Melusine

Clarise Samuels

Song of the Mermaid

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. -- T.S. Eliot

Syranit was spending a lot of time off the coast of Florida, where she had been observing a diver who had caught her fancy. He was a marine biologist who was doing research on oceanic plant life, and he was handsome—so handsome that Syranit was mesmerized. Underwater she secretly kept an eye on him as she hid behind boulders wreathed with seaweed. On land, she crouched behind sand dunes or used her long-distance vision to observe him from the bluffs where she sunned herself. She watched him with longing and heartache, especially when he stood on the beach and removed his dry suit, for she ached with desire at the sight of his tan, well-developed muscles, his thick, dark hair, and eyes that were as blue as the sea in which Syranit lived. Syranit relished that he was a mature man in his late thirties. She was overwhelmed by her passion for this human.

Her realm had certain laws, and except for special circumstances, she was not allowed to reveal herself to humans. There were accidental sightings, of course. She was easily spotted because of her bright colors. There was the translucent bright blue of her lower body, comprising scales, fins, and the powerful tail with the lemon yellow fin at the tip, which pumped ferociously to propel her gracefully through the water. From a distance, she was a vision of human beauty from the waist up, with long graceful arms, satin skin, and long, wavy red hair.

But upon close inspection, which mermaids rarely allowed for they could swim away at a rate of fifty miles per hour, Syranit’s facial features were half human, half marine. Her skin had the silvery sheen of a bass or a kingfish, and her face was not as flat as a human, but had subtly slanted planes for cheeks. Her eyes were large black fish eyes, and her fingers were webbed together like a duck or a swan. Her reproductive organs were similar to that of a dolphin.

The mermaids did not age, but after about a hundred years or so, they would suddenly deteriorate and die, leaving behind at least one daughter. There were no mermen, so the daughters had to be conceived with human males.

The oceans were not as hospitable as they once were. The mermaids had to avoid waters where raw sewage was pumped directly into the sea. And capture by industrial fishing nets was always a fear. The mythical creatures preferred to live in secret parts of the oceans where no human diver or submarine could ever penetrate. There it was pristine and safe, but the nymphs could not linger in the majestic chambers at the bottom of the sea forever. The mermaids had to reproduce at least once in a lifetime, which meant they had to swim toward the coastal waters and reveal themselves to humanity for one purpose only—to seduce men. It was the only occasion when they were permitted to reveal themselves.

It was a dangerous proposition. An exploitive male who only wanted to profit from his discovery and hand his precious victim over to humanity often had to be destroyed. Mermaids were rarely violent, but if facing capture, imprisonment, and scientific scrutiny, they did what was necessary to preserve themselves. Such mishaps occurred more often than the Queen of the Mermaids cared to admit.

The Queen called Syranit in for special counseling. To choose a human male for reproduction was normal and necessary, but to fall desperately in love in the process meant Syranit had deviated from protocol. The Queen knew that an already risky business became far riskier if a mermaid's heart was captivated. The enamored nymph would not think logically, and her safety would no longer be her primary concern. And if the chosen male betrayed her trust and desired to capture her, she would be unwilling or unable to destroy him. The Queen wanted to lecture Syranit sternly.

Mermaids were fluent linguists, but underwater they used hand gestures, dolphin sounds, and mental telepathy. On dry land, they mimicked the language of the male with whom they wished to mate.

The Queen intended to ask Syranit to study her heart and mind very carefully. Their meeting took place in the Queen's oceanic labyrinth of caves, where Her Majesty was well guarded by killer sharks and colossal octopuses. The Queen was the sole heir of a divine line of mermaids who were the descendants of King Neptune, the only merman who had ever lived. With the divine blood that ran in her veins, the Queen lived for five hundred years, and was succeeded by a daughter, whom she begot at the end of her long life.

“Do you know what you're doing?” The Queen gesticulated wildly and made high-pitched squeaking noises. Syranit felt the alarm in the Queen's mind, and she quickly translated the oceanic language into English, the language of the man she loved.

“Please think in English,” Syranit requested by mental telepathy. “I am trying to become fluent.” The Queen spoke dozens of languages.

The Queen complied but with profound reservations. “I have to think in English so that you can become fluent and endanger yourself by cavorting with a human male for purposes other than procreation? You are seeking a relationship with a human. You know it is forbidden. You not only put yourself at risk, but the entire kingdom as well. I am deeply concerned about your safety and welfare.”

“He is not like the others,” Syranit replied, her face illuminated with an angelic expression and an ethereal smile at the mere thought of her beloved.

“They all feel the same way when they fall dangerously in love,” the Queen replied with annoyance. “I've seen it happen all too often. In nearly every instance, the man in question had to be destroyed. Profit, ego, and greed proved to be too much for even the kindest human male. It's been pure luck that throughout the ages, not one of us has ever been captured. But in this age of submarines, sophisticated underwater photography, and scientific inquiry, we are pushing our luck. We can no longer afford romantic dalliances. No one keeps secrets anymore. No one respects mystery and romance. The human world is filled with lunacy. They are polluting our sacred seas and forcing us to take sanctuary in The Dark Waters, where before we only stayed for respite and communion with the spirit of Neptune. Now most of us live in the remote seas, for we fear the madness of the human race.”

“I think of nothing but him,” Syranit replied, circling her arms with the oceanic gesture of eternal love.

The Queen shook her head sadly. “I order you to take a retreat in The Dark Waters and call upon Neptune for his help so that you may find clarity and peace of mind.” Syranit was dismissed.

Syranit swam several days to The Dark Waters and spent a few days in contemplation and thought. It was a zone plunged into darkness, eerily resembling another planet, where mermaids had to use their bioluminescence, an ability to emit a greenish aura, to light up the immediate vicinity. With each passing hour, she longed to be back in the coastal waters of Florida, so that she could catch a glimpse once again of the man whom she worshiped. She knew his name was Charles. She pronounced his name many times throughout the day and in her sleep. Above water, she whispered it to the skies and to the dolphins. Charles. It was only one syllable, and to Syranit it sounded like music—it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

When the requisite interval for retreat and communion had passed, Syranit swam back to the Floridian waters in record time, for she was sick at heart at having been forced to leave. Upon arrival, it was a clear Monday morning, the first day of the workweek for humans. The sky was brilliant azure, and white puffy clouds spotted the horizon. Syranit let the waves carry her to the shoreline, and she slid up on the rocky embankment, where she could relax and bake in the hot sun. Mermaids loved to sun themselves. But Syranit had an ulterior motive, for from the rocky bluffs she could see Charles arrive at the dock and board the boat that would take him to the waters where he retrieved samples of marine plant life for his research.

But today was different. The boat was there, but it was unattended. At nine o'clock, Charles did not arrive at the dock, and he was always punctual. Syranit was puzzled. Was it another legal holiday? Her heart started to break, for she had not seen Charles since her interview with the Queen, and she longed for the sight of him for just a fleeting moment. She realized with tears in her eyes that the retreat and the supplications of the Queen had not improved her emotional state of mind; Syranit's ardor had only increased. Her disappointment at Charles's absence was the cause of deep emotional pain.

A branch cracked behind her, and Syranit started. Her heart jumped into her throat as she quickly did a belly roll to turn around and view the intruder. She gasped, for she was face to face with Charles, who stood there with an expression of stunned amazement in his eyes. “My God, I can't believe it. It's true. I thought it was an actress who came up here to rehearse for a role in a film. But this is no costume. You are not human. It's true. You're a mermaid.”

Syranit should have jumped into the water to escape immediately, but instead she began to sob. “I love you,” was all she could say. Mermaids were naive, unpretentious creatures. They did not understand human boundaries, customs, or the rules of social interaction. Distance and aloofness were alien to them; they were loving and physical creatures. Charles laughed with pleasure at her words. He was charmed by her candid response, although her silvery flesh and oddly shaped head were a curiosity to him, and he did not appreciate her delicate, otherworldly beauty.

Under normal circumstances, Syranit would beckon to a prospective mate, caress him and talk to him soothingly before injecting a natural serum that induced amnesia. The mermaids performed the reproductive act only with human males whom they had drugged and who would not remember anything of it afterwards, except to remember that they had experienced a vivid dream. But Syranit wanted to lie with Charles in an act of love, not an act of procreation. Every part of her longed to embrace him and unite with him.

She reached her arms out to him. He helped her into an upright position. On land, the mermaid's lower body became more like human legs in its rigidity and ability to support the rest of the mermaid's body, so that a mermaid could kneel. A mermaid did not walk on dry land, but was able to crawl on her belly, using her hands and dragging her tail behind her. The belly crawl made land movement possible, but it was awkward.

“Who are you?” Charles asked with infinite gentleness. Syranit's heart melted at the sound of his voice.

“I am Syranit,” she replied.

Charles smiled. “What a beautiful name,” he remarked. Syranit leaned her head on his shoulder, and he slipped a supportive arm around her back. She clasped her hands together in pure joy, for Charles was holding her, at long last. Charles noted she reeked of seaweed and fish, a smell he was used to but did not find appealing. In her contentment, Syranit made the high-pitched sound of pleasure that the dolphins often made. She then sang the mermaid's love song, the one that legend said drew sailors to their death when their ships would crash on the rocks. Charles had never heard such an unnatural song of longing and despair. But Charles's thoughts were otherwise occupied, as he took mental notes regarding Syranit's size, color, and estimated weight.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a honking horn. On the higher ground, Charles's colleagues had arrived in a pick-up truck. Syranit made a fearful noise, and she loosened herself from Charles's grasp. “No, no, stay with me,” Charles pleaded.

“I will return next week,” Syranit replied. And then she slid off the rock and into the sea. As her blue tail pumped furiously, Charles quickly took a small camera out of his pocket to photograph her. He snapped a half dozen photos before Syranit's bright blue tail with the yellow tip disappeared under the water.

Syranit was not surprised when a few days later, a dolphin ambassador came to summon her to the labyrinth of the Queen, and knowing the Queen was disturbed by her behavior, Syranit dutifully answered the call so that she could alleviate the Queen's fears. When Syranit arrived, the entire executive council was assembled behind the Queen's throne. They all looked somber and exhausted. The council had been in session for three days. Syranit had never seen all the royals assembled in one cavern.

“What is wrong?” Syranit asked the Queen.

“Come,” said the Queen, “the dolphins will show you.” The three wisest dolphins of the ocean acted as her escort, and Adona, the chief consultant of the Queen's tribunal council, also accompanied her. They swam under the rocky bluffs where Syranit had trysted with Charles, and through a secret passageway, which took them through a series of caves, until they emerged in a tiny inlet close to the sea. It was almost midnight, so there was no human activity in the area. Syranit shot out of the water and landed on the shore. Adona also torpedoed out of the water, and the dolphins remained in the lake with their heads and fins bobbing above the water.

The scene was horrific. In a large cage, about two stories high and locked to prevent theft, all the equipment necessary to capture a mermaid had been assembled. Syranit nearly became ill at the sight of the net that was nearly six feet long, exactly her length, and the water tank that was also just the right size for her. There was a small fishing craft, stun guns, and video equipment. And Syranit nearly fainted—there were rifles stored on the boat. And there were bullets.

“We thought you should see for yourself,” Adona explained. “Otherwise, you would have never believed us. Charles is not to be trusted. He is a ruthless profiteer. He is a hunter.”

Syranit emitted a long wail of grief and heartache. She was inconsolable. “It can't be Charles. It can't be Charles,” she screamed several times. Adona pointed to the name of the boat painted on the side, Charles's Dream.

“A human informant who works with Charles told the dolphins everything,” said Adona. “He wanted to protect you, but he was in danger of losing his job. In his anxiety, he came to the beach and made his confession to the dolphins just to ease his emotional burden. Of course, he had no idea he was talking to the wisest dolphins in the realm. It was all speedily reported to the Queen.”

Syranit buried her face in her hands as she knelt on the dry ground and sobbed with despair. Adona comforted her and coaxed her to dive back into the water. The dolphins circled Syranit closely and nestled her protectively. The despondent little entourage made their way back to the Queen's throne room, where there was now pandemonium and an audience of hundreds.

“Destroy him, destroy him!” was the predominant chant among the eels, the sharks, and the manta rays. The Queen observed everything from her throne stoically and in regal silence. Syranit went to the head of the crowd, and despite her grief, she summoned up all her strength to give the talk that would be necessary to save Charles's life.

“Listen to me, I beg of you,” she squealed in dolphin's language, “who among us truly understands the heart and soul of a human? Who among us has had to live our lives on dry land where the force of gravity makes the physical body almost too heavy to bear, and the human heart even heavier than that? What is it like to face hatred, resentment, and envy every day of your life, and to compete with others for the necessities of life—for shelter, food, clothing, medicine, and the imaginary commodity that humans call money? Perhaps we, too, would be reduced to such base and primitive behaviors, were we to live our daily lives in their insane world where every Neptunian value has been turned on its head and inverted. Charles is not evil; he is merely misguided. We must feel compassion for him. It is my own fault for revealing myself to him. He must not die because of my mistake. We must let him live his life and let natural consequences guide him and teach him the error of his ways.”

“He must be destroyed!” yelled the chief of the killer sharks, who remained unconvinced. But slowly the commotion died down, the hardliners were finally won over, and Syranit's rational resolution was granted. Charles would live. But he would be discredited by the cleverness of the dolphins, who worked for several days and nights to construct a synthetic fish tail, which looked exactly like Syranit's lower body, with the same uncanny translucent blue color and the same bright yellow spot at the tip. They used materials that came from the bottom of the ocean in The Dark Waters, materials that perfectly emulated the threads and fabrics of the human world.

The following Monday, Charles was waiting on the rocks for Syranit to arrive. Just behind him, lurking behind the boulders, were other scientists and government divers, the agents who would capture her when she emerged to tryst with Charles once again. But Syranit did not appear. Instead a dolphin appeared, flapping desperately in the water, and screeching with cries of distress. When Charles and the others investigated, they found that the dolphin was hopelessly entangled in a brightly colored garment—bright blue with a yellow spot. Charles and the others spent some time disentangling the creature from the fabric. The dolphin, after being freed, quickly slid off the wet rocks and dove underwater.

The divers laid the article out on the rocks. “It's a mermaid costume,” said one of the scientists. Someone looked at one of Charles's photographs of Syranit disappearing into the water. He had only been able to snap her tail.

“Look, it's the exact same color as the tail in the picture. And it has the same yellow area at the tip,” a federal agent pointed out. Everyone examined the picture.

“Unbelievable,” commented another marine biologist. “Charles, you've been duped. You were talking to an actress who was wearing a costume.”

“That's impossible!” yelled Charles, turning red with anger. “She was not human. Her flesh was made of silvery fish skin. Her face had strangely slanted planes, which no one on this planet could be born with. Her fingers were webbed, and she knew the language of the dolphins. When she sang, it was an unearthly sound. No opera singer could hit those notes. She was real.”

The federal agents were now very skeptical. They waited a few more hours, and nothing happened. Later, it was decided Charles had conversed with an actress, or he had suffered a delusion and had perhaps interacted with the dolphin who had somehow become entangled in the mermaid costume. They laughed among themselves when they recalled Charles had claimed he put his arm around the mermaid and that she professed love for him.

“He was hallucinating,” said the FBI chief who investigated the case. “He was snuggling up with a dolphin.” Charles became a laughingstock back at the office.

With time, Charles became obsessed with his story, spending many hours on the rocks where he had met Syranit. He eventually suffered a nervous breakdown and spent six months in a psychiatric clinic. He lost his job at the age of forty-nine, and he moved into a small apartment not far from the area he still haunted every night, hoping to catch a glimpse of Syranit. He paid his meager expenses with his disability check and spent many years doing research and writing articles on mermaid mythology. In his old age, he walked the beach every night for hours, and he was considered to be a local eccentric. Everyone knew his story of how he had once met a mermaid who had told him that she loved him.

One evening when he was seventy-nine years of age, Charles went back to the beach as usual, where he sat on the rocky bluffs, which he now called, “Syranit's rock,” and he watched the sunset. He thought his eyes were deceiving him, for there was a sudden flash, and there, right in front of him, a mermaid with a bright blue tail and a yellow tip jumped out of the water and smiled at him lovingly.

He had no time to run back into town to find witnesses. His heart gave out, and he died right there on Syranit's rock.

Clarise Samuels is a Montreal author who has published poetry, fiction, book reviews, and translations. Her first novel, Loving Brynhild, is a retelling of Norse mythology and is now seeking a publisher. Clarise has a Rutgers Ph.D. in German literature, and her scholarly tome on the Holocaust poet Paul Celan can be found in major university libraries. Visit her web site at renoir.stat.uqam.ca/clarise.