafood.
Donald was now sitting on the chair in the corner of the bathroom, a little bedraggled and very worried looking. Crossing over to him, Kiera sat on his lap and placed her arms around him. He looked up at her face, and she surprised him by giving him a long, deep kiss.
"Donald, you are a sweet, dear man. You're also one sexy beast, but we have a problem. What do we do with her now that you've brought her back to life?"
"Kiera, I don't know. I've no idea, and I can't even go anywhere or do anything about it. Don't look so perplexed, it's the Sabbath. Nothing's open."
Kiera laughed heartily.
"What's so funny?" asked Donald.
"Sunday, Donald. It's a Sunday, and you've brought her back from the dead! Hope it's allowed."
6
Murdo & Laura
The Reverend McKinney was having a bad Sabbath. The service this morning had gone reasonably well, and he even had an odd comment above the usual "thank you for that" for a change, but he was feeling quite forlorn. He had been here some seven years and was wondering what had really changed. Numbers in the flock had gone up, but in all honesty, that was no measure of spiritual life. He would preach all year round on how to live this Christian life, but to see some of the attitudes around him, his words may as well have been in Greek. And New Testament Greek at that.
Seminary hadn't built one up for the task of people, but instead for ministry—whatever that was. According to some of his elders that was being a figurehead and an example to others, correcting their wrongs and condemning that blasted ferry. Everything was always so black and white to his more fervent elders. And usually their side was the white. Where was the contrition, the example of forgiveness to others? Behind it all, he was worried that, just maybe, the crux was being missed.
Donald in particular was bugging him. The young man had started asking questions, mainly about the staunchly held views of his elders. In particular, the whole point and structure of church was causing Donald problems.
Well, at least someone was beginning to understand being a minister, thought Reverend McKinney.
The Reverend Murdo McKinney had married Laura Weston-Smith, some thirty years ago, down in deepest Somerset, just outside Taunton on a glorious summer's day. On that most blessed of days, he had betrayed his roots, according to his mother, favouring Laura over Mairi who had grown up three crofts along from him. Mairi, in his mother's eyes, had been ideal. She was the daughter of the resident minister, extremely intelligent with a great command of the local language being a three time Mod winner. With her flowing black hair and slim tall figure, Mairi would have been quite a catch. She had made a play for him, and Murdo had played along until that chance meeting.
It was Christmas Eve, and he was assisting at a shelter in Bristol for the drunks and the down and outs. Standing behind a tray of bacon, which he was dispensing onto white rolls, he suddenly became breathless at the sight of her. A short but stout red-headed woman with a curvy figure and rotund face was cleaning down a poor unfortunate who had just been sick as well as wetting himself. Showing no repugnance, she went about her task with cheer, constantly encouraging and supporting her client.
He had watched, entranced, until that heavily bearded man had angrily demanded "Where's my bloody bacon?" in a loud voice. Laura had looked over and seen Murdo's embarrassment and beamed at him.
After clear up that night, they had sat together over coffee until the small hours, talking about anything that came to mind, just wanting to remain in each other's company. Murdo was "burning" for her as the bible put it. And she burned too. It was a whirlwind six weeks he spent "down south", and his mother was disgusted when he returned home with a bride who was ten years older than him.
Laura had set him on fire, and when he took up his first post on the mainland his mother cried, insisting he should come back to the island. His mother would be dead four years before he returned to a charge on the island. Ministers in these latter days were few and far between and so, even "wil
d" Murdo was voted back to his home with that "strange woman" in tow. He was sixty now and feeling older, his aches and pains somewhat more dominant. Laura at seventy was still a tour de force to be reckoned with, and he thought she still had that ravishing spirit which had drawn him all those years ago.
He felt a hand tussle his fading hair. Laura extended a coffee in front of him before sitting in the chair opposite in front of the fire. The smell of burning peat always soothed him like the waft of freshly brewed coffee did.
"What's up, preacher man?"
Murdo looked up at Laura, the concern in her eyes evident, but soon diverted his gaze to the depths of his coffee.
"I said what's up? Don't think I won't tan your hide for being petulant, Murds."
"Sorry Westy. Just thinking."
"Donald again?" Murdo nodded.
"He'll be okay. You found your way. You questioned everything at one point. You got rid of the nonsense, kept the real stuff. Donald will too."
"Suppose he will. But he's right on so many things here. Certainly got good points on other stuff. You know, he brought us that coffee. It's fair trade. He made a point of that."
"And we buy fair trade too."
"Yes, but we don't. We, the church family, does not. When we questioned it, all we got was, “We like the taste of the other, and we’ve always bought that one.” How many points from the bible? I destroyed every sane argument, but they just couldn't give a…."
"I'll not have you swearing in this house, no matter how much the subject deserves it."
"Sorry. But you understand. Of course, you do. You always do."
"Have patience with people, Murds. He'll change them, not you."
"But people like Donald will be pushed away."
"People like Donald will find their way because they are looking for the real thing. Trust God and have a bit of faith in Donald too. God sorted you, after all. Besides, Donald's smitten."
"He's ill?"
"To think you once had the fire burning inside. Oh, God grant me an ember." Laura smiled at Murdo to show her teasing. "He's in love, Murds."
"What, who?"
"Kiera. Didn't you see it?"
"When?"
"At the funeral. It's the same eyes a young man once flashed at me over a bacon roll."
"She's Catholic. How's that going to work?"
"Probably better than a Presbyterian with an Anglican. We made it work, they will too."
Kiera, pondered Murdo. Certainly a giving heart, but also a very free spirit. Not afraid to speak out or challenge a wrong. Donald will have his hands full.
Murdo noticed Laura with her eyes focused on him.
"A man like Donald needs a free spirit like Kiera to push him to the greater things. A woman to believe in him, to challenge, but ultimately stand beside him. And she needs that good soul to stand with, to lean on when the scaffolding collapses. Someone to believe in her."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because that's what you needed. And it's what I needed too."
Murdo laughed. Westy was always able to do that. Like a deep sea drill, she would chip away into the core of him until she reached the rich oil beneath. It would flow to the surface, and life would seem manageable again, at least for a little while. Rising from his chair, Murdo crossed to his wife and kissed her gently on the forehead.
"I'm not a baby, Murds. You can kiss me on the lips. Sometimes I think you're running for election with how you kiss me."
Laura got up and bent over to poke the fire. Feeling a sharp nip at her backside, she let go a giggle that defied her years.
"Don't start what you can't hope to finish, young man," said Laura. This time there was a smack on her rear. Lord, I love him, she thought. Sitting back down, Laura awaited the return of her husband, anticipating her Sunday afternoon hot chocolate. But then she heard the doorbell ring.
Sunday was truly a blessed day, as it was the one day when Murdo didn't get pestered for something silly from his kirk session. In fairness, about fifty percent of them were normal, decent men who were genuinely doing their bit for the Lord with the best of intent. The rest ranged from being vacant to outright meanness.
There was quite a commotion at the door after she heard Murdo opening it. Voices were raised and excitable, but Murdo's voice was absent. Then she heard the inner door close and her husband entered the living room again. Outside the hubbub continued.
"Westy, they have finally lost it."
"What's happened dear? What's got their knickers in a twist this time?"
"Mermaids, of all things, mermaids. Would you believe McKenzie has just asked me for the church's position on mermaids? Free will, predestination, original sin, heaven and hell and forgiveness, these I can deal with. But, tell me, when did I take the seminary course on mermaids? Was it an option I passed up? Mermaids." Reverend McKinney looked deep into his fire and sadly shook his head.
"What's started all of this then? Have they been at the drink over lunch?"
"No. Sad to say they are as sober as judges. It's the boat, or the ship of evil as MacLeod calls it. They reckon someone has shot some film of mermaids off the back of it."
Laura raised an eyebrow. "Filmed it. It's a hoax, no doubt, sent to wind up or promote passenger figures for the summer."
"Laura, they say there's proof. It's on that internet thing you get those sermons on."
"YouTube?"
"Yes, that one. Apparently it's full resolution. McKenzie says it's a scandal, but it's true. He's seen it."
"Sunday surfing, eh? I thought he was against the television on Sundays."
"What do I tell them, Laura? I have just about had enough of all this shenanigans."
"Calm down Murds and keep them outside 'til I get a look at the post."
Laura reached under the magazine on the occasional table and placed her tablet on her lap. Typing mermaids and the name of the port into the search engine soon brought a response. Selecting the video section highlighted several posts with the ferry displayed in the pictures. Selecting the topmost one, Laura grabbed Murds close and together they watched.
A smiling child was seen waving at the camera. By the rolling horizon in the background, it was clear that the sea was in a rough state and that many people had ventured outside in the hope that the air might somehow stabilise their stomachs. Then there was a shout and the camera spun around to the sea. There was a figure in the distance, but the gap between the ferry and this wave surfer was too far to identify with the camera’s particular resolution. Over the next minute, several more dots appeared and they began to move around the ferry. As the figures appeared and then submerged, the people on the deck began to gather at the safety railings, desperate for a better view.
About two minutes into the film, a figure emerged approximately twenty feet from the ferry. It appeared to be a blonde woman, torso above the waterline and in a state of undress. Over the next three minutes, additional similar women with varying hair colour would appear and then disappear beneath the waves. As each dived to the depths, a tail could be seen flicking upwards behind them before following them down.
"That has to be a fake, Laura. Some sort of wind up."
"Darling, look at the people there. Don't you recognise some of them? There's quite a few I know. If this is a fake, it is incredibly well done. Murds, I think this might just be for real."
Murdo stood in silence, staring at the screen. The wall clock chimed five o'clock, but he never flinched. Laura continued to watch the different up-loadings. Outside, Reverend McKinney's session were continuing their restlessness and began to knock on the door again.
"Laura, dear, would you kindly put the tablet away, and I will bring the mob inside?"
"I doubt they'll mind the tablet."
"Laura, let's not wake the lion today, thank you." Her wife tutted but consented to her husband's request. After a few minutes, the twelve strong party of enraged churchmen had gathered into the living room.
"It's a di
sgrace, Reverend, something needs to be done about it."
"Well Iain, what would you have me do?" Murdo looked at his oldest elder, feigning interest in his response.
"As I see it, they need to be banned. Keep them away from the ferry and our shores. We need to put pressure on the council to take action against them. It's the devil's work to be sure."
"Yes," agreed Angus MacIver, session clerk. "Clearly they are from the devil."
"The devil's becoming quite artistic with his minions," interjected Laura and received a dour look from her husband.
"The devil's work indeed," echoed Iain Macleod the original elder, in a dismissive gesture to the only lady in the room.
"Why the devil?" pondered the Reverend.
"Well, they are unnatural. There ain't no mermaids in the bible."
"Well," sighed Murdo, "there aren't any gnus either."
"True, Minister, true. But these mermaids…well, they could be violent! There's always been tales of these creatures in the sea, luring sailors."
"Thank you, Iain, but there's also here there be dragons and the edge of the world to worry about too."
"Yes, Reverend McKinney, but these mermaids, do you see how they look? They are corrupted and on the Sabbath day too."
"Iain, I am struggling to follow you on this one. What's your point?"
"Well minister, they are…….exposed!"
"Yes," agreed Angus. "Exposed!"
"I agree, it would be cold for them, but surely being in the depths of the sea they would be used to the temperature."
"No, minister, it is not their welfare I seek to assist, rather their mode of dress."
"Well, they don't have any clothes, Iain."
"Exactly. They are exposed. And on a Sunday too. You see the devil's work."
"So, Iain, as I understand it, you are affronted at the exposed mammary glands of sea dwelling creatures being exposed, particularly on this day of the week."
"Indeed. I believe the Reverend McAlpine is going to protest about these exposed breasts, provided by the devil to titillate our young men. Have you seen the depravity of it, arousing young men's minds to the sexual impulse? Soon we shall have all sorts of debauchery here, if this is allowed unchecked."
