by D. M. George
“It won’t last long. I have to tell him I’m a mermaid before he finds out on his own. He’s so perceptive I can’t believe he hasn’t already figured it out.” Her face darkened. “Once I tell him, he’ll run for the hills.”
Several tears rolled down her cheek. To Perla’s amazement, they hardened into perfect little spheres before hitting the rock. Parthenope flicked one into the water.
“You’re crying pearls? Unbelievable… Now I’ve seen everything!” Perla snatched one of the snow-white orbs and held it up to the light. The nacre flashed like a soap bubble. “I love pearls.”
“Just frozen drops of sadness,” Parthenope said. “Why do you want it?”
“Because it’s a part of you. I’ll treasure it forever.” Perla put it in her pocket.
Parthenope huffed and steered the conversation back to Luca. “Yesterday we wrote lyrics to a song about a man and a mermaid. It was a beautiful fantasy, but Luca would never be so understanding.”
“Relax. You don’t know that. Sometimes we focus on what we fear so much that we make it happen—don’t sabotage yourself. You worry too much. He told me he’s in love with you—and you know it’s not based on your looks—so why isn’t that good enough?”
“Because he doesn’t know the whole story. I’ve been lying by omission. The closer we get, the more guilty I feel… but I can’t live without him.”
“Tell him then. Have faith that the people who love you accept you as you are, inside and out.”
“What if he doesn’t accept me?”
“Then he’s not worthy of you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You can always find another boyfriend. Luca is a once-in-eternity kind of man. And even if he did accept me, I’d have to watch him grow old and die. Just like my father. I couldn’t bear it again.”
“Yeah, it’d be terrible, but wouldn’t several decades of happiness be worth it?”
Parthenope wasn’t listening. Her mind had already traveled back to the last year of her father’s life.
Near Marina Grande, Capri—AD 52
Parthenope hung her arms over the gunwale of her father’s boat and watched him close his eyes. The water lapped gently against the wooden sides, rocking him to sleep. She reached over and covered him with his cloak. Marcus’s time was near. The twenty-one years since she’d returned to him as a mermaid had flown by. And now she stood on the brink of what she dreaded most: his death and her eternal loneliness.
Parthenope scanned the sea and shore. Once certain there was nobody in sight, she boosted herself over the edge and settled in next to Marcus. She propped his head on her lap and stroked his brow. The creamy suppleness of her fingers against his wizened, sun-darkened forehead summed up her plight: she was immune to time. It seemed cosmically unfair that she couldn’t siphon a few decades off eternity and give them to him.
He’d lost so much weight in the past three months. Sourness spread in the back of her throat, making her fight back tears. Something was eating him from inside. Thank the gods on Olympus he wasn’t in pain, or if he was, he’d managed not to show it. Being killed by Tiberius and resurrected by Poseidon had been horrific, but watching Marcus waste away was worse. He was her last connection with humanity and her only champion. Her mermaid resurrection had shocked him deeply, but not only had he not rejected her, he’d helped her work through her trauma and rebuild their lives together. Whose shoulder would she cry on when he was gone?
Their reunion, so long ago, was such a sweet memory. She smiled, thinking about her swim back to Marina Grande from Tiberius’s Leap. She’d tried to beeline home as soon as Poseidon and his courtiers left but couldn’t control her new tail and fins. When she tried to go right, she went left; when she tried to go forward, she moved backward. She swam in circles for hours, screaming in frustration.
It wasn’t until the following day that she managed to reach Marina Grande. The house was silent and she’d watched in despair, certain the fever had taken her father. She saw Cerberus and called to him. He came to the water’s edge and growled at her.
On the second day, she spied neighbors bringing food and drink. Her hopes brightened. On the third day, she glimpsed Marcus walking around. That night, his wails filled the air. On the fourth day, he’d loaded the nets into their boat and rowed out to sea.
She’d followed his boat, observing him from a distance. Would he recognize her? Would he accept a mermaid as his daughter? He rowed around the peninsula and stopped, put his hands to his face, and wept. This was her moment. She darted underwater, pulled herself up the side of the boat, reached over, and touched his shoulder.
“Don’t cry, Father,” she said. “I’m still alive… sort of.”
Marcus recoiled, his face a maelstrom of hope, recognition, relief, confusion, and fear. “Sabina, is… is… is that you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“It can’t be… You look so different, so adult. You’re supposed to be dead.”
She covered her breasts with her voluminous hair, suddenly embarrassed. “I died and was turned into a mermaid. Watch…” She dropped underwater and a second later flew through the air over the boat. Marcus fell backward off the bench.
She reappeared at the side of the boat. “My name is Parthenope now. I’m immortal.”
Marcus struggled to find words. “I-I heard what Tiberius did. The whole island knows. Nobody could find your body.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore. What are you catching today?”
“Sh-sh-shad.” Tears washed down his face and his body shook.
“I can help.”
Parthenope sang a few ethereal scales. Moments later, the water around the boat churned with shad. She tossed them into Marcus’s fish box in a silver flurry. Her father kept crying.
Marcus’s snores reeled Parthenope’s attention back to AD 52 and the tragedy that awaited. From the beginning, she’d treated every minute with her father as if it were their last. Each day she’d mourned his inevitable loss, hoping the absolute certainty that she couldn’t have loved him better would allay her grief when the time came. If only it were that simple. He hadn’t died yet, and already she had the sensation she was falling from Tiberius’s Leap. The true curse of her immortality was about to begin: outliving the person she loved the most. Plink, plink… plink, plink, plink. A trail of pearls rolled off the bench and down the hull.
“Hey, come back here.” Perla snapped her fingers in front of Parthenope’s face.
Parthenope squeezed the bridge of her nose and returned to the present. She gathered her thoughts and fixed her enormous eyes on Perla. “I don’t know how Luca will react when I tell him. Will he be scared, angry, hurt, disappointed, repulsed?”
Perla set down her drink and crossed her arms. “In situations of impending doom, it’s better to initiate the confrontation than run from it. Take charge. Make it happen on your terms. Even if you lose everything, you’ll still have your dignity. Take it from me—I learned the hard way.”
“Okay, okay.” Parthenope sighed. “I’ll tell him tomorrow. Make me another White Russian.”
At noon the following day, Perla’s phone rang.
Luca sounded panicked. “Perla, have you seen Sabina? She was supposed to meet me at my pier an hour ago and never arrived. I’m worried. She’s never been late.”
“No, I haven’t seen her, but I know where we might find her. Meet me at the one p.m. ferry in Sorrento. We’re going to Capri.” Perla’s chest tightened. Either Parthenope had chickened out or something bad had happened.
“Okay, Luca, we’re coming up on the spot. It’s a big flat rock where Parthenope likes to sunbathe. Back-paddle on your right.”
They did a U-turn in the two-seater kayak, around the outcropping that obscured the mouth of the cove.
“I see her,” Perla said. When she got closer, however, what she saw wasn’t pretty.
Parthenope lay on her stomach, backside in the air, head hanging over the edge. Without looking at Perla,
she moaned, “I’ll never drink Kahlua again.”
Crap, she’s feeding the fish. Good thing Luca can’t see her this way, Perla thought. The Kahlua bottle, which had been three-quarters full when she’d left it with Parthenope, lay empty beside her.
Perla guided Luca out of the kayak and sat him down on the rock. She crawled to Parthenope’s side and rolled her over. “Sorry to interrupt your fun, Parthenope, but you’ve got company. Luca’s here.”
Parthenope’s eyes sprang open and she sat up. “Give me one of those breath mints you’re always eating.” She splashed seawater in her face and scooted backward on the heels of her hands to Luca’s side.
Perla reached into her pocket and gave Parthenope a cinnamon Altoid. “I’ll go paddle around for a bit. Whistle when you need me.” Perla hopped into the kayak and left.
“Wait!” Parthenope shouted, but Perla had vanished.
Parthenope searched Luca’s face, trying to read his slack expression. She hung her head and mumbled, “I owe you an apology for not meeting you as planned.” She spoke slowly, carefully forming each word.
“What’s wrong, Sabina?” Luca held out his hand, and she took it.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you about who I really am… Oh, Luca, I care for you ssso much,” she said with a sibilant S. “But I’m afraid you’ll leave me if I tell you the truth.”
Luca put one arm around her quaking shoulders. “Try me.”
Parthenope squeezed her eyes shut. Here it comes… “Parthenope isn’t a nickname.”
She pulled his hand to her bare waist, moved it over one hip and down the side of her tail. His fingers didn’t flinch when he touched her scales. She cracked an eyelid. Curiously, Luca beamed.
“I know,” he said, pulling her into an embrace, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
Parthenope pulled back, stunned. She pinched his cheeks and peered into his glacier-water eyes as if the truth were scrimshawed on his irises. “What do you mean, you know? How? Since when?”
“Since the day Perla introduced us. You gave yourself away with something you said.”
“What?”
“Do you remember my grandfather, the fisherman you saved many years ago in a storm? You became friends. He shared his grappa with you, and you helped him fish.”
“Yes, I do remember him. He was a decent man. I thought of him when I visited your cove.”
Luca continued. “He told many stories about his friendship with the beautiful Parthenope. Nobody believed him of course. Neither did I until the day I met you. Do you also remember what you said when we raised our cups of Grand Marnier in a toast?”
“I said, ‘Tails up.’” Parthenope kept holding his face, wondering what it would feel like to kiss his lips.
“My grandfather told me you said those exact words when he passed you his bottle of grappa.”
“Impossible.” Parthenope’s mind raced back decades. Sure enough, she had.
“Why do you think I never invited you into my house? Or questioned why you insisted we meet on the pier every time? Didn’t you wonder why I offered to keep your lyre until your next visit? I knew you lived in the sea.”
Parthenope let go of Luca’s cheeks and shook him by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Luca gently pulled her arms away and touched his forehead against hers. “I had to hear it from you. Perla told me you were wary of men. It made sense when I realized you were a mermaid. I knew if I couldn’t earn your trust, you would never love me completely, without reservation, the way I love you. Your trust is a gift, and I’m the happiest man in the world. I love you, Sabina, just the way you are.”
“Scales and all?”
“Scales and all.”
“Slimy fins?”
“Slimy fins too.”
“Sharp teeth?”
“As long as you don’t bite me.”
“Cold lips?”
“I want to kiss them. May I?”
“I’ve never kissed a man before.”
“Let me show you how…”
Three weeks later
Poseidon treaded water at the mouth of Luca’s cove. His head, shoulders, and the prongs of his trident bobbed in the gentle waves. Parthenope played her lyre on the beach and he watched, transfixed. Wisps of melody tickled his ears, just like in the old days. His heart lurched when a man came out of the stone cottage and sat beside her. He said something and Parthenope laughed. He’d never heard her laugh before. Ever. She looked like a different person without her perpetual scowl. The cameo had restored her beauty, but her smile made her truly breathtaking. What would he give for her to smile at him like that, just once?
Parthenope’s harsh words at Baia came back to him, what she’d said about forever sitting at the water’s edge, watching happy couples but never knowing a man’s love. Maybe he had resurrected her for his own benefit, but she didn’t have to be so steadfastly ungrateful. Why should he feel sorry for her? After all, she was dead when he found her. Granted, he hadn’t considered how lonely her existence was or how she longed to be human again, but she never missed a chance to complain. And now this nobody, this lowly mortal, had her beaming.
Resurrecting her had been a bad idea from the beginning. Sure, she was a mirror image of his beloved—but with a hydra’s personality. The frisson of joy he felt looking at her was not worth the sharpness of her tongue. Every bitter encounter left him on edge. For the past two thousand years, she’d been a sea urchin spine in his heel. It was time to pluck her out for good.
Parthenope sensed Poseidon’s presence. She looked up just as he pulled his trident out of its sheath. The big fork glowed green as he leveled it at her. Poseidon paused as if reconsidering something and then stabbed the air. A fifteen-foot wave reared up like a golem.
He wouldn’t… Parthenope thought. Is he trying to kill us? Kill Luca?
Poseidon flicked his wrist and the wave thundered ashore, smashing into them.
“Hold your breath!” Parthenope clasped Luca in her arms and wrapped her fins around his legs like a protective blanket. The wave rolled them over and over up the gravel beach. When it receded, Parthenope lay on top of Luca.
“Are you hurt?” Parthenope asked, brushing the wet hair out of his face.
“I’m fine except for your knee in my groin.” He lifted her off him.
“Knee?” they said in unison, slack-jawed.
Parthenope watched Luca’s hand slide over her hip and down her thigh. Her lungs seized midbreath at the sight of two perfect human legs—her legs—resting on the gravel. She wiggled her toes for the first time in millennia and laughed with delight. How could this be? Her hand flew to her throat—the cameo was gone! She scanned the cove and saw Poseidon watching her. He clutched the necklace in his raised fist. Parthenope put her hand over her heart and mouthed the words Thank you. Her smile was a sunburst of joy. Poseidon’s face crumpled, and he sank slowly beneath the waves. The tines of his trident was the last she ever saw of him.
“Oh my God, oh my God!” Luca shouted, his hand still on Parthenope’s thigh. She pushed him down, kissed him all over his face, and wept with joy. They rolled down the beach, arms and legs entwined, laughing and crying as they began the rest of their mortal lives together.
To: all employees
From: HR
Date: August 30, 2019
Subject: new hire
Take a moment to welcome Perla Palazzo to Italian Adventures. She will be a staff writer in charge of our new monthly feature and annual travel guide, Hot Springs of Italy.
You may remember Ms. Palazzo from the “Crazy Naked Lady from Saturnia” YouTube videos and the recent article about her in la Repubblica. She will leverage her internet fame to promote Italy’s lesser-known hot springs as tourist destinations.
Originally from California, Perla now lives in Rome and Praiano. Most of Perla’s time will be spent on the road and in her home offices, but expect to see her at monthly staff meetings.
&nbs
p; Welcome to the team, Perla!
LAPROVINCIA.IT
14JUN2020
Deputy Prime Minister Saved by Nigerian Migrant
Guiseppe Pellegrin, populist leader of Italy’s hard-right anti-immigration party, was administered lifesaving CPR by an undocumented migrant while vacationing with his wife on the island of Capri. Mike-Jack Okoye, an eighteen-year-old Nigerian working at Capri’s popular Citadel Restaurant, intervened when the Heimlich maneuver, performed by Mrs. Pellegrin, failed to dislodge the obstruction from the deputy prime minister’s airway.
Italy will grant Italian citizenship to Okoye. “Italy needs more heroes like Mr. Okoye. The laws can be bent for such acts of bravery and altruism,” Pellegrin told La Polity. Mrs. Pellegrin has set up a scholarship fund.
Okoye was born in Lago, Nigeria, in 2002. He was adrift five days at sea before being rescued near Capri by anonymous Italian citizens.
THE INTERNATIONAL SQUEALER
Pigs escape prosciutto farm in golf cart
Sorrento, Italy—November 1, 2019
Circe Castrati, owner of the Castrati Prosciutto farm, south of Sorrento, reported the disappearance of her entire herd of hogs. Employees claim to have seen a golf cart driven by six pigs crash through the main gate, apparently in a coordinated effort to escape the November butchering season. According to several eyewitness accounts, the pigs scattered into the hills. The hogs are easily recognizable by the white stripe around their bellies. Castrati has offered a reward for their return.
THANK YOU for buying my book—YOU’RE AWESOME!
I hope you enjoyed reading the story of Perla and Parthenope’s fishy friendship as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, please consider leaving me an Amazon review. No big long literary critique, just a few short sentences from you, the consumer of fiction. What stuck with you? Which characters did you identify with? Any favorite scenes? Easy.