Tears of a Mermaid

This is my entry to the 2022 Summer Lovin' contest. It is a follow-on story to 'The Mermaid in the Boathouse' and is set a century later. It is unnecessary to read that tale first, but a brief introduction might be useful.

Human colonists were landed on Cordelia, an ocean planet with thousands of fairly small tropical islands. Cordelia's original inhabitants were what we would now call 'mermaids'. Essentially abandoned by Earth thereafter, the human colony settled into a stable, basically maritime economy with technology equivalent to that of early-1800s Europe; there was no electricity or steam power, but there were wooden sailing vessels, horse-drawn vehicles and farm implements, etc. Friction and misunderstandings between humans and the Sea People were more or less inevitable and a bitter armed conflict erupted, slowly dying down into an uneasy truce of sorts. A real peace was eventually cemented by a pair of lovers, Neesa and Misha.

Please enjoy.

+

I wasn't the first to see it arrive. An excited whistle from one of my cross-cousins had a hundred pairs of eyes turning seaward at the same time.

It had been years since I'd seen a baker boat and I would've slipped into the water and swum out to get closer had my mother not stopped me.

"♩ ♬ " she said. Wait, Narisa. They will confirm we are willing to buy before they begin to make bread.

I knew that — or should have — but I was still excited, still wished to inspect the thing, smell the bread, see a human up close.

She patted my hand.

"It will be hours before there's even the sniff of the smallest crumb, dear," she assured me. I had to be content with watching from shore as we practised our song.

The thing slowed as it began to turn into the wind near the centre of the lagoon, slowed still more as the human figures on it lowered its sails. A voice called out and an anchor dropped; I could hear the sound of its splash and a low roaring as its hawser paid out. A moment later, the vessel swung, pointed itself into the breeze, wiggled a little and became still.

A long man with shaggy, light-coloured hair and beard was standing at the rear of the boat. He seemed to be in charge, for it was he giving directions. Once the anchor had fallen into the water, he joined the other three, the four of them chatting and laughing as their vessel morphed from a bird soaring over the waves to one bobbing on the swells.

A circle of Sea People soon surrounded it, smiles on their faces. A few, generally the young, waved in their excitement.

The figures on deck waved back as they moved about, rolling the sails, tidying up. Then came the certainty of it being a baker boat; the humans carefully lowered a ramp from one side down into the water. I watched impatiently as some Sea People, grandmothers mainly, crawled up the ramp onto the deck.

In due course, they left. The humans, apparently assured that their trade would be welcome, erected a tall metal tube from the centre of the deck, carefully positioning it to avoid the tangle of rigging. Shortly after, I could see smoke begin to rise from it.

Bread!

The arrival of humans on our planet had brought disharmony, anger and bitter conflict. Yet, with Neesa's Peace, it had also brought many good things.

Bread was high on the list.

Could we of the People live without bread? Yes, certainly. But bread is a treat, a novel and happy food of which we had never dreamed, something we could hardly aspire to produce for ourselves even now.

The arrival of a baker boat meant a festival of sorts, a chance to celebrate the plenty of Mother Waters, to feast and to be happy. Smiling people would ease themselves down the ramp and, loaf or loaves held triumphantly high above the waves, carefully swim ashore to share it with friends and family on a convenient beach.

How such things fill one's memory...

My early years had been carefree, as easy as any could imagine. I had playmates and siblings, loving parents, plenty to eat and no fears whatever. Able to swim almost at birth, we pups played and frolicked in the gentle waves of a small bay reserved for the innocent, several adults always nearby in case of trouble or prowling predators.

As I grew older, my education began -- a thousand times a thousand details about Mother Waters, Her bounty and my people, even more about how to cherish Her, it and them. I learned about tides and currents and about Her heartbeat undercurrents, the deep flows that permit our world to exist. I was introduced to hundreds of kinds of fish, of crustaceans, of squids and octopi, of endless things shelled and unshelled, those which could be eaten, those which would eat us, given chance, and those which needed to be tended with gentle love if the tides were to continue.

I learned of dangers and of duty and of the mercilessness of natural laws. I learned the vocal histories of the Sea People, the ancient languages, the legends and sagas. I learned of the strange otherworldy legged creatures who had come from the sky generations before and some of their language, for the grandmothers felt that we pups should know them before we met them. I learned of stalwart Neesa - relearned, in truth, for Neesa was by now woven into almost every song the People sang. I learned of Misha, the strange lover she had accepted, fought against, with and for. I learned the formal etiquette of the Sea People, the very reef over which our society swims.

In time, I learned — well, I thought I learned — about destiny and about love.

In this, I was a fool.

+

I woke early the next day and, my mother being still asleep, slipped into the water and quietly approached the boat offshore.

I do not think the humans saw me, for I had lowered myself into the lagoon water so that only my eyes and forehead were visible.

The boat's body — its 'hull', my father had called it — was kelp green. Two masts rose high above it like limbless trees.

The breeze shifted and, creaking slightly, the boat moved to conform. I dove down to the anchor, saw how it had dug into the soft sand of the lagoon bottom. Above me in the clear water, I could see the shape of the hull. A gentle push with my tail and my head emerged into the air beside it. My eyes widened as I examined what seemed to be a woman of the Sea People at the very front of the vessel.

The life-sized figure seemed to be made of wood, for I could see the grain under the paint. The lady's tail lay against the hull, just above the water; from there she rose up as if staring ahead of the boat, her waist at deck-level and her arms behind her, holding onto the rail.

She was very, very beautiful and I wondered at the thing. How could humans, so awkward in the water, have produced such a marvel?

I was pondering that when there was an immense splash immediately behind me. I whirled, ducked underwater to see the blond man, naked now, his back to me, swimming up to the surface. There was a second splash further back as another human joined him, then another. Even underwater, I could hear their shouts and laughter.

I watched the one closest to me, giggled inwardly at his lack of grace, at those two skinny, finless legs kicking and jerking in an effort to stay afloat. I took a moment to admire the bare form, the broad shoulders and a firm... well, I guess it could be called a 'bum', even though it was separated into two distinct parts. I was startled to catch a glimpse of his sex between his outstretched legs -- so exposed, so undignified, so unprotected.

I hung there, just under the water, examining my first close-up human. He suddenly raised his arms above his head, stopped kicking and sank below the surface. He turned to examine the waters around him; his eyes opened very wide when he saw me.

He grinned and waved.

I turned and fled, staying under the surface until almost ashore.

+

Some hours later, I was summoned by my grandmother, one of the eldest in the clan.

She kissed me, stroked my hair as if I was still a child.

"♩ ♬ " The humans have asked to be permitted to fish for themselves.

I found that confusing. Did they not wish to trade for the fish we had already caught for them?

As usual with my grandmother, she could read my thoughts.

"It is a human thing, child. Bakermen often make such a request."

I waited, knowing she was telling me this for a reason.

"♫ ♬ "   They will be using hooks, child, They have been promised a guide.

I realized that I was to be that guide and listened to her instructions as to where to take them -- a place just outside the lagoon, one with abundant fish, yet away from channels routinely used by the People.

Fish hooks could be nasty.

I arrived at the boat at the appointed hour and found three of the humans already waiting in a smaller craft, one I had seen carried on the deck of the ship. The fourth man, the longer one with pale hair, was on deck, leaning on the rail.

They all waved as I approached.

"♫♪ "  I announced. The lady has the honour of being guide to the men this morning.

The tall man on the deck smiled but was silent. One of the men in the dinghy knew some proper speech and whistled his thanks. The last two looked rather more blankly at me and said nothing. I led off, making sure to swim slowly enough that they would have no trouble following.

When we had arrived over the right spot, I stopped, waited for them to catch up. I tried to remember some of my hard-learned human speech.

"The men are welcoming to rest here," I started, then realized I had not the right words to finish. I reverted to whistling.

" ♬♩ ". The men are however requested to remain on this side of the point so long as they have hooks in the water. The People will keep their distance, yes?

"The men thank the lady," the one replied. He had a thick accent, but his meaning was clear and his formality proper.

I nodded, then swam away cautiously as they began tossing their lines into the water. Hooks can be very nasty.

On an whim, I swam by the ship on my return. The man was sitting by the top of the ramp; I felt the tingle of his smile all the way to my fintips.

He had hair on his face and chest -- so very strange, compared to civilized males. The hair on his head was shorter than those of the men I knew, only reaching to his shoulders; that on his face was shorter still, as if he had cut it with a blade. I suddenly found myself wanting to stretch out, touch it.

"♪♩" he said. The man is blessed by the lady's kind visit.  His accent too was strong, but I could understand him without difficulty. I found it pleasing that he was polite in his speech.

"Will the lady come aboard? There is a batch of buns to celebrate our first visitor."

I could smell them. I realized that I was hungry -- and curious.

My great-grandmother's curiosity would have been tempered by caution, for she had been born during the great conflict, the one ended by Neesa. Her generation had moreover been steeped in traditional formality, with great emphasis given to proper manners and unbendable propriety. My grandmother had perhaps mellowed, but still frowned on informal speech outside of one's own family. Today, among a clutch my own age? No, not so much; among ourselves we had drifted away from the acerb severity of our foremothers.

"'Batch'?" I asked. The word was unknown to me.

"The men make bread in... groups, many loaves together."

I looked at him, intrigued by the thought.

"It is a great mystery to us," I said, trying to frame my thoughts, "a wonder, that humans can bring bread out of the sterile land."

He smiled.

"Hardly sterile, lady." I noticed he still kept to a degree of formality. "The land supports trees and birds and fruit, all of which were here before us."

I nodded. True.

"We humans merely raise some new types of plants, one of which is the wheat whose seeds are used to make bread."

I tried to picture it.

"I wish I could see," I sighed, leaving formality behind.

He blinked, suddenly becoming very formal again. I suppose he was worried of causing offence and losing trade.

"The man has no secrets from such as the lady and would be pleased and honoured to show all he has and does. Sadly, the way to the man's workspace is not designed for easy passage of the Sea People."

I looked at him, sensing an openness on his part and a chance on mine to see something new.

"Crawling is hardly unknown to such as we," I said softly. "The lady would be happy to crawl to see."

He almost laughed.

"The way below, lady, involves a ladder. Sadly, legs are essential."

I knew some terms, but 'ladder' was a new one. In any case, I knew what my mother — much less my grandmother — would say to my accepting his invitation. Still, something occurred to me. Neesa had not refused to be carried by Misha, had she?

I hesitated, whispered, "If the man is comfortable with the concept, the lady would not object to his assistance."

His eyebrows went up -- a truly universal gesture.

"Is the lady certain? Is she suggesting that she consents to being carried?"

I blushed, but courage comes in different forms.

"If the man is comfortable with that, the lady would like to learn."

I could see him thinking for a moment before he spoke.

"The lady will permit the man a moment to look at the ladder and make better judgement..."

I nodded, smiled in agreement.

He returned a moment later, this time with a shirt on, as if still trying to avoid offending me.

"The ladder will be difficult, but if the lady is willing, the man would be pleased to assist her."

"The lady would be pleased for such consideration," I replied softly.

It felt odd, being in his arms. Parents of the People certainly carry their newborn on land, but given the requirement to crawl while carrying the infant, their movements are halting and awkward, totally lacking our usual gracefulness in water. This felt so different. My breasts pressed against his chest. I saw his eyes flicker across them, took comfort in his looking away. My tail in his left arm, his right around my waist and my own arm about his neck for balance, the man walked — such a strange term! — towards the stern. I looked down through the small entrance-way. It seemed very dark inside.

Cautiously, he seated me on the deck, with my tail inside. He squeezed past me, stopped with his head at a level just below my knee.

"If the lady will move forward," he suggested, "into the man's arms, the thing might be done."

I looked down, a bit apprehensive at the drop, shrugged mentally and eased forward. His hand caught under my knee and I pushed off, dropping just slightly before his other arm caught me around my waist and I was safe again.

'Safe' -- how odd it sounds to say that now. Somehow, I felt  safe, safe in the arms of a creature with hair on his face, with legs!   How very strange.

He explained things to me as we moved, naming them and pointing with his head before gently sitting me at a long wooden table.

There was a strong, delightful smell filling the place. I felt my stomach's plea for a taste of whatever it was.

Turning from me, he opened a chest and another type of bread scent poured out, almost overpowering. He closed the box and handed me a tiny loaf, no bigger than my clenched fist.

"Honey rolls," he said. "They're often the first things we make."

He grinned. "No charge for early-rising fish guides."

I nodded gratefully, nibbled and an unbelievable sweetness filled my world.

I looked around as I chewed. The space was small, even cramped. Perhaps it might be better to say that it was a large space but one crowded with many things, crowded in a way the People would have found confining.

A large structure made of squarish stones filled much of the space, a series of metal doors on its front. I could sense heat coming from it, see the lower part of the chimney they'd erected outside earlier.

"Our oven," he said. He opened a door for a moment and I felt a wave of heat before he closed it again.

There was a very large wooden bowl on the table, covered with damp piece of cloth. He lifted one corner to show me a whitish blob inside. Its aroma rolled out, filling my nostrils -- like but so unlike bread.

"It's 'dough'," he smiled. "Uncooked bread." He looked around, shrugged. "I suppose I should start at the beginning."

He rose, rather bent over as there was not enough room for him to stand upright. He returned a moment later with a small scoop of a white powder in one hand. He held it out for my inspection. A pale, pale brownish-white, it seemed finer than the finest sand. I held my hand out towards it, stopped, looked to him for permission.

"This is flour," he said, smiling gently. "Ground wheat seed."

I took a pinch of it, held it under my nose. There was no real smell, so I tasted it gingerly; there wasn't much to that, either. I looked at him, confused, then raised my hand again and sniffed at it. The dust filled my nostrils and I sneezed violently, then again.

Blushing wildly, I looked up to see him struggling to keep from laughing. I thought of how I must look and couldn't resist laughing myself. Our amusement broke what little strain still remained between us and I found myself relaxing.

He held out his other hand. There was a small brick of what looked like clay. Putting down the scoop, he broke off a small piece, held it out.

"Yeast," he said.

I sniffed it. It smelled like the soul of bread.

He thought for a moment and found a small pot. He poured some warm water into it from a container on top of the oven, then produced a smaller scoop of another white powder, pure white and rather coarser than the last.

"Sugar."

It had no scent, but I smiled in surprise when I tasted a pinch of it.

"♬ "   So sweet!

He smiled and stirred a little into the warm water, held the pot out to me.

"Next, if the lady will break up the yeast, we shall add it to the sweetened water." He put the pot on the table in front of me. The yeast was soft under my fingers, crumbling easily; I dropped it into the water and watched him stir it a little.

"We will put that aside for a moment," he said.

He spent a few minutes explaining other things -- 'bread pans' and 'racks' and 'portholes'. From time to time, he inspected the little pot.

At last, he held it out to me. To my surprise, the once-clear water was now a light brown, frothy with bubbles.

"The yeast is growing, lady."

"Growing?"

He smiled. "The lady might think of yeast as a collection of very small plants. Given the right conditions, they grow. In any case, the lady can see the bubbles from the yeast giving off gas. When mixed with flour and some salt for taste, it becomes dough."

He set it aside and again lifted the lid on the large bowl. Suddenly, I understood.

"The yeast makes the bubbles in the dough!" I cried. This was a revelation to me. I was perhaps the first of the Sea People to have seen this mystery.

He nodded. "The lady is correct. If one puts the dough into the oven, it cooks -- turns into bread."

Pointing to the bowl, he continued.

"The dough needs to rise for an hour or two, lady. Then it is punched back down and put into pans and allowed to rise a second time before being baked."

"Baked?"

"Cooked in the oven."

"So, the men are now waiting for the dough to rise?"

"The lady is correct." He looked out a porthole, turned back to me.

"The man's crew is returning. Would the lady care to wait for them here or would she prefer to be outside?"

I blushed, realizing suddenly that I definitely did not wish to be seen alone with him down here. My mother — worse, my grandmother — would hear of it. I shuddered at the thought, tried to keep my voice calm.