Tears of a Mermaid

"The lady would prefer to be above the deck, if the man would be so kind."

He smiled, bent and I was in his arms again, long enough to be raised up through the opening and into the sunlight. This time, he did not seem to notice my breasts.

I crawled around to the ramp, reached it as the other men started to come aboard.

He waved at the others, turned back to me as I slid into the familiar water of the lagoon, carefully keeping the remnant of my honey bun above the surface.

"The man hopes that the lady enjoyed the explanation."

I looked up at him, smiled happily.

"♪ "   The lady is most pleased and thanks the man for his time and courtesy.

One of his crew called to him from the other side of the boat. He waved to me and was gone.

+

"Why do the men fish for themselves?" I asked him on my next visit. "We are prepared to provide."

"It is a pleasant way to spend time, lady. And, when men have been on board a ship for a long period, it is nice to be off-boat for a while."

I pondered that.

"We have received no invitation to go ashore, lady." His voice was low, honest but strictly courteous.

No. Of course not. There were mothers and pups on this island and trust only went so far.

"The man's vessel is a large one," I ventured, trying to make conversation.

"Not so large, lady. There are many larger, but this one suits our purpose."

He had relaxed his tone, moved away from polite formality. I decided he was less nervous about my presence, less worried about offending. I felt warmed by that.

"Did you build it?" I asked, slipping into informality myself. My grandmother was not here to take offense at youthful familiarity.

"No, lady," he said, "but such things were my grandfather's idea originally. When the Lady Neesa told the People of her experience of bread, many wished to taste it.

"My grandfather was a sailor and my grandmother a baker, one who worked on land, of course. The two of them discussed the matter and saw an opportunity. He built an oven on his fishing boat and they began to cruise among the islands, selling fresh bread to the Sea People. Their friends thought they were crazy, said they'd go broke, even if the oven didn't set fire to the boat first.

"They found it profitable," he smiled. "Enough so that, when she became pregnant, he was able to build her a house."

"House?" I asked.

"A dwelling place. Well, in their case, a combination dwelling, storehouse and bakery. He hired an assistant baker and she stayed at home to run the business baking for the finless."

He closed his eyes, plainly deep in memories.

"I remember it well," he smiled. "And the smell of the ovens!"

His eyes opened, happy and bright.

"And now my parents run the bakery on shore. I and my two uncles each have their own baker boat."

I nibbled on a scone he had sold me. It was exquisite and I smiled in gratitude.

"♫ "  I said.May a lady ask a question of a man?  I was ultra-formal, careful not to risk any offense myself. I knew so little of human customs or sensibilities.

"♪ "  The lady may ask anything of this man.  His reply was formal, but less guarded. His accent was still terrible, but his meaning was clear. I continued.

"Why is the vessel of the man led by a wooden woman?"

I saw him wrinkle his forehead, not understanding. Then his eyebrows went up.

"Oh, the figurehead? Ships used to have them back on Old Earth. Originally, they were thought to provide housing for water spirits which would protect the ship from sea monsters and guide it on its course, prevent it from going aground. Then they became decorations. I think it's for that last that we still have them."

"♬ "  I said. But why is it a lady of the People?

" ♩ ♪ "  No,  he replied, smiling a little. Not just any lady - it is the Lady.

"Yes, it's a lady, but why..."

He interrupted again. It was annoying, but I had been told humans meant no particular insult by it.

"'The Lady' is the name of the man's boat and the figurehead is the image of the Lady, Lady Neesa herself."

My eyes widened.

" ♫ "   Can it be so?

As I said, everyone knew the tale of Neesa the Peacemaker and her human soul-love Misha. A century of tides and currents have carried their history into every bay, every grotto. Their love is now a frequent thing in the People's songs.

He smiled.

"The lady may note that the wood from which the image has been carved is different from that of the vessel. It was the figurehead on the first ship owned by the man's grandfather, the very first sea baker. After that, it was mounted on my father's own boat and now it is mine. The artist who carved it for my grandfather had been lucky enough to have personally seen the Lady Neesa many times, had been privileged enough to have spoken with her once.

"It is her very image, lady and hence the name of the man's boat."

"That is Lady Neesa herself?"

He merely nodded, his smile growing.

"So the man was told by he who had had it carved."

" ♪ "   Forgive!   I cried as, with a horrific lack of manners, I slithered down the ramp and into the water. I surfaced near her image, swam back and forth, my eyes wide. Such a strangeness for me to be looking at one so well known, one so long gone.

One so lovely.

+

The yellow-haired man waved at me as I swam nearby the next day. I turned and approached 'The Lady'. Such a stir my on-shore revelation about that name and image had caused! There had been a crowd in the water around the bow for much of the day.

" ♪ ♬ "  he said. Calm waters to all! Might the lady be generous enough to tell a man of a good place for a picnic?

"Pic-nic?"

"An informal meal, lady. Generally eaten sitting on the ground."

He suddenly flushed. "Not on the main island, of course!"

He clearly knew our limits and concerns.

I thought of a small islet not too far away. Too small to dwell on, there was still soft sand and some leafy trees for shade.

" ♬♩"   When would the man like to depart? The swim will not be a long one.

"Whenever would suit the lady. The man will need a couple of minutes to gather some food."

"Is your crew to go with you?"

"The man will dine alone, lady. Jonnie and Hannus have decided to sleep and it is Leno's turn to stand bake-watch."

I could see an idea strike him. He looked almost shy when he spoke next, in tones of deep formality, his eyes averted.

"Would the lady be offended if the man invited her to share his meal?"

I thought about it, shook my head.

"The lady would be delighted."

I spent the next few minutes admiring the figurehead. I had seen my own face reflected in puddles and from underwater. Looking up, I tried to remember how I looked.

He reappeared, dressed now in a clean pair of short trousers and a white shirt. Lowering a basket into the tethered dinghy, he climbed down after it and cast off. Watching him as he moved, I was surprised at how agile he was.

I watched as he fitted a pair of oars, then turned to look at me. I was astonished to see him facing the back end of the little craft. Presumably he knew what he was doing. I was struck by the movement of the muscles in his arms and shoulders as he worked the oars, turning the boat towards the lagoon entrance.

"♪ "  he announced. The man is ready and offers thanks for the lady's patience.

I led off. It wasn't a long way; the sun had barely moved two thumb-breadths by the time we arrived.

"Over there!" I cried, pointing. Looking over his shoulder, he changed course slightly and soon grounded in the shallows. His bare feet splashed in the water as he towed the small craft further in and tied it to a shrub with a piece of rope. I crawled up onto the beach to one side.

He reached into the dinghy and brought a package towards me.

"Would the lady prefer to dine in shade or in sun?"

I suddenly became tired of the manners, the stiff decorum.

"My name is Narisa, oh man," I said slowly, trying to pronounce the human words properly. "What is thine?"

He smiled.

"♪♩ "  The man's name is Marco, lady.  His smile turned to a bright grin as he dropped his own formality. I am honoured at your courtesy towards me.

I laughed, reached out with my right hand, squeezed his arm gently.

"Your song-speech is very good, Marco. You must have spent much time among the Sea People."

He covered my hand with his own. I felt a soft hollowness in my stomach as his strange blue eyes gazed into mine, then I blushed furiously, lowered my gaze and pulled my hand away.

He flushed at the realization that he had broken the cardinal rule of our defining etiquette, for under no conditions may one touch a woman of the Sea People without her specific permission. He pulled his body away from me, averted his gaze.

"The man apologizes for his unforgivable lapse, lady," he whispered.

My heart pounding, I took a deep breath, looked around. We were the only people in sight. Wondering at my audacity, shrugging off the stern stares of ten thousand generations of grandmothers, I replaced my right hand on his arm and used my left to replace his hand over it. I raised my eyes to his.

"My name is Narisa, Marco." I took a breath as his eyes opened wider, then continued. "You were telling me where you learned to speak in such a civilized fashion."

I saw the wonder in his eyes, sensed his arm relax under my hand.

"Children, lady..."

He stopped, smiled slightly, then restarted. "Children are often taught such in school, Narisa. We share a planet, you and I; we should be able to speak to one another."

He turned slightly; I felt the firm muscles in his forearm shift under my hand. I noticed something else, the outline of a small anchor on his skin. I ran my thumb over the blue lines and was surprised at not being able to feel it.

"♪ "

He laughed. "'Tis but a tattoo, lady."

"A tah-too?" My tongue found the word strange.

"A design made by injecting ink under the skin."

"Why?" The humans seemed full of minor mysteries.

"Partly decorative." He paused, grinned. "For few humans could aspire to be as enchanting as the lady."

I blushed slightly.

"There is symbolism, too, Narisa, especially for sailors. Anchors hold a boat, keep it from being swept away. They are thus deemed symbols of determination, of strength and hope. The tattoo might be thought to inspire a man with such fortitude or, at least, remind him of its necessity."

"Fortitude?"

"♬"   He repeated the word in terms I knew.

"Ah."

"How came you to speak my  tongue, lady?"

"Much the same as you, I suppose. The grandmothers wanted us to learn. We were taught as pups."

He smiled at the term, looked at my hand under his. "I am amazed at your trust, Narisa."

"The world changes, Marco. Formality has its place, but..."

I paused, unsure how to proceed with that thought.

"But not between friends, is that it?" His chuckle came from deep in his chest.

"Are we friends, Marco?"

"The man would be honoured to be so considered by the lady."

I smiled warmly in response.

"The lady would be honoured to be the friend of a man who calls 'The Lady' home."

His smile was amazing to me. I felt myself falling into those strange, oddly-shaped blue eyes.

He must have felt the same, for he shook his head slightly, pulled his arms away and began to unpack.

Human food is often strange to such as I, but some of it looked interesting. There were fruits of various kinds, human 'cheeses', strips of what looked like filleted fish in a strong salt brine and a novel, strangely-shaped bread.

"Croissants," Marco said softly, seeing my gaze. "We baked our first batch of them today as a special gift to the grandmothers." He held the plate out to me, his grin mischievous. "But perhaps you should sample them first to make sure they are suitable."

Their smell filled my nose and my hand stretched out of its own will. My fingers broke some flakes off one tip of the crescent-shaped creation and I gave a slight cry of dismay.

Marco smiled. "That happens, lady... um, Narisa." His smile turned into a laugh. "I sometimes think picking up the crumbs is the best part of eating a croissant."

My teeth found it fragile, my tongue found it flaky, slightly crunchy, chewy -- and something else.

A crumb fell from my lips as I tried to speak. We both giggled. There was a crumb on his lips, too. I was tempted to sweep it away with a finger, but stopped short of such impertinence.

"What is that taste?" I whispered. "A rich taste, strange, but soft."

"Butter," he laughed. "Have you heard of the animals called 'cows', Narisa?"

"No."

"Well, we produce it from them. It's butter you taste; there's a lot of it in a croissant."

"It's delicious!" I muttered, then coughed slightly as a crumb caught in my throat.

The fruit was good, too, but I never got around to even trying his cheese or fish. I stopped part-way through my third croissant, realizing that I was being greedy.

"♩ "   I whispered. Sorry.

"Don't be!" he laughed. "You should know that there is no compliment for a baker so sincere as hearty enjoyment."

He thought for a second.

"But these were to be for the grandmothers, Narisa. I hope you can keep this a secret."

I looked around, saw no familiar heads in the water surrounding the islet. I found I could laugh now.

"Well, if the grandmothers were to see me here, alone with you, Marco..."

"Ahh!" he grinned in understanding. "So, lady, we share two secrets."

I smiled back, thought of something the People had never truly grasped.

"May the lady raise another issue?"

"Of course."

"Your baker boats give us immense value!" I said, hoping I was making sense. "How is that? What can ever be more precious than food?"

He shrugged slightly.

"Permit the man to doubt that lady's people need   the food the man's boat brings. Does not Mother Waters provide sufficient?"

I nodded before I replied.

"♪♫ "   Yet the cold feel of a pearl or a shell cannot be assessed against the fullness of bread.

"Lady," he smiled, "When one has food in sufficiency, one may then begin to search for beauty."

I blushed as his eyes swept briefly over me. Unclothed as my people always were, there was no bar against that, but I suddenly felt most strange for some reason.

"The shells your folk provide," he continued, looking me in the eyes now, "are popular among off-world traders and your pearls are accounted as some of the best in the galaxy."

He hesitated. I knew what he wanted to ask.

Sea shells were pretty and brought bread.

Pearls were prettier, rarer. They could be traded for more bread.

'Tears of a Mermaid' are amazingly beautiful, exceptionally rare. They glow from within with a soft, blue-green radiance. A grandmother had taught us that human sailors believed that wearing one would save them from storms, from wrecks and — such a strange concept — from drowning.

When etched by one of our artisans in the traditional orb pattern, its power is supposedly increased tenfold and the glowing eye seems to follow one as one moves.

Even to the Sea People, they are remarkable. These  were not traded for bread.

Humans cherished them with a passion we of the People found perplexing. The very topic was sensitive. One did not discuss the Tears without endless formality and subtle diplomacy.

Where do they come from, you ask? Forgive my smile. If you were one of us, you would not need to ask. If you are not, then there is no point in asking, for they are Ours.

I turned away from the thought, returned to my original question.

"You think that cold pearls for warm bread is a fair trade. Well, I suppose it's something I need to accept. I still find it strange."

"We still have our two secrets, thought?" he grinned.

I thought about that, grinned myself, relaxed back on the grass, closed my eyes. Especially with a full belly, the warmth of the sun on my face, shoulders, breasts and stomach felt delightful. I twisted my tail, felt the sun on it, too.

"You are very beautiful," he whispered.

My eyes popped open, stared at the odd creature sitting an arm's-length away. There was a curious look on his face, almost shyness. His eyes ran the length of me. Again, it felt strange; I felt my stomach tighten just a little, sensed a frisson of some enigmatic craving ripple the full length of my tail.

He blushed, started to stammer. "I... I mean... your people, the Sea People are so beautiful, lady. On our home planet, such were the shapes of men's dreams."

It was my turn to blush. Among my people, such flowery language was unheard of when speaking to or of the living. Birds could be beautiful, flowers, some fish. One could even speak of a dead person as having been beautiful, but not the living. Truth was all-important to us; distance and formality were our supports for that. I had never been called beautiful before. It felt strange, as if Marco had called the sky green.

The sea was blue and that was that. I looked like... well, what I looked like.

He saw my hesitation, lapsed a little into formality.

"The lady finds this hard to accept?"

I blushed again, nodded.

"Permit the man but a moment," he said, rising and walking to his dinghy. He returned with something shiny in his hand. He held it out to me -- a mirror.

I had heard of such, of course. A mirror was part of the legend of Neesa and Misha, but they were rare, even in trade. I'm not sure why, truly.

I started to take it from him, but his hand didn't release it.

"Who is the loveliest woman in the sagas of the Sea People?" he asked softly.

There could only be one answer to that question.

"Neesa."

"And the lady has seen Neesa, has she not?" he pushed.

"I... I have seen the figurehead on the man's vessel, which the man says is the image of Neesa herself."

"Was the woman so portrayed beautiful in your eyes, lady?"

Again, there could be but one response. I nodded. That too was truth.

He released the mirror. "Then tell me, Narisa, whose image is this in the mirror?"

I hesitated, peered at the square of polished steel.

And gasped.

My hand flew to my cheek, slid slowly over jaw, chin, lips, nose, forehead. I looked up at him, dumb in two languages.

"The man has the pleasure of having seen the Lady twice," he smiled. "Once in a figurehead carved long ago by a man who knew her well."

His smile was very gentle, but I found that for some reason I was having trouble breathing.

"And," he continued, "once in the flesh, a lady of the Sea People who has been gracious enough to share a man's food, as did her... dare I say it? her ancestress?"

My jaw fell and my eyes flew back to the mirror.

I was the perfect image of Neesa herself.

Neesa the brave, the lucky.

No, I thought, Neesa had used her bravery to make her own luck. I took a deep breath, worked to settle myself. I tried to better recall details of her story, then remembered how I'd learned them - as every every child does, in song.

I looked at Marco, handed back his mirror and smiled.

"The man has been generous with his food. May a lady offer a small repayment on that privilege?"

He looked puzzled, but nodded.

I made myself more comfortable on the sand, settled my shoulders, filled my lungs. I saw his eyes, perhaps against his will, briefly stray again to my breasts as they shifted. Smiling inwardly, I opened my mouth and sang.

I sang the best-known tale of Neesa, of the perils she faced and of the strength she had called on to overcome them. I sang of her capture and of her rescue and of her strength and wisdom in finding an end to conflict.