The Selkie of San Francisco

by Todd Calgi Gallicano

  Nowadays, if asked about the gryphon, the boy, or the doctor, Gladys would laugh it away and attribute it all to a potent blend of exhaustion, dehydration, and the thrill of being in Death Valley. But that didn’t mean she had forgotten what had happened. So it was particularly ironic that Gladys was at Pier 39 in San Francisco when another mythical creature chose to make an appearance.

  It was a typical spring morning when Gladys left her apartment in the North Beach area of San Francisco and set out on her daily walk. She loved these walks, since they afforded her the opportunity to observe people and eavesdrop on the world around her. This helped satisfy her inherent curiosity, or, as some of her close friends and relatives dubbed it, nosiness. Gladys was the kind of person who loved to say hello to strangers she encountered on her excursions, ask them about their day, and find out where they were from. The latter would almost certainly spark a story from Gladys about how she shared a connection to their hometown. She called this little game Three Degrees of Gladys Hartwicke. She would reward herself with chocolate from a local fudge shop if she succeeded in connecting herself with a stranger’s home in less than three steps, and she had yet to lose the game. Of course, the more people she met on her daily walks, the easier it became.

  On this particular day, the city’s legendary fog was still hugging the coast like a moist blanket. If it didn’t dissipate by the time she reached her destination, it was unlikely she would meet any tourists. She usually timed her walks for the early afternoon so as to be sure that the area would be bustling with activity, but later that day she was scheduled to see one of her nephews, who had recently announced his engagement. Gladys was looking forward to talking with the young man about his fiancée—she had been preparing a list of questions ever since she’d heard the news. Things like how did they meet, did they share the same love of cats or dogs, and did they both floss and brush their teeth after every meal. Gladys was a firm believer that coordinated dental hygiene was critical to a successful union.

  When she stepped onto Pier 39, Gladys found that the crowd was especially thin, no doubt due to the weather. So she headed to the one place where she always went when there weren’t enough people to satisfy her social cravings. Gladys stepped around the corner of a row of stores on the western side of the pier and followed the railing to the end. It was lined with benches and coin-operated binoculars, for those who wanted to enjoy a view of San Francisco Bay or the other popular site: the famed sea lion colony.

  Over the course of many years and a great many walks, Gladys had come to know every sea lion in the colony—she had even given them names. She had started by naming them after U.S. presidents, but when she’d exhausted that list, she’d moved on to other famous historical figures, and then famous fictional characters. Because she was so familiar with the members of the colony, she would quickly recognize any new visitors that shimmied their way onto the square-shaped platforms.

  As Gladys approached, she saw that a few people were already standing at the railing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sea lions and snap some photos. With their backpacks, comfortable walking shoes, cargo shorts with bulging pockets, and fancy cameras, Gladys was certain they were tourists. There was a couple who she concluded were newlyweds on their honeymoon; there were also a mom, dad, and young son speaking German. She was just about to engage the German tourists in conversation and play a round of Three Degrees, when something unusual caught her eye. The colony had a new member.

  Gladys noticed that a seal had pulled itself onto one of the docks. From the time she’d spent volunteering at the Aquarium of the Pacific, Gladys knew based on the seal’s wide nostrils and long snout that it was a gray seal, a rare pinniped found in the North Atlantic Ocean. What was it doing here in the Pacific Ocean? she wondered. This specimen was quite large, dark silver with light-colored blotches scattered about its body. She had never seen a seal in the sea lion colony before and wondered how the resident creatures might react. They did so in a rather peculiar way. Much to her surprise, the sea lions of Pier 39 made room for their new guest. In fact, not only did they move to accommodate their fellow pinniped, but they turned their bodies toward it and began bowing their heads up and down. It was as if they were genuflecting in the seal’s presence, like he was royalty. This was strange, Gladys thought. But then things got a whole lot stranger.

  The seal began to transform. It didn’t appear to be a seal at all, but rather a human wearing an elaborate costume. The creature split apart down the middle, and a man emerged from inside. He was as naked as a jaybird. The tourists gasped in shock, parents blocked their children’s eyes, and Gladys just stared, slack-jawed in amazement. Her desire to socialize with the tourists evaporated in an instant. There was a new traveler in town she wanted to question, and she grinned in anticipation. Today’s walk would most definitely be one to remember.

  The boy who had seen the gryphon was now seated across the woman who had also seen the gryphon. It was an improbable reunion, and one Sam London had never anticipated. But there they were, two human beings from different generations and backgrounds brought together, once again, by a mythical creature who had chosen to make a surprising appearance. Unlike with the Bakersfield incident, this time it was Gladys Hartwicke who held the answers Dr. Vantana sought. Sam was sitting next to Vance on Gladys’s overly colored couch in her overly decorated living room. It was as if she had owned a large home and forgotten to downsize her furniture when she’d downsized her living space. The couch was comfortable enough, but Sam was certain the fabric incorporated every hue in the color spectrum. Gladys could have any shade of throw pillow, and it would have gone perfectly. The pillows she did have appeared to be handmade and were as colorful as the couch.

  Gladys sat in a red velvet armchair and clutched a small porcelain cup of tea, which clinked and rattled each time she took a sip and placed it back on its saucer. Tashi stood off to the side and refused to make herself comfortable, as Gladys suggested repeatedly. Gladys kept glancing over at the stoic Tashi, reminding her every few minutes that she could sit down, but Tashi wouldn’t budge.

  “I am perfectly comfortable where I am, but I thank you for your concern,” the Guardian told her each time the woman made the suggestion.

  Gladys was kind enough to provide them with glasses of water and set out a plate of cookies. She explained at length that the latter were originally intended for her nephew and his new fiancée, but she had promptly rescheduled their visit following her experience on the dock that morning. She had a feeling that the strange doctor from Bakersfield might be paying her a visit.

  “I’m not authorized to discuss the events at Death Valley. However, I can confirm that what you saw there was a gryphon and what you saw today was a selkie. They are both real and you’re not crazy,” the doctor assured her.

  “I knew I wasn’t,” Gladys said with a relieved smile. “And what is a ‘selkie,’ exactly?” she inquired.

  “A mythical sea creature of sorts,” Vantana explained. Then he added cautiously, “Ms. Hartwicke, I can’t prevent you from talking about this to anyone else, but I’d urge you to keep our conversation to yourself. For your own safety, of course.”

  “Of course,” Gladys replied. “Who would believe me anyhow? They’d think I was a crazy person who was seeing things—just like last time.” Then she added in a whisper, “But it’s certainly nice to know the truth.”

  “Now…,” Vance began, “once that selkie dove back into the water, did you see where he went?”

  Gladys nodded. “I did, indeed. I watched him in the water. He swam so fast. Like a torpedo. Shoom! Right to the boat slips. Everyone else was still staring at the sea lions, expecting him to pop back up, but I took off for the slips. I wanted to meet him!”

  “And did you?” the doctor asked.

  Gladys shook her head with disappointment. “I startled him. I do that to people sometimes. He stumbled and ran off,
but not before he dropped something. I have it drying on the windowsill.” Gladys stood and walked to the large picture window in her dining room area. Vance followed, along with Sam and Tashi. The afternoon sun beamed into the apartment through the double-paned glass as Gladys retrieved a wrinkled piece of paper that was propped against the window. She handed it to Dr. Vantana, who studied it. Sam craned his neck to get a better glimpse. It was a cover torn from a fashion magazine. The colors were faded and streaked, no doubt the result of being submerged in salt water. An odd thing for a mythical sea creature to be carrying, Sam thought.

  Despite the cover’s poor condition, Sam could see that the model pictured had big blue eyes; porcelain-white skin; and light, almost silvery blond hair. She looked like an angel. According to the text on the cover, this was Pearl Eklund, a “fresh new face in the fashion world.” Her name was circled in a green substance that Sam determined to be dried seaweed. Vance turned the cover over to reveal an ad for San Francisco’s Fashion Week that announced the participation of the world’s top models and designers. But something else caught Sam’s eye.

  “Look.” He pointed to the page. “The girl on the cover is going to be at this event. And that seaweed is around her name again.” Sure enough, the same dried seaweed circled “Pearl Eklund.” Sam’s eyes darted down to the bottom of the page, where the event information was printed, before quickly glancing to the clock on Gladys’s wall.

  “This is today! Like, right now. Do you think—” Sam started to ask.

  “Yeah, I think,” Vance interjected, standing up. “I haven’t the slightest idea why, but that must be where he’s headed.” The doctor turned to Gladys. “Ms. Hartwicke, thank you. This information could save lives.”

  Gladys smiled proudly. “That’s what I’m here for, Dr. Vantana. And you can be darn sure I’ll be keeping these eyes peeled. Maybe I can help you again.”

  “I hope you won’t have to. But thank you kindly. Can I keep this?” Vance asked, holding up the magazine cover.

  “Absolutely,” Gladys replied. As Sam and Tashi followed the doctor to the door, Gladys suddenly added, “There’s one more thing.” They all turned back to listen. “Before that man—the selkie—before he ran up the slip, he hid something in the boat locker.”

  “Boat locker?” Sam asked, confused. Gladys nodded.

  “Boaters use them to store their fishing gear, that sort of thing,” Vantana explained.

  “He broke the lock with his bare hands. Can you imagine?” Gladys said, impressed. “He rummaged around, took some clothes—swimming shorts, I think—and then stuffed something inside before closing it back up.” Gladys retrieved her purse and pulled a shimmering piece of gray fabric out of the canvas bag. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I just got this urge, like I needed it for some reason, and…by the time I had second thoughts and went to put it back, the police were already there. It’s unlike any fabric I’ve ever seen.”

  Sam noticed that Dr. Vantana appeared instantly unnerved by the item. He tentatively reached out to touch it.

  “Mind if I borrow it?” Vance inquired haltingly.

  “You can have it,” Gladys declared.

  “Oh…well…thank you,” Vantana replied, as if surprised by her generosity.

  Once they were out of the apartment, Sam followed up on the strange encounter.

  “What’s with that fabric? You seemed freaked out by it,” Sam said.

  “It caught me a bit by surprise, to be honest. The person who holds the skin of a selkie controls the fate of that creature. Gladys had this in her possession. To give it up is not something humans have always been willing to do, as the fabric imbues in us an instinct to steal it…and keep it.”

  “It does?” Sam inquired.

  The doctor nodded. “Henry—Phylassos—told me some stories,” Vantana explained. “Times when creatures were being used by humans for their own, often nefarious, purposes. So to risk all that and leave his skin, like this selkie did, is shocking. It must be somethin’ real important that got that fish out of water.”

  “What could be that important?” Sam wondered.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” the doctor answered.

  “We will simply have to ask him,” Tashi said. “But if we are going to catch him before he attempts to contact that woman from the picture, we are running out of time.”

  “The Guardian is right. Let’s get moving,” Vantana said as he picked up the pace toward the parking garage.

  * * *

  —

  Bay Area news reporter Cynthia Salazar stood poolside on the roof of a high-rise apartment building in downtown San Francisco. This particular building boasted one of the poshest and most expensive penthouses in the country. It was a sixteen-thousand-square-foot condominium that covered two floors and had access to a private rooftop terrace, which was the site of the Couture Showcase, the final event in the city’s annual Fashion Week activities. There was a runway consisting of a transparent Plexiglas strip fitted over an infinity pool that was built to the edge of the roof, allowing the models to appear as if they were walking on water, with the skyline a breathtaking backdrop behind them. Although Cynthia felt the “walking on water” bit was a little over-the-top given the context, she couldn’t help but recognize that it made for a great visual, a critical element for a story being bumped up to earlier in the evening news lineup.

  The reporter wasn’t thrilled with having to cover a cadre of beautiful women strutting around in bizarrely designed clothes no normal person would ever be caught dead in, but she gritted her teeth and applied her best fake smile. Cynthia was just thankful she hadn’t been assigned to cover the sighting of a man in a seal costume at Pier 39. People were already calling him a merman, which had led a few of her colleagues to make snide remarks about how she should be assigned to it. After all, she had interviewed a woman who’d sworn she saw a gryphon. The declaration made by Gladys Hartwicke that day in Death Valley was reported live by Cynthia and wound up being the most humiliating experience of the news professional’s career. She caught flack for that fiasco for weeks. Ever since, Cynthia would find articles about bigfoot on her desk and links to Loch Ness Monster stories in her email.

  It might not have seemed like there was a lot of potential for big news at a fashion show, but Cynthia had found an angle. She knew that if there was going to be any real newsworthiness to this segment, it would most assuredly center on the star of the event, a young model named Pearl Eklund. A native of Miami, Florida, Pearl had burst onto the fashion scene just a few months earlier, and her rise to the top had been meteoric. All of the world’s top designers were clamoring for her to showcase their latest creations, and everyone marveled at her beauty. They called her exquisite, intoxicating, a modern Helen of Troy. Cynthia chalked it all up to good hair and makeup.

  Pearl was not only taking the fashion world by storm, though. She also had become an immensely popular social media personality, as she catalogued—some might say flaunted—her luxurious lifestyle for her adoring fans. It was a lifestyle made possible by her adoptive father, energy magnate Lief Eklund, whose company, Eklund Energy, was one of the world’s wealthiest corporations.

  Cynthia lobbied for an exclusive interview with Pearl before the event, but Lief, who also acted as Pearl’s manager, had declined the invitation. Never someone to take no for an answer, Cynthia had snuck past security earlier that day and headed for Pearl’s trailer, with the intent of having a word with the model and maybe even capturing a picture of her sans makeup. Unfortunately, the reporter was turned away by a stern-looking woman dressed in a business suit. She had long black hair that was pulled back off her face and secured in what arguably could have been the tightest, neatest bun Cynthia had ever seen. The woman refused to identify herself and immediately motioned for security to escort the reporter and cameraman from the area.

  Now Cynthia
was set up on the rooftop terrace, watching the models walk the narrow see-through runway in increasingly outlandish outfits. As the star, Pearl would be the last model out, sporting the latest design from an eccentric Italian designer. When the music was blaring its loudest, the young woman finally emerged from behind the curtain at the far end of the pool. Pearl was wearing a skintight pink bodysuit with blue tiger stripes running up the sides, attached feet like a child’s footie pajamas, and, to top it all off, a feathered tiara that extended two feet from the top of her head, colored like a peacock’s iridescent plumage. Cynthia’s big brown eyes rolled like boulders at the display. Then she noticed something unusual. Pearl hesitated at the start of the runway, as if unnerved by something. Perhaps it didn’t appear stable enough, Cynthia speculated. She watched the model glance back toward the woman who had earlier turned the reporter away from Pearl’s dressing room and was now standing next to Lief to the side of the curtain. The woman seemed to be nodding encouragement in a firm, unsmiling way. Pearl stepped cautiously onto the runway and walked slowly down the strip. When she was halfway across, a gust of wind nearly blew off her headpiece. Pearl reached up to grab the feathered tiara and secure it, but lost her footing on the glass and tumbled into the pool. The crowd gasped, while Cynthia anxiously eyed her cameraman to make sure he was recording. He responded with a triumphant thumbs-up.