She begged her father to let her go.

“My sisters will care for me. I’m old enough.”

Now the people under the sea age differently than those on land. They can live to 300 and never look it. She was 50 but you couldn’t tell. Her hair flowed out as she swam. He had relented and gave the warning,

“You don’t know what men are like. Never trust them. They would put you in a cage and charge gold to see you.”

Now, I don’t know if that was ever true. Her father was over three hundred. She put on two necklaces; one her mother gave her and the other she took off a dead woman’s skeleton. The wreck had gold but she wanted only the necklace.

Her two sisters went with her. I’m not really sure they were sisters. They make their own rules. They vow to protect each other and call each other sister after that. Another thing is hair color. Each mermaid has their own color. Our mermaid has golden hair, of course. She was called by a name you could not spell or even pronounce.

Those who live below marvel at writing. To put letters together is beyond their interest, really. And do they have paper underwater? When she took her necklace off the previous owner, she signed a thank you. They have hand motions that mean something. Holding up both hands shows surprise.
Her sister showed her where some rocks poked their heads above the sea.

“But these are so far from land,” she said.

“Safe they are,” her sister said.

She went with them to the surface several times. She found the sun delightful. It shone so brightly on the waves.

She decided she would go alone. It was dark. Her face came up over the surface. She saw the full moon for the first time. Her hands went up automatically. What a wonder was this orb. She could see the queen face on it. She sat on the rock in silence. How quiet it was. Only the lapping of the water against “her rock.” Then a sound came across the water. A ship was signaling a lighthouse.

She didn’t know what a lighthouse was. Its light seemed weak next to the glow of the moon. She had never seen live humans. Mermaids are told that humans are an inferior race. They fight and kill each other. They are advised to avoid them. You can believe it when they cast nets to capture fish. They think people want them, too.

The ship would not come near her rock, she thought. But it had a light that moved over the water. She sat as it came closer. She got in the water for safety. Now, it was coming straight at her rock! She moved away. Boom! It hit the rock. They stopped and a man was lowered down by rope to check for damage. Then he called up and they pulled him up. She didn’t think her rock could damage such a large ship.

“I know you are there,” a voice in the dark said, “I will not harm you. Come back next full moon. I will bring no net or weapon. Only me.”

She went down and tried to forget all about it. But next full moon, she found herself near her rock. She saw a small boat. She was too curious. She clapped her hands. The light came on.

“I have no weapon or net. I do have rope to tie up to your rock.”

She saw him loop it over the rock.

“I don’t even have an anchor.”

“Why should I trust you?” she sang.

“No reason. I’m just amazed at you.”

“Why?” she lilted.

“You live under the sea,” he said.

“And you live on … Land,” she echoed.

“We must. The sea is often dangerous to us. We do like to catch fish.”

She pondered his words. So much English. His voice sounded good. She felt he was speaking the truth.

“Why do you come to this rock?” he asked.

“It is my rock, she sang, “I come to see the glorious moon.”

She had said too much. She was proud to speak so much English but she regreted it now. Yet, she could not leave.

“Can you come up on your rock. I will stay in the boat.”

Foolishly, she obeyed his request. She sat on the rock close to the water, ready to dive.

“You are beautiful,” he said and did not shine any light.

“You should not talk to me,” she warbled, “aren’t you afraid of my power?”

“What power is that?” he questioned.

“Don’t you know we have magic power?”

“No, I thought your power is to live underwater.”

“We are not like you,” she said firmly.

“I know that but are the tales true?”

“I don’t really know what you heard. Should I try a spell on you?”

“What kind of spell?”

“A love spell. You would fall hopelessly in love with me. It would be your ruin.”

She was making it up as she went along.

“Don’t do it. I am enamored enough right now.”

“What is ‘eemamorred’?”

“It means I am drawn to you by some great desire.”

“Oh, really, and how can I satisfy your desire,” she sang innocently.

“Just seeing you will fill my dreams tonight.”

“You are a poet, I think,” she lilted.

“You are right; I have written poems about you. I have one in my pocket right now.”

“Read it.”

Her fascination with writing made her say this. A poem about me, she thought.

I have to turn on my light to read it,” he said as she heard the sound of some paper. A strange sound, indeed.

Here it is:

I saw her from the boat.
Her hair flashed and then she was gone.
No one saw the vision but I.
No one believed my sigh.
I knew she was real.
In my dreams, I did feel
I must see her again
I will go with the moon.
I must see her soon.
The End”

“So that is a ‘poem’,” she sang.

“Now you know my heart,” he said

“You should not love me and I cannot love you. I am fifty of your years. We retain our beauty for many years. My mother lived to 290!”

“Really, I had no idea,” he said and was silent.

She said, “I must go now. Forget about me.”

She splashed and disappeared.

He slowly went back to shore. A friend of his sat on the dock.

“What, fishing this late?”

“Fishing? Yes, I suppose. Have you more to drink?”

“Plenty. Take some.”

They sat drinking beer.

“It’s a woman, isn’t it,” he said.

“She stole my heart and has said goodbye forever,” he sighed.

“If that’s the case, you’re better off without her.”

“Am I? I don’t feel it.

“Any last words?”

“Forget me…”

“That’s pretty final.”

“I know. I read her a poem.”

“No.”

“Yes. And that was it.”

“Girls are funny. Some like poetry. Some don’t.”

“She said it was impossible. In so many words.”

“Is she from here?”

“Not really. English is not her language, really.”

“Foreign, huh? No telling how they think.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

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