by Naomi Fraser
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He points his nose down slightly, head following, fluidly compressing his body as he lifts his head, bends his knees together in the direction of the ocean floor and then snaps down his lower legs. His flippers torpedo him forward, streaming bubbles in his wake as he surges past.
I hang on tight. My right arm floats out and causes too much resistance, so I pull it in close by my side. I try to mimic his smooth actions. Scoop my hands, lift up, knees down and then snap my tail fin. Alternating the motion between us, we glide as one toward the shore.
The echoes fade until only a slight disturbance touches the spot behind my ears and chest.
My heartbeat slows and tiny spurts of electricity zip beneath my skin, lending me more energy. I imagine what this place looks like in the morning, when the water is as clear as daylight. The coral, the fish, the way the sun hits the water in golden, gleaming warmth. Some part of me wants to stay, while another wants to go back to the old world I remember. Can I ever return?
My hair clouds behind me, water slipping over my skin as though I were weightless.
I seem to feel the wall long before I see it. Ripples vanish along my sensitive skin and all the stray pulses stop. I reverse a few seconds before impact, pulling Lakyn to a halt, churning water with my tail fin.
Curiously, I look to him. He normally possesses great control when swimming. He points to the surface. When we break through, he rips off his mask and heaves a huge breath. “That felt great,” he says, cracking a wide grin. “I didn’t see the wall. But you would have felt it. Come on; let’s get you up on the land.”
The way he says ‘land’ strikes me as odd. However, this whole night has been strange. “How can I get up the rocks? They’re too sharp and I don’t have legs.” Panic throbs in my voice.
He gestures to farther along the shore where sand slopes into the water. “Let’s swim over there to the sand. The cord should stretch that far.”
We swim almost in the slip stream of a current, and at the first touch of grainy sand on my palms, a massive groan of exhaustion and gratitude heaves from my lips. “Thank you, Lakyn. Thank you,” I whisper.
“We’re not out of it yet.” He helps me slide up the sand, loops the strap of the spear gun over his shoulders, bends down and with his muscles bunching beneath his wetsuit; he lifts me into his arms.
He is damn strong. The scent of the ocean clings to his skin, salty and briny. I momentarily rest my cheek against his heart and the muscle thumps like a drum. He gently sets me on the grass beneath a large tree along the shoreline.
“You’re probably not going to like this,” he says, then makes some kind of knot with the cord, looping the length around the tree, effectively tying me to the trunk. He crouches before me. “I have to get the car. It’s parked under a streetlight. Someone might see you. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“No. Wait! Don’t—”
“I have to, Ellie. If anyone sees your tail, there will be trouble. You’re better off staying hidden in the shadows. Hold onto the cord, or put your fingers in your ears and hide. I’ll be two minutes, tops.” Then he’s gone, stumbling through the darkness as though he can’t find a firm grip with his feet.
I shuffle and press my butt to the back of the tree. My heart pounds so loudly it’s all I seem to hear.
And then . . . I look down at the long length before me. Diamond shaped crystals spark off my tail and I lift my feet experimentally. The huge fin tail flexes. I stare in wonder at the beauty of the colours. The tail isn’t something on my skin, the multi-faceted crystal hues are my skin. My thigh muscles show through the filmy matrix. There seems to be a kind of natural fold where the inside of my thighs would’ve been. My bones feel different, too, as though they’re one.
The branches stop some of the moonlight peeking through, but shimmery sparkles still reflect creamy white and purple every now and then like polished sea glass.
I flip up my tail, and it lands on the grass with a great thud. I don’t want to take my fingers out of my ears, but I hesitantly reach out and touch my thigh, then quickly pull my hand away. I wipe my hand on my nightie and then shove my finger back into my ear. The tail is slimy and slick and each scale feels hard at the edges.
What’s going to happen when I change back? Can I change back?
Lakyn bursts through the trees at that moment still in his wetsuit gear. He runs to me, unties the cord and then pulls it from my waist and over my head.
I take my fingers out of my ears.
“I’ll come back for that in the morning.” He gestures to the cord and lifts me into his arms, shuffling through the bushes toward the open passenger side door of a white Hyundai. “Let’s get you in the car.” He places me on the front seat, picks up my tail fin and tries to angle it inside the foot space.
“Oh.” My tail doesn’t fit.
He leans across, adjusts the seat backwards and then slides it all way back until I’m almost horizontal. “That’s good. You need to stay low anyway.”
He shuts the door carefully, minding my tail. The boot opens, closes and then the driver’s side door cracks open. Old car. He climbs inside, hands me a few towels and says, “Wrap yourself up as best you can. We need to get away from here and dry you off. I can’t turn on the headlights yet.”
“OK.” But easier said than done. I try to get a towel underneath me, but I wobble like a drunken-man inside a rolled-up Persian rug.
He starts the engine and revs it far too hard a couple of times. “Just so you know, tonight’s the first time I’ve ever driven a car.”
I twist to him in alarm. “What?”
“Hang on.”
“Oh, hell.” I yank down the seatbelt and click it into place. I can’t reach the handle above the window, so I brace my knees against the dashboard and hold onto the edges of the seat. The car dips and then jumps over the parklands.
My ribs jump up with it. CDs scatter in the console, and he leans forward, obviously trying to see through the windscreen without lights.
“From what I remember on the way here, it’s going to get rough. We have to go down a bit of a gully.” The car suddenly cracks, and then everything flies up, including me. The seatbelt locks before my body slams against the roof of the car.
On the downward thump, my hip bones grate against my ribs. “Do you have to go so fast?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never done this before. You can’t drive because of your tail. Nearly at the road.” He swerves and I slide all the way across, banging my cheek against his seat and getting a mouthful of leather. Finally, the smoothness of the road is beneath us and the tyres stop bouncing around.
My sigh of relief whooshes out, although the car jerks in stops and starts, and my knees repeatedly ram against the dash.
He switches on the lights. “I’ll slow down now.” The car jerks again, stops, stalls. “Great.” He sighs and starts it again.
I shake my head. “Don’t worry; just go at whatever speed you can.”
He nods and we take off too fast while I grip the side of my seat, mentally screaming. He casts me a glance. “Rub yourself down. I don’t know if you’ll turn back, but it’s your best chance.”
I grab another towel and fiercely massage the thick fabric into my scales, the friction heating my tail. After I give the strange firmness a good going over, I touch the scales again. “It feels tight,” I say, scared. “Uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” he answers.
He hasn’t acted surprised at all. “Lakyn, what’s going to happen to me? You knew I was going to change, didn’t you?”
He tenses. “I couldn’t be sure, but I had to prepare, though you can probably expect the same amount of pain changing back.”
“So I will change back?” I ask hopefully, although I’m not too happy about going through that kind of agony again. “Lose the tail?”
This time, he turns to me fully, and I yell out, “Watch out! God! Don’t take your eyes off the roa
d, look ahead!” I squeeze my eyes shut, but when we don’t crash into anything, I open them again.
He straightens and focuses in front of him. “Sorry. I don’t know what will happen, Ellie. You’re the first human being who has transformed into a mermaid in over a thousand years.”
“I am?” I hold a hand to my head as I try to take in that piece of information.
“Yes.” He turns the car into a driveway. Luckily, the gates are open or he would’ve driven straight through them at the speed he’s going. We bounce our way along the pothole-ridden road to the hostel.
“There’s lots of holes here.” I lift my bottom off the seat to ease the blows.
“It’s the earth,” he says absently. “Too soft. If it rains, sinkholes form.” He stops the car and cuts the engine.
“Oh.” I unclick the seatbelt and sit up. “So this is your place.” To my right is the water, and a sharp shiver clenches my muscles. I look around. On my left is an old building. The hostel.
Lakyn opens his door and the interior light switches on. He picks up a fresh towel and spreads it out with both hands. “Come here,” he murmurs. “Look at your tail. It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen those colours before.” He pats the opalescent scales closest to him and then moves down my tail fin with exquisite care.
I bite my lip, wondering how he knows my skin is extremely sensitive. I swallow and then suck in a hard breath at my heart-pounding response to his touch.
He shoots me a knowing grin, totally sexy. “The other side now.” He reaches across and sweeps the towel along my scales, smoothing the cloth down my tail.
A tail that is now too dry. If anything, I’m stuck in a hard, thirsty web. He lingers over the task, rubbing at the scales on my hips, his gaze on the light playing across the colours.
The nightie rides high, just under my breasts, and I try to tug it down, but the hem is in tatters. At least it covers what I need it to. Then he picks up the edge of the towel and wraps it around my tail fin with a sigh.
“You are glorious,” he says. “I’d take you back to your place, but you should probably come inside with me. You can borrow my clothes and no one will care about the tail.”
“About a tail? Are they blind?”
He grins mysteriously. “You’ll see.”
25
THE HOSTEL REMINDS me of the crooked house from said nursery rhyme. As though a man with zero building skills and big ideas constructed a house on the coastline. The front door is around the back and golden light peeks from the gaps in the wooden frame. A lean-to helps hold up a wall, sheltering rows of tyres and waist-high grass. A few boats scatter the yard, along with nets, fishing bins and buoys.
Lakyn switches off the headlights and quickly exits. He wrenches open my door. The rusty metal creaks in protest. Cold air blusters through the opening. Without a word, he adjusts the towels over my tail and scoops me into his arms so my ear rests against his heart. I slip my hand across the wetsuit material around his neck, and the damp fabric tacks to my palm. The scent of salt, cool musk and lavender makes me want to lean closer into him. He kicks the door shut and stalks toward the hostel.
As we near, loud voices echo from the gaps in the sagging door.
“What’s going on?” I grip his neck and try to straighten. “Are there people up?”
“Don’t be afraid. You’re important to us, Ellie,” he says abruptly and stops. “It’s morning. Fishermen are up early, but . . . it’s more than that.” He squeezes me, takes a deep breath and his heartbeat picks up speed against my cheek. He rubs his warm hand in a slow caress down my back. “What you’re about to learn might come as a bit of a shock.”
I raise my eyebrows. “As opposed to everything else tonight? Outstanding.”
He laughs. “Yes, it’s just . . . they’ve never fully transitioned. None of us have. It was against their will. You’ll see.” He stalks toward to the door, easily navigating around dips and objects, cradling me close.
At the threshold, he calls out to someone called Ralph. No answer, which isn’t surprising considering the noise inside. Then Lakyn kicks the door and the makeshift, heavy wood flies open at a crooked angle. Golden light reveals a long, narrow table surrounded by men whose heads turn to us in unison.
I pull back against Lakyn’s chest. “What’s going on?” I whisper.
“They’re all here,” he murmurs into my hair. “That’s good. Safer for you. I called them from the car to let them know they didn’t have to stay out on the water.” Then, “I’ve got her,” he announces, entering the room. “Lock the door behind me, will you? Sirens are out there.”
A man rises and secures the door with a heavy, metal bolt. The debate dies down and numerous chairs are vacated. Lakyn sets me on the nearest empty chair and I cast a smile at the man who gave up his seat for me.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” he replies with a grin. “Anytime. It’s good to meet you. I’m Owen.”
“Eloise,” I reply.
“I don’t think the sirens will come here tonight, not yet anyway.” The man at the head of the table smiles, but his bottom lip is slippery and too pink, his grey moustache whiskers straight as spears. A cigarette nestles between two fingers and a dark brown bottle sits beside his right hand. He wears waders, a black and blue flannelette shirt and a cap with a fading beer logo. His smile turns into a smirk. “Coming for me would be too much of a blessing. Proud of you, boy.” He waves his hand, and the smoke follows. When it clears, his brown eyes shine at Lakyn.
Lakyn nods, his face serious. “Watch over her while I get changed, will you? She needs some clothes, too. I’ll hunt through the trunks. Back in a moment, Ellie.”
“What?” I lean forward and the towels slip off. The man next to me lifts them off the ground and hands them back. “Thanks,” I say, then turn to Lakyn. “Hey, no wait.”
“Oh, let him go,” the man at the head of the table rasps. “Like he said, he’ll be back shortly. You need to hear some home truths anyway.”
I crane my neck to see up the stairs, but Lakyn’s gone. My smile briefly indents the corners of my mouth. “Home truths?”
The man nods, and then takes a swig of his beer. “Name’s Ralph.”
“Joey,” another man says next to him, then Paul. I say hello to Owen again, then Walter, Patrick and Steven.
I pinch a towel and rub the coarse fabric along my palms. “I’m Eloise.”
“We know, but a name doesn’t explain why we’re not fussing at the sight of your tail, does it?” Ralph squints and bursts into rich laughter. The cigarette burns right down to the filter. “I admit it’s been a while, but we were like you at once, m’dear. You’re amongst compatriots. Never been a safer spot for you right now.”
I look from one man to the other. “You’re all from . . . down there? As what?”
My heart kicks to the resounding cries of, “We still can’t be sure, she’s not finfolk”, “We need proof”, “To just blindly believe”, and “I want to see her change back.”
“What more evidence do you need?” Ralph turns to the side and stares at me over his shoulder. He sucks back on his cigarette, but his hand shakes. It must taste awful—all filter. A cylinder of ash drops to the table. Perfect. Unspoilt. “No, I can tell all right. The boy isn’t lying. She’s both.”
“Just because she has a tail,” Owen says. “Doesn’t mean—”
“It’s a miracle,” Paul says.
“Look at her ribcage. Look at it.” Ralph thumps his fist to the table, and a glass rolls off the uneven surface to shatter on the floor. No one moves to clean it up. They’re all staring at me. “The colour of her arms. In her tail. Deny it all you want, but finfolk are tanner than she is. Mermaid’s ribcages are flatter and wider when they’re out of the water. She has differences I’ve never seen before, but you can see the human in her. I might’ve been on land for twenty years but I spent forty in the sea, and I’ve never seen a tail with those colours.”
“Her
teeth,” Patrick says. “Get her to show you her teeth.”
“Open up,” Ralph orders.
I hesitate and then smile widely, without pleasure, showcasing my pearly whites.
“No sharp incisors, well not like a pure mermaid.” Ralph sits back and laughs. “He really did it.”
“What are you?” I ask.
“You know what we’re saying. We’re not from here.”
“But on—”
“We were finfolk. Mermen.” Joey reaches for his beer and takes a huge gulp. “Now we’re here, without our families. No choice in the matter. All of us stuck.”
“What? Why?”
“Oh.” Ralph kicks back his head, a reminiscent smile on his face. “I met a woman, a human woman. Hair that put a mermaid’s to shame, ripples all the way to her backside. Humour.” He shook his head. “It’s like she invented the word.” His jaw clenches hard, and his eyes burn with the kind of pain that can cripple a heart. As if the world drilled a hole through his eyes, into his heart and cracked the muscle wide open. Mum’s eyes over Dad—her pain—I remember it well. “Council didn’t like it. Against the rules.”
The hostel is bare with brown wooden floors and thin, grey fibro walls. No pictures, no photos. A string of small bulbs line the ceiling on a black cord and the uneven table looks on its last legs. I rub my trembling hands together, but say nothing. There’s an ambience in the room for all the lack of furnishings, a lack of pretence. No mask or need to be on your guard. Sit upright, press knees together, or don’t clang your mug on the table. None of that. No need for quiet voices and to stop fidgeting. In the simplicity, you can let down your guard. Your veneer washes away for something honest.
Like the time my mum broke down after holding it in for so long. When the pretext slips away, realness fills your soul and heals every wound you ever had. Goodness and friendships reside in truth and honesty. Nothing underhand is going to happen to me here. I trust in that and sink a little into my chair.
“She’s not with us anymore.” Ralph’s gaze catches mine and he swallows. “Tried to change her, didn’t I? But they warn against that type of thing, normally it doesn’t go well. I didn’t listen, because we wanted to be together.”
