The Mermaid

by Christina Henry

  The third time was the breaking of the storm, the breaking of the spell that had kept her on the rocks staring out to sea, believing that if she only looked hard enough he would appear.

  This was the secret she kept beneath her tongue, the wish she never spoke, for to speak it would make its magic disappear.

  But now she’d spoken it, and the curse would drown her wish in unshed tears. He wasn’t coming back. He was never, never, never coming back to her.

  She’d fallen to her hands and knees, gasping for air, her fingers curled into the rough wood of the floor.

  Amelia rose and opened the door and went out into the night. Only the ocean could soothe her now, the terrible ocean that kept her heart beating even as it tried to crush her beneath the weight of sorrow.

  CHAPTER 3

  The next day Levi Lyman left the village forever.

  It was much easier to hire a carriage to leave the place—everyone had been so helpful, so eager to hurry him away.

  The night before he’d managed to find a stone-faced local on the road driving a small cart hitched to an ancient horse. The horse clopped along slower than a baby’s crawl and the cart wheels struck every rock and hole in their path, but Levi didn’t care. His feet were sore, and he was tired of feeling his case bang against his leg.

  The man told Levi (in what seemed to be as few words as possible) that he could find a meal at the Green Goose and that the proprietor also had beds for the night. This was the very place that had refused Levi’s custom earlier in the day, so he doubted the owner would provide for him.

  However, upon entering with said stone-faced local and enduring several withering glances from others, he discovered that, miraculously, his money was good again. This might have been because he mentioned that he was leaving in the morning. The proprietor seemed much cheerier after that.

  The next morning he discovered another local man out front with a wagon pulled by two strong-looking horses. This individual, though not interested in conversation of any sort (Levi tried several times and was rebuffed with the all-purpose “ayuh” on each occasion), was perfectly willing to accept a half dollar in exchange for a ride to the next, larger town. At this larger town Levi would be able to procure a coach ticket to Boston (and why Barnum hadn’t done this in the first place instead of sending him on that miserable sea voyage was beyond him).

  Levi did not think on his failure—though he knew Barnum would grumble at the wasted expense—but only of reaching a larger place, where the beds were comfortable and the townspeople less forbidding.

  He was a friendly person by nature—it was one of the reasons Barnum sent Levi out to “do the talking,” as he called it. The chill that emanated from the Mermaid’s Village (as Levi referred to it) could freeze the most pleasant nature.

  As for the woman herself—well, it was a shame she hadn’t been interested in his offer. She was beautiful, sure, but beauty could be found anywhere. What she really had was an otherworldliness, an alien quality that couldn’t be duplicated.

  It was her eyes, he thought. Not just the color, but the something deep down that said she’d seen things seen by no man. Yes, Levi could well believe that people thought her a mermaid. It was too bad she didn’t want to play one for Mr. Barnum. Well, they would sort something out. Levi reckoned he could sell Moses Kimball’s monkey-mummy if they only set it up right.

  The journey to the next town took half a day. By the time Levi checked into an inn—staffed by a cheery innkeeper who was more than happy to provide a bath and whiskey—the whole encounter had taken on the quality of a dream.

  Still, when he slept that night, he dreamed of a mermaid with black hair and grey eyes following him down the coast. The next morning he paid for his coach ticket to Boston and resigned himself to delivering bad news to Barnum. The showman, he knew, would not be best pleased.

  * * *

  • • •

  Amelia stood on the street corner, staring up at the words written on the side of the massive building.

  BARNUM’S AMERICAN MUSEUM, it said.

  Amelia wasn’t a strong reader—Jack could read a little, and had taught her what he knew—but there hadn’t been much call for it at home. Here there seemed to be words everywhere—on the corner signs and in huge letters on the buildings and lining the pages of newspapers hawked by small boys in the street.

  The words only added to the cacophony—everywhere there was color and noise and people, oh so many people. They brushed up against Amelia when she walked or tried to lure her into their shops with their wares or cut abruptly in front of her, making her stagger to a halt and cause a pileup of irritated folk behind her.

  They talked fast and moved fast and part of her thrilled at the newness of it all, while the other part of her wished for the solace of her cliff—the rocks and the wind and the unchanging ocean. It was, she reflected, not too late to turn back.

  He’s never coming home, she reminded herself. You can stand there forever waiting for a ghost or you can see the world. That was why you followed the ship in the first place, so long ago.

  And the world was not in her cottage. She had to go out and find it. And she had.

  Some of the buildings seemed as tall as the cliff she stood upon day after day, and they were all pressed up against one another with hardly any space between. Even in the village at home, where the buildings were clustered more closely together, there was breathing room. In New York, it looked like breathing room hadn’t been a consideration.

  After Levi Lyman left, she carefully chose a few articles of clothing—the best she had, which wasn’t saying much—and cleaned the cottage. She took the bedding from the mattress and placed it inside her trunk with some cedar blocks. She didn’t think about what she was doing or why, but soon it was done.

  She rigged an oilskin pouch to be carried on her back and placed all the things that might be necessary to her inside it. It was as watertight as she could make it once she sewed the edges together. There would be no need for human things until she came ashore in a human place. Humans, she had noticed, did not appreciate the naked form. Even showing one’s ankles was frowned upon.

  Though she pared down to just exactly what she would need—clothing and money—the bag was still a little bulky because of the necessity of including shoes. Amelia hated shoes and never wore them unless she had to, but she didn’t think she would be able to get away without them in a city.

  There was no need to pack human food. Amelia had never done this in front of Jack, but she was perfectly content eating raw fish from the ocean. Her mermaid teeth were made for this, after all.

  Once everything in the cottage was prepared, Amelia went down the stairs to the cove, shed what she wore and left it on the beach, hooked the oilskin pouch over her shoulders, and dove into the water.

  She thought that the people of the village might believe she’d returned to the ocean forever, as a mermaid should. She hoped this would comfort them when they found the cottage empty and her clothes on the sand.

  The pouch was awkward and it dragged against the water, but there was nothing for it. She couldn’t arrive in New York without the expected human things. She must try, at least for a while, to blend in with the real humans.

  The journey took longer than she expected, for the pouch slowed her down and she was not accustomed to swimming such long distances any more.

  This weakness frustrated her. Once she had swum the length of the ocean and down into its farthest depths. Now she was soft from life on land. Her nightly swims were not nearly enough preparation for such a long trip.

  Jack had maps in the cottage of all the Eastern Seaboard, and Amelia knew how to follow the curves of the land and how to listen to the sailors’ talk when she came upon a ship, and in this way she was able to find her way to New York and not foolishly come ashore in Boston.

  But her life in Maine had n
ot been any kind of preparation for the city in which she now stood, staring up at the band that played from a balcony over the entrance to the museum. It was by far the worst group of musicians she had ever heard.

  Admittedly her experience of music was limited to the occasional Independence Day parade (Jack liked these), but she was certain every member of this band would be better off in a different profession. One almost wanted to flee inside the museum just to escape the din.

  The building itself was enormous, taking up all the space in view so you couldn’t see anything but it unless you turned around. The upper floors were decorated with large, brightly colored paintings of animals—animals more exotic to Amelia than any creature in the ocean. She wondered if there were live animals inside. Flags of all sorts fluttered in a long line that wrapped around the building.

  Amelia watched the people going inside the museum, noting that they paid a fee. Her money was hidden inside a pocket in her dress that she’d sewn for just that purpose—she didn’t like having a string pouch hanging from her wrist as many ladies did.

  The oilskin bag had been abandoned once she came ashore. Amelia had waited until the cover of night and found a secluded spot (which took some doing—every port was bustling, even at night) to dry her hair and clothing. At dawn she’d dressed and ventured into the maze of New York City, her heart beating faster than she thought it ever could. She was finally seeing something of the world, and it seemed a large part of the world was crammed onto this tiny island.

  Amelia shivered a little as she stood there. She hadn’t thought to pack a cloak, and anyway there wouldn’t have been space in the bag with the shoes. The breeze was cold, though not as biting as it was at home.

  She was aware of the faint smell of the sea clinging to her and thought this must be why so many of the passing ladies looked at her askance. The streets reeked of horse manure and rooting pigs, so Amelia was surprised any ocean scent could cut through the stink. Still, it wasn’t as if she could do anything about it. Her fellow museumgoers would have to accustom themselves or move away—it was all the same to her.

  Amelia moved forward then, following the continuous stream of people into the massive building. As she paid her twenty-five cents, she noticed the ticket agent’s eyes rake over her hair and hands.

  Ah, that’s the mystery solved. Now she knew why so many people had given her funny looks out in the street. She had no bonnet or gloves, and her hair was pulled into a single plait down her back instead of the customary (and unattractive, she thought) bun at the base of the neck.

  Humans cared about such foolish things. What would happen if everyone saw her uncovered hands and hair? Would the stars fall from the sky? Would the earth crack in two? She hadn’t space in her oilskin bag for silly things like bonnets (even if she owned one, which she didn’t), nor the jewelry, parasols, or fans that adorned other women.

  This attitude contributed to the general opinion of her as a witch, Jack had told her once. Women who did what they liked instead of what other people wished were often accused of witchcraft, because only a witch would be so defiant, or so it was thought.

  “Let them think of me as a witch if it makes them happy,” Amelia said. “I won’t wear a bonnet just to please them.”

  “And a very bewitching witch you are,” Jack said, and his eyes sparked as he reached for her.

  She realized then that she stood in the gaslit hall of the museum, perfectly still. Her throat was stuffed full of unshed tears. She swallowed them down and shook her head to clear it, for folk were passing her with curious glances. Amelia didn’t want to attract so much attention.

  She moved forward, ignoring the insistent hawking of vendors selling illustrated guides to the museum.

  “Only ten cents! Every visitor should own one!” they called in shrill voices.

  The guide was of no use to Amelia. Her funds were limited, and she reckoned she wouldn’t be able to make out all the words in any case.

  Amelia followed the flow of the crowd into another room. At first she didn’t understand what the appeal of this room was supposed to be. The walls were paneled in wood, broken up by dozens of windows. Patrons were peering into these little windows (each one only slightly larger than a face) and exclaiming in delight.

  She lined up to take her turn at a window next to a man wearing a very tall hat and checked trousers. How Jack would have laughed at those trousers! Amelia felt a pang; she was here to think about something other than Jack, yet somehow every strange thing brought him to mind.

  The man in the checked trousers (whose coat trailed a strong scent of pipe tobacco) glanced into the window, consulted his duly purchased illustrated guide, nodded to himself, and gave way for Amelia. She put her face to the glass.

  Inside was a tiny scene, like a child’s doll house. A little man poled a thin boat with curved ends through a river. This river connected to other rivers, with more sailors and boats, and graceful bridges arced over the water with little groups of people gathered on them. The people were pointing at buildings that lined the edges of the rivers. Amelia was strongly reminded of the clumps of tourists that surrounded her at that very moment.

  A woman next to Amelia harrumphed loudly, indicating her impatience, and Amelia moved to the next window. There she saw a palace rendered in miniature, a white building with a courtyard before it.

  Without the guide or anyone to explain what the scenes meant, Amelia quickly grew tired of them. However charmingly assembled, they were nothing more than blank toys to her, devoid of knowledge or context. She moved with the crowd into the next room.

  There she was immediately confronted by an assortment of stuffed birds. Though most visitors gasped at the loveliness of various plumages, Amelia had to look away. It hurt her heart to see the remains of these beautiful wild things, now reduced to nothing but an outer skin without a song.

  It made her think of something Mr. Lyman had said about the mermaid skeleton—nothing but “a dried-up monkey sewn to a fish tail.” P. T. Barnum wanted to exhibit it—and her alongside—with these other dead things.

  She wondered then why she had come. There had been a vague notion of doing as Barnum wished—becoming a mermaid on display so that she could gain enough pay to travel the world as humans did. While she could swim anywhere she liked, she recognized the difficulty of coming ashore—her trip to New York City had proven that. Amelia would need luggage, clothing, the things that people were expected to have. It would be easier if she could travel by boat or train, and even a fisherman’s widow knew you needed money for that.

  But this—this room full of dead animals—did she want to be a part of this? Did she want these throngs of people consulting their illustrated guide before staring at her through the glass like those little doll scenes? How was she to escape her rocks and her cottage and her grief and live as a human without money?

  The only things she knew how to be were Jack’s wife and a mermaid, and no one would pay her to be Jack’s wife. She’d been living off the money Jack had earned before he died for many years now. It had lasted long because she could eat fish from the sea and didn’t need much that wasn’t already in the cottage. But if Amelia wanted to travel like a human, she would need more. And she wanted to see everything there was to see. So she’d come to the place where a man called Barnum wanted to put her in a tank to swim for these gaping hordes.

  It seemed suddenly to be the height of foolishness to have left her cottage, her home. Was viewing any wonder of the world worth the potential cost to her—to be an exhibit stared at by strangers, to possibly be captured by those who might hurt her? What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t been thinking, she admitted to herself. Her sadness had threated to swallow her whole and so she had run from it, run to this place, the only place she’d thought to go because a man had come to her door looking for a mermaid.

  Amelia stumbled backward,
away from the stuffed birds that stared with their glossy blank eyes. She bumped into an older gentleman (another tall hat, Amelia noted, thinking of the wool cap Jack wore when he went out to sea) who snapped at her to watch herself. She fled toward a corner of the room, away from the press of people, only to be confronted by another stuffed creature.

  It was grey and huge, though not as big as some of the animals in the ocean. It had a long tentacle between its eyes, something like the arms of an octopus except without suckers on the underside. The eyes of this animal, too, were made of glass, as dead as a shark’s black gaze. The eyelashes, though, were long, giving the animal an oddly tender look.

  A nearby group pointed at the creature, calling it an “elephant,” and marveled that “Barnum had it all the way from darkest Africa.” Amelia wished that she had some magic beyond that of changing her tail to legs. She would lay her hands upon this poor stuffed thing and return it to life again. It would charge through the gawking crowds and into the street, startling all the horses and carriages and scatter the rooting pigs in the streets. It would make silly women faint. Perhaps it would make its way to the ocean, where it would swim back to its home in darkest Africa, wherever that might be.

  Just then a din such that Amelia had never heard started up at the opposite side of the saloon. It was music, but a kind of music she could not recognize, loud and blaring and strangely sour.

  “It’s the Highland Mammoth Boys!” a woman exclaimed after consulting her program. A rush of people streamed toward the source of the noise.

  Amelia covered her ears, shrinking into a notch between the elephant and the wall. The noise seeped through her fingers, making her teeth vibrate. The elephant emitted a strong scent of mothballs, and her eyes watered.

  Why had she come? All she wanted now was to escape this place of strange noises and preserved death. The curiosity that once led her to the love of her life had led her to a place that seemed a lot like the hell the too-good women of her village had spoken of with both relish and frequency. She squeezed her eyes shut, childishly wishing it would all go away, and that when she opened them again, she would be back home in her own little cottage with Jack beside her.