Mouthful of Birds

THE MERMAN

I’m sitting at the bar in the port, waiting for Daniel, when I see the merman look at me from the pier. He’s sitting on the first concrete column, where the water is deeper and the beach hasn’t begun, some fifty yards out. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m seeing, what he is exactly: such a man from the waist up, such a sea creature from the waist down. He looks to one side, then calmly to the other, and finally his eyes turn back to me.

My first impulse is to stand up. But I know that the Italian, the owner of the place, is a friend of Daniel’s, and he’s watching me from the bar. So instead I shift the things on the table around, looking for the bill for my coffee, as if from one moment to the next I’d decided to leave. The Italian comes over to see if everything is okay, he insists I stay, that Daniel must be almost here and I have to wait. I tell him to take it easy, I’ll be right back. I leave five pesos on the table, pick up my purse, and leave. I don’t have a plan for the merman, I just leave the bar and walk in his direction. Contrary to the idea people have of mermaids, beautiful and tanned, not only is this one of the opposite sex, he’s also quite pale. But he’s solid, muscular. When he sees me, he crosses his arms—his hands under his armpits, thumbs up—and smiles. It strikes me as too much swagger for a merman, and I regret that I’m walking toward him so confidently, with such a desire to talk to him, and I feel stupid. He waits for me to get closer—it’s too late to go back—and he says:

“Hi.”

I stop.

“What’s a babe like you doing alone on this dock?”

“I thought maybe…” I don’t know what to say. I let my purse fall from my shoulder and hold it with both hands so it hangs in front of my knees. “I thought maybe you needed something, since you…”

“Come join me, beautiful,” he says, and he reaches out a hand to invite me up.

I look at his legs, or more like his shining tail that hangs down over the concrete. I pass him my purse; he takes it, places it next to him. I put one foot against the pier and take the hand he offers me again. His skin is cold, like a fish from the freezer. But the sun is high and strong, and the sky an intense blue, and the air smells clean, and when I settle in next to him I feel the coolness of his body fill me with a vital happiness. I’m embarrassed, and I let go of him. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I smile. He smooths his hair—he has a pompadour, very American—and asks if I have a cigarette. I tell him I don’t smoke. His skin is silky, not a single hair on his whole body, and it’s covered in little halos of white dust, barely visible, maybe left by the sea salt. He sees me looking at him and he brushes a little from his arms. He has very defined ab muscles. I’ve never seen a belly like his.

“You can touch me,” he says, caressing his abs. “You don’t see these downtown, now do you?”

I put out my hand; he catches it and presses it against his abs, also cold. He holds me like that a few seconds, then says:

“Tell me about yourself.” And he lets me go, gently. “How is everything?”

“Mom is sick, the doctors don’t think she’ll hold on much longer.”

We look out at the ocean together.

“How terrible…” he says.

“But that’s not the problem,” I say. “It’s Daniel I’m worried about. Daniel’s in bad shape and that doesn’t help.”

“He can’t accept what’s happening with your mother?”

I nod.

“Just the two siblings?”

“Yes.”

“At least you can divide things between you. I’m an only child and my mother is very demanding.”

“There are two of us, but he does everything. I need to stay rested. I can’t allow myself strong emotions. I have a problem here, in my heart; I think it’s my heart. So I keep my distance. For my health…”

“And where is Daniel now?”

“He’s always late. He spends all day running around. He has a big problem with time management.”

“What sign is he? Pisces?”

“Taurus.”

“Oh! Tough sign.”

“I have some mints,” I say. “Want one?”

He says yes and hands me my purse.

“He spends all day thinking about where he’s going to get money to pay for this thing and where for that one. All the time wanting to know what I’m doing, where I’m going to be, who I’m with…”

“Does he live with your mother?”

“No. Mom is like me, we’re independent women and we need our space. He thinks it’s dangerous for me to live alone. He says it just like that: ‘I think it’s dangerous for a girl like you to live alone.’ He wants to pay a woman to follow me around all day. Of course, I never agreed to that.”

I hand him a mint and take one for myself.

“You live around here?”

“He rents a house for me a few blocks away: he thinks this neighborhood is much safer. And he makes friends around here, talks to the neighbors, the Italian. He wants to know everything, control everything—he’s really unbearable.”

“My father was like that.”

“Yeah, but he’s not Dad. Dad is dead. Why do I have to deal with a father-brother, when Dad’s dead?”

“Well, maybe he’s just trying to look out for you.”

I laugh sarcastically. Really, the comment almost ruins my mood, and I think he realizes it.

“No, no. It’s not about looking out for me, it’s more complicated than you think.”

He sits looking at me. His eyes are very light, sky blue.

“Tell me.”

“Ah, no. Believe me, it’s not worth it: it’s a beautiful day.”

“Please.”

He presses his hands together, begs me with a funny face, like an angel about to cry. Sometimes, when he talks to me, the fin at the tip of his silvered tail waves a little and brushes against my ankles. The scales are rough, but they don’t hurt, it’s a pleasant feeling. I don’t say anything, and the fin gets closer.

“Tell me…”

“It’s just that Mom… She’s not just sick: the truth is, the poor woman is totally crazy…”

I sigh and look up at the sky. The light-blue, absolute sky. Then we look at each other. For the first time I look at his lips. Are they cold, too? He takes my hands, kisses them, and says:

“Do you think we could go out? You and me, one of these days… We could go to dinner, or the movies. I love movies.”

I kiss him, and I feel the cold of his mouth awaken every cell in my body, like a cool drink in the middle of summer. It’s not just a sensation, it’s a revelatory experience, because I feel like nothing can ever be the same again. But I can’t tell him I love him: not yet, more time has to pass, we have to take things step-by-step. First he comes to the movies, then I go to the bottom of the sea. But I already made a decision, irrevocable, and now nothing will separate me from him. Me, who my whole life believed one lives for a single love—I found mine on the pier, beside the sea. And now he takes me frankly by the hand, and he looks at me with his transparent eyes, and he tells me:

“Stop suffering, baby, no one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

A car horn honks in the distance, from the street. I recognize it right away: it’s Daniel’s car. I look over my merman’s shoulder. Daniel gets out in a hurry and goes straight toward the bar. Apparently he hasn’t seen me.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

He hugs me, kisses me again. “I’ll wait for you,” he says. He lets me use his arm as a rope to climb down more easily, and he hands me my purse.

I run to the bar. Daniel is talking to the Italian when he sees me.

“Where were you? We said we’d meet at your house, not at the bar.”

It’s not true, but I don’t say anything. It’s not important now.

“I need to talk to you,” I say.

“Let’s go to the car, we’ll talk in the car.”

He takes my arm, gently, but with that paternal attitude that irritates me so much, and we leave. The car is a few yards away, but I stop.

“Let go of me.”

He lets go but keeps walking to the car, and he opens the door.

“Let’s go, it’s late. The doctor’s going to kill us.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Daniel.”

Daniel stops.

“I’m going to stay here,” I say, “with the merman.”

He stands looking at me for a second. I turn back toward the ocean. He, beautiful and silver on the pier, raises an arm and waves at us. And even so, Daniel gets into the car and opens the door on my side. Then I don’t know what to do, and when I don’t know what to do, the world seems like a terrible place for someone like me, and I feel very sad. That’s why I think, He’s just a merman, he’s just a merman, as I get into the car and try to calm down. He could be there tomorrow, waiting for me.