by D. G. Driver
“Carter, I...” But I didn’t know what to say or how to take it back. Carter didn’t even look at me when I said his name.
“Hey kids.”
The double doors banged open, bringing me out of my misery. Dad entered still wearing his rubber boots with sand plastered to them. The sun had darkened his face, and his stringy hair was pulled back in a tail behind his neck. He looked worn out.
“Things done at the beach, Dad?” I asked.
He groaned. “It’s a mess, but the worst of it has been taken care of.”
“They didn’t bring nearly as many animals here as I expected today,” Carter told him.
Dad shook his head. “The initial spill poisoned anything close to it. Just about all of those creatures died. Over the next few days you’ll see more that might actually be saved.” He brushed my wet hair back over my ears then edged past me and peeled back enough of the tarp to get a peek at the mermaid. “How’s she doing? Any better?”
“A lot better,” I said. “Carter just fed her.”
Carter held up the bucket. “I’m still trying to figure out what she likes. Kelp wasn’t a big hit.” He put the bucket back into the cabinet. “Can’t say I blame her. I only like seaweed when it’s wrapped around sushi.”
That almost brought a smile to my dad’s weary face. Leaning against the glass, Dad took off his boots and rubbed his smelly feet. “Is Dr. Schneider in?”
“He’s in his office,” Carter said. “He’s been studying books and Internet sites all afternoon for some kind of clue to her existence. He wants to link her to some other existing animal. You know, as a product of evolution.”
“I don’t think he’ll find what he’s looking for,” Dad said, turning his attention back to the mermaid in the tank. “At least not in any science-related site. People have been talking about mermaids for thousands of years. They are scattered throughout all the mythology of the world. Why would they be in so many stories if they never existed until now?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I hated it when he tried passing mythology on like some kind of hidden truth. “Everyone knows that the original conceptions of mermaids were based on sightings of dolphins, porpoises, and manatees. People didn’t know what they were. There’s even that Irish legend about the woman who is a seal when she’s in the water and a human on the sand. People gave human attributes to these sea creatures that behaved in intelligent ways. Over time those attributes added up to be the mermaid legends.”
“What was that?” my dad said, laughing. “Your thesis for school?” He nodded at Carter, who smiled politely.
“Come on, Dad,” I said. “You know as well as I do that the typical mermaid of legend doesn’t look a thing like this. They are Hans Christian Anderson’s pretty, blond girls with bright green tales. They have white skin and normal faces and wear sea-shells over their breasts.” I blushed after saying breasts in front of Carter. If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it.
“I’ll admit that’s the way they’ve been described in some fairy tales and that’s the way they’ve been drawn in children’s books,” Dad said. “You’ll find the images of mermaids in folklore from Russia, Africa, China, and pretty much any other culture you can think of that all vary widely in interpretation. There are ocean mermaids and river mermaids. Some are good and others are evil. What I’m saying is that people have believed in mermaids for eons and have depicted them in many different ways. There was just no proof of them before now.”
Carter sat down on a stool next to me, all smiles as he listened to my dad and me bicker. “June,” he interrupted, “how can you sit there and argue that mermaids are nothing but mixed up perceptions of porpoises and seals when there’s one looking at you right now?”
I turned around to see that the mermaid was in fact staring directly at me, over my dad’s head, watching my every move. Uneasy, I looked back at Carter. “I just think that Dr. Schneider might have a point with this evolution thing, and that this mermaid and her two sisters are some kind of anomaly. Otherwise, where have they been all this time?”
My dad reached inside his shirt and pulled out the killer whale tooth tied to a leather string that he always wore around his neck. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger for Carter and me to see.
Oh no, I thought. Here comes one of his tall tales.
I glanced at Carter, trying to send him a mental message that I was so sorry this was about to happen. Carter didn’t seem to mind, though. For the moment, he was taken with my father and his quirky American Indian ways. My dad had a way of casting a spell over people who didn’t live with him every day. Those who met him either thought he was cool as a fan or completely off his nut. Most of the time I just thought he was embarrassing. Like right at that moment.
Please don’t think my dad is nuts, I thought as hard as I could. Please don’t think I’m like my dad.
“There are many stories among the Northwest American tribes about the Killer Whale. He is a powerful spirit in this region, and the sight of him on a whaling mission was often the sign that the whalers were doomed to a saltwater death. One of the stories is about the Killer Whale that falls in love with a whaling boat.
“Legend has it that a whaling crew went out on their canoes, ready to tackle the waves and capture a giant beast. Just as they sighted a large whale in the distance that would feed and fuel their village for the entire winter, a Killer Whale jumped out of the waves right at them. The sailors screamed in fear. ‘The Killer Whale has doomed us!’ the men cried. ‘We should turn back before it is too late!’
“The men frantically turned their canoes about, trying to get back to shore before the angry Killer Whale capsized them. Then a strange and magical thing happened. Their boat began to sing. A high, dreamy voice rang up from the bottom of the boat. The men could not figure out how the ship was making such a noise. They could see nothing inside the boat or attached to the sides that could make such a sweet sound.
“More surprising still, the Killer Whale heard the sound as well. It stopped its thrashing about and calmly slid up beside the boat. It nuzzled its large, black head against the ship and made snorting noises to show its affection.
“The men on the ship were too frightened to even row the oars. A few men jumped overboard for fear that the Killer Whale was toying with them. The others stood perfectly still, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Slowly, the boat and the Killer Whale beside it drifted quietly toward the shore. When finally they were close enough for the men to step out of the boat and wade to the beach, the singing stopped.
“The Killer Whale came out of his trance and seemed very confused about where he was. Angry that he was so close to shore, he flipped the boat over, but no man was injured for they had already made their way to safety.
“As the Killer Whale made his way back out to sea, the men gathered around the toppled boat, believing the boat had saved their lives with its ability to sing. They carried the boat back to their village and posted it on stilts, where it was used as the roof of a religious house for the Shaman.”
My father stopped talking then. He stood up and walked to the aquarium. Touching the glass just in front of the mermaid’s hand, he sighed. “All this time my people thought it was the boat that came alive and saved them. All this time.”
Carter lowered his head into his palms as if he needed to hold the information in so it wouldn’t disappear. “You think that a mermaid saved them?”
“It had to be,” my father said. “One attached herself to the bottom of the boat. She made the noise that attracted the Killer Whale. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
This time I spoke. “It makes sense in a way, Dad, but it’s still just a legend. There’s no proof that any of this ever happened. Plus, why would she save your people? They were going to kill a whale.”
He didn’t even bother to look at me. “The legends of our people do not require proof, June. You need to learn that. They require only faith
and understanding. That is the whole purpose behind them. The point is that this legend has been around for hundreds of years and only now do I realize where the singing came from.”
“What about the killing of the whale?” I argued. I hated to be lectured about my father’s people. I felt as much part American Indian as I did part elephant. “Maybe she wasn’t rescuing the people at all. She was saving the whale that they would have slaughtered.”
“In those days,” my dad explained, “our people were careful about nature. We only used what we needed. Even the story suggests that the one whale would have fed the village for the entire season. There would have been no waste. The mermaid would have understood that.”
I flashed a look at Carter. “All this from a vegetarian.” Carter laughed.
“It’s a good story,” Carter said. “It would be worth studying.”
“That’s all I’m saying,” my father said, turning back around to face us. “That’s all I’m saying.”
At the far end of the room, the double doors opened. Two men in white uniforms with Affron logos on the sleeves stepped inside. One held a clipboard, while the other carried an animal carrier with a squawking seagull inside it. Both were surprisingly bulky for scientists.
“Could you direct us?” the one with the clipboard asked. “We’ve got some wildlife from the oil spill down at the beach that could use some emergency attention.”
My dad tensed. I tried really hard not to glance at the tarp, but I know I did, because I remember thinking there was a gap and a smidge of tank could be seen through it. Carter, however, acted very naturally. Nonchalant. As though he’d been expecting these gentlemen to show up and had it all planned out. He strode right over to the men, took the clipboard right out of the one man’s hands before the man realized what was happening and then continued on to the office, urging the men to follow him. “Let me get Dr. Schneider for you.”
The eyes of the scientists stayed on Carter the whole time, because Carter didn’t stop talking once. He asked them all kinds of official-sounding questions about what kind of animals they had, how bad off they were, where they were found, in what manner they were brought here, and so on. They followed him to Schneider’s door and struggled to come up with answers as fast as Carter was asking the questions. Well, the man who had come in with the clipboard did anyway, the whole time holding his hand out for the return of his clipboard. The other goon-looking one with the carrier didn’t say anything at all. He actually looked baffled, like a kid who hadn’t studied for the quiz.
Carter knocked on the door. “A couple men from Affron, Sir,” he announced through the door. He focused on the men. “What were your names again?”
Clipboard Man cleared his throat then pointed to himself and his partner. “Waller and Boyles,”
“A Mr. Waller and Mr. Boyles,” Carter repeated clearly through the door.
Waller pointed at the clipboard. “May I have that back now?”
“Oh,” Carter said as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Of course.”
While they faced the other direction, I quickly closed the gap on the tarp to make sure it completely hid the mermaid’s tank. Dad made himself look busy at the smaller tanks, as if he were checking on the fish.
“What are we going to do?” I whispered.
All Dad could offer was, “Simple. We have to keep them away from her tank.”
Chapter Eight
Dr. Schneider opened his office door and nervously whisked the Affron men inside, peering past them at my dad and the tank the whole time. Wow, he was about as obvious as a tour guide holding up a microphone and announcing, “And in the back corner we have hidden a mermaid in a tank. Why don’t you take a look?” But Carter was on top of it and shut the door in Schneider’s face.
As soon as the men were out of sight, Carter dashed back to us.
“Come on. Help me make this thing look like crap.”
“Do you think they suspect something?” I asked. “I mean, how could they?”
“I don’t know why those men are here,” he said, “but it has nothing to do with rescued wildlife. There isn’t anything written on that clipboard. It’s just empty forms that at a glance look like Affron job applications.”
My dad gawked, “What?”
“If they were on the level, I’d have expected a list of the animals they have with them. That’s not what I saw.”
“Maybe they’re here to offer Schneider a job.”
Dad laughed, but Carter didn’t.
“No time!” Carter said, throwing some nasty, mildewed tarps and wet towels at my dad and me. We quickly readjusted the tarp one more time so that not a bit of the glass underneath was showing. Then we threw those tarps and towels along the top for good measure. Now it really looked junked up, and it smelled like a swamp.
We’d only just tossed the last one up when the door to Schneider’s office opened. He followed the two men out. They immediately took in the sight of us in front of the giant tank. Waller squinted. “Something wrong with that one?”
Carter ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been messing with it all day, but I can’t get it to regulate at an even temperature. It’s got something wrong with it. So, I’m draining it and have to figure out how to fix it before we can use it.”
Schneider put on a big, fake grin and said, “Carter’s my man for all that kind of stuff. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“Hmmm,” Waller said.
Boyles held up the animal carrier and kind of grunted.
“Where should he put that?” Waller asked for him.
“I’ll take it,” Carter said. “June, why don’t you and your dad help these men bring in their rescues?”
My dad and I went outside with Boyle while Carter stayed inside to ready what was left of the empty cages and aquariums. Apparently Clipboard Dude didn’t feel like he needed to do anything but stand around and observe. Outside, Dad tried engaging Boyle in conversation as we headed toward his white van. I was kind of curious to hear the guy talk and was beginning to wonder if he could.
“Which beach did you pick these up from?”
The man didn’t answer.
“Are any in critical shape?”
Nothing.
The man opened the back of the van, and we saw that he had some more carriers with seabirds and one with an otter. There were a few fish swimming around in dirty water in gallon-sized zip-close plastic bags. Not a lot of critters, I thought. Not as many as I expected.
“Is this all that survived?” Dad asked.
Boyle handed me one of the plastic bags and didn’t say anything, but his eyes looked rounder, as if alarmed by Dad’s question. My theory was that Boyle was told not to say anything. Maybe it was because he was just a grunt and didn’t really know much about the science or protocol. Maybe, like Carter suggested, it was because this mission wasn’t on the up and up, and he was too stupid to come up with intelligent-sounding responses. Whatever it was, he clearly didn’t know how to handle all these questions.
“Mr. Boyle?” I asked carefully, as he reached into the van to pull out the carrier with the otter for Dad. “Are there other vans coming, or is this it?”
His eyes flicked from my dad to me, searching our faces for some kind of help. “Doesn’t this seem like enough?” he asked. From his buddy this might have sounded belligerent, but from him it sounded like a little boy asking if he’d eaten enough dinner even though there was a whole serving of veggies still on his plate.
“Actually, no,” my dad said, clearly irritated. “I expected at least three times this much.”
“This is all we found,” the man answered dully. “The spill wasn’t that bad.”
“Are you kidding me?” I nearly shouted.
My dad shot a look to me behind the guy’s back and shook his head. I set my jaw to keep from saying something I probably shouldn’t.
It took a couple trips to get it all inside, and during that time the man refused to t
alk any more. He didn’t even offer up a “thank you” to us for helping him carry stuff or an “excuse me” when he stepped on my foot. We put everything on the big tables for Carter and Schneider to analyze. They had several buckets of water and bottles of dish soap ready for the cleaning of the critters. Carter reached in to help the otter first, holding the nervous creature carefully with gloved hands and looking over its furry body for any oil that had to be removed from it.
“Otters are so furry,” he said, clearly fascinated by the animal. “There is more hair per square inch on a sea otter than the entire coat of a Golden Retriever.”
I stepped up beside him. “It’s so cute.”
“And all that hair makes it hard to clean. Oil is very dangerous to otters.” He darted his eyes at Waller, hoping the man got his point.
“How does it look?” I asked, wanting to know how I could help.
“Oddly, not bad,” Carter said. “This little fellow looks like he barely has anything on him.” Carter carried the scared otter like a baby over to a larger tank that already had another otter in it, and let the animal slip out of his arms into the water. An oil sheen came off its fur and sparkled in the water. “It won’t take much to get that guy back to normal.”
He moved on to one of the birds in a carrier. Schneider asked me to take one of the plastic bags of fish from him and dump it into an aquarium behind me. None of them looked bad to me either. They could breathe with a fair amount of ease, from what I could tell, and they swam around to check out their new home without any visible difficulty. What was going on?
I sneaked a peak at Waller, who stood at the end of the tables shaking his head as if very dissatisfied with what we were doing. Suddenly, he brushed past me and headed for the large tank. I elbowed Carter hard in his back, and he jumped, dropping the poor seagull on the table. The bird squawked, and that got Schneider’s attention.
