by A. L. Knorr
Mom says she's one of the lucky ones. She'd left the ocean and used her stash of money and identification, which her own mother showed her how to prepare, to get herself a job at a pub down at the Saltford harbour called The Sea Dog. The pub is still there today. Within a couple of weeks, Nathan (my dad) went to the pub with his hockey buddies for a drink after a game. She says that the moment she saw him she knew he was the one. And once she'd decided she wanted him she could not be denied.
Once on land, sirens are able to flush themselves with fresh water to suppress the instinct that is enhanced by salt in order to stay on land as long as is needed. They can swim in salt water during this phase as long as they keep themselves hydrated with fresh water. In a way, the fresh water makes them forget their siren selves. In the moment, some of them feel almost fully human and barely feel the need to swim at all.
When she falls in love, she fully intends to stay with her mate forever and live the rest of her life on land. If the man is old fashioned, as my father was, they marry. To a mermaid, the idea of marriage is foreign. After all, she's a sea creature and not attached to human customs, but she usually goes along with the ceremony to make her lover happy. Soon, she becomes pregnant and goes through all of the same nesting phases that a human woman would.
But after the birth of a child, things slowly begin to change. If the child is a daughter, her mother will take her to the ocean under cover of darkness. The exposure to sea water triggers the mermaid gene and the girl's legs morph into their true form, a powerful tail. In a sense, it is a second birth. When mermaids talk about their birth, they always mean their salt-birth – the moment they first took their siren shape.
Mother and daughter might live on land with this secret for a while to allow the child to grow sufficiently strong to survive in the ocean. Even then, the mermaid will have lapses where she desires to stay on land with her family. This transition phase is very difficult emotionally. The siren bond to her mate is strong, but the call of the ocean will always win in the end.
If the child is a boy it is much more painful. She'll generally last long enough to wean her son, but it's guaranteed she'll disappear shortly thereafter. My mother says it's a mathematical certainty.
The father would never know what really happened, and if she's done a good job keeping her identity secret, he would never know that he had married a siren.
In cases where the mermaid leaves without preparing for it, there is a missing person's report and a protracted search for her, which always fails. She will have vanished without a trace.
I went through a phase when I was twelve or thirteen where I researched missing women reports, reading the details and looking for clues that she might have been a siren. The cases where a mother and female child disappeared were the ones I obsessed over, printing off and collecting any articles I could find. I never did anything with them, but I guess I wanted to get a sense of how many sirens were really out there. Based on what I found, I guessed there weren't many.
My mother explained that mermaid memory and consciousness is highly affected by their exposure to salt or fresh water. Fresh water makes them function more like a human while salt enhances the siren instinct. It was entirely possible for a siren to have a son, leave him on land to go back to the ocean, and then spend so many years in salt water that she eventually forgets her former family, all trace of her memory erased by the salt. She might come back to land to find another mate years later, without recalling that she'd already done so in previous years.
I also went through a phase where I was obsessed by the possibility that I might have brothers or sisters somewhere out in the world, but my mom reassured me over and over again that I was her only child.
It was a strange thing, the effect of salt, and both a blessing and a curse. If she had to abandon a lover and a son, the salt would lessen the pain. But when she came back to land and flushed her system with fresh water years later, her memories may or may not come flooding back to her. Every siren was different. It seemed cruel to me, but then, nature often does seem heartless from a human perspective.
I wondered how long my mother could hold out. She'd had the daughter that all mermaids wanted, and I had no doubt of her love for me, but I'd also turned out to be a dud. I was fully human and eventually, human children moved on and started their own lives. So, when I finally did leave home it only made sense for her to go back to the ocean. And once she went would she ever come back? Would my children ever know their grandmother?
An image came unbidden to my mind of bumping into my mother on some beach when I was old and grey. She walked out of the ocean just as young and beautiful as she was right now and I went running up to her with my arms out only to have her step back and say, "I don't know you." My eyes prickled and I shook off the horrible vision.
Maybe she wouldn't forget me and maybe she would, but either way she would leave me. It was only a matter of time. A mathematical certainty, like she'd always said.
Nine
I had finally convinced my eyelids to relax when I felt the bed depress beside me. I rolled over. Mom didn't look much better than before we'd gone to bed. "Did you sleep?" I asked her.
"A little. You?"
I nodded even though I hadn't. I didn't want her to worry. "Are you going to the site tonight to check things out?"
"No. The schedule calls for us to spend all of this week and part of next week going over objectives and familiarizing ourselves with the equipment we'll be using. Looks like I'm also going to be getting some Polish lessons, so I'll be able to read the signs on all the gear." She mimicked shooting herself in the head with two fingers. To the rest of the crew, all this prep work was critical to their success. To my mother, it was a waste of time.
It made me feel better that she wouldn't have to dive for a while. My mom needed less sleep than a human did, but she still needed to catch up whenever she was double-timing it. If she was working both days and nights her cycles seemed to go in multiples of days rather than one day. She'd dive during the day and at night when there was a need for it, but every four days or so she'd sleep for well over 15 hours. No one else on the team would get away with such an odd schedule, but because she was Simon's prize diver, she did pretty much whatever she wanted, within reason.
When we were at home, things worked well for her. There was a lot of time spent at the office in between jobs doing equipment maintenance, ongoing courses, as well as research and prep for upcoming work. She had a small home office and Simon allowed her to work from home on days when they weren't diving. Unbeknownst to him, she sometimes used that time to sleep if she'd been burning the candle at both ends.
"That flight really did a number on you, huh?" I said, sitting up against the headboard.
She smiled. "I'll be all right. Don't worry, sunshine." She brushed my hair back from my face. "Getting hungry? We should get ready for dinner. It's quarter to seven already."
I threw the covers off. "Yeah, I'll grab a quick shower. Meet you in the parlor in half an hour?"
Together, we made our way down to the main floor where Antoni had told us to meet him. I had freshly blow-dried hair, but Mom's was still damp and she'd pulled it up into a bun on the top of her head. She looked fantastic anyway, of course.
Mom left the clothes selection to me since her idea of great fashion was bare breasts and a scaly tail. We both wore dark denim, dress sandals, and summery blouses. I wore a cardigan too since I was almost always chilly. Mom never had that problem, her body seemed to regulate no matter her environment.
Antoni was waiting in the foyer along with most of the crew and quite a few faces I didn't recognize. I assumed these were members of the Novak team. Every single one of them was a man. As we came down the stairs, the conversation ceased. Every head turned, and every eye was on my mother.
I noticed with curiosity that Antoni was the only one who wasn't looking at my mom, he was looking at me. His expression made me wonder if I had caught a fraction of her mermaid
gene after all, even if I wasn't a siren.
I also noted that while nearly every eye expressed admiration, there was one pair that was hard and full of malice. Eric wasn't appreciative of the attention Mom was receiving and he elbowed Jeff, who was standing beside him. That seemed to break the spell and the men started to chat amongst themselves again.
"Did you get some rest?" Antoni asked as we followed him down a long, wide hallway lined with windows. Shafts of evening sun, broken and dappled by trees, streamed in and gave the impression that the hallway was half outdoors.
"Some," Mom answered, shortly.
"Thanks for asking," I added awkwardly, always trying to soften the effect of my mother.
"I'll show you to the dining room, " continued Antoni, "but I won't be joining you for dinner."
"Why not?" I asked as we walked by window after window.
"I have some things to catch up on. It's really a welcome dinner for you to meet Martinius, and I imagine he'll regale you with the tale of The Sybellen."
"I guess you've heard that before," I said.
"A few times," he laughed.
I was distracted by all the artwork on the right side of the hallway. I counted two more mermaid paintings among those that decorated the walls. I pointed them out to Mom and she nodded. "They really take their mascot seriously here, don't they," she whispered to me.
We turned towards a set of double doors and Antoni opened them into a large dining room. Two alcoves of bay windows graced one side. One alcove had a little chess table set up, and two chairs waiting to be filled with players. The other had a tiny odd-looking piano, which Antoni explained was an antique spinet.
The windows looked down into a courtyard. A fireplace was the focal point at one end of the room, and artwork filled the wall opposite the windows. These paintings were all portraits of Novak family members, the same distinct nose on almost every subject. There were no portraits of women, only men. Perhaps they didn't paint the ladies of the house? Or maybe they were in another room.
"I wonder if one of these is Martinius." I mused to my mother, and she shrugged in response. I looked for Antoni so I could ask him but he was chatting with Simon and Tyler at the dining room doors.
A long table beautifully set with crystal glasses, china plates, and silverware ran the length of the room. Two elaborate floral arrangements sat in the center. A stunning glass chandelier hung down from the high ceiling, lit with real candles.
The men were talking and Mom and I were looking at the artwork and the surroundings. A server in white tie held a silver platter with slender flutes filled with a pale, bubbly liquid that I suspected was champagne. Another server held a platter with glass mugs of beer. Most of the team chose beer over champagne.
"Look Mom." I pointed to the place cards at each setting. The names were handwritten in a delicate script and there was an imprint of a three-masted ship in the top right corner of each card. "Do you think that's The Sybellen?"
"Could be," she said. "You can ask Martinius, if he ever decides to show up."
"What do you think he'll be like?" I wondered.
"He'll be like an old Polish guy," she deadpanned.
I gave her a look.
"What?" she said innocently.
After a few minutes of allowing us to mill about, Antoni gestured graciously toward the table. "Please, ladies and gentlemen take a seat. Martinius will be with us shortly."
"Awfully formal around here," Mom whispered to me as she scanned the names on the place cards. She was seated to the right of Martinius, who was at the head of the table. I was seated next to her. Simon sat down across from my mom, and Tyler beside him. On my other side, happily, was Micah.
Before I sat down I noticed a small pedestal in the corner of the room. On top of it was a crystal sculpture of a mermaid. A sunbeam came in from the window and lit it up, sending a spray of rainbow colours onto the wall and drapes.
I stepped closer and examined it. The siren was leaping out of a wave with her arms stretched towards the sun. Her long hair was flying back, her breasts were bare and there was an expression of ecstasy on her face. The details of her features were obscured as she was made of crystal, but the bone structure of her face was familiar.
I looked up at my mom as she chatted with Antoni and my eyes traced the curve of her cheekbones, her straight little nose, and her full soft lips. Looking back at the sculpture I wondered if all mermaids looked alike and if the artist had perhaps met one at one time. A little brass plaque inscribed with the title 'Breaking Free' was screwed to the base, and the year was 1903. The artist's name had so many consonants I couldn't dream of pronouncing it.
The sound of the double doors opening again broke my examination of the sculpture and a man that could only have been Martinius Joseph Novak entered the room.
Ten
I guessed that he was close to eighty but he looked fit and strong. He was balding but it suited him. He had a white moustache and a ring of closely cropped white hair around his head. He was deeply tanned as though he'd spent most of his life outside in the sun. He stood up straight, with broad shoulders and an even broader smile. Even though he wasn't overly tall, he cut an imposing figure.
"May I introduce your host, Martinius Joseph Novak," said Antoni to the room. Martinius bowed formally and there was a hilarious moment when the men didn't know what to do. Some of them bowed awkwardly and others shifted from one foot to the other. Jeff gave a deep formal bow and Eric whacked him on the arm.
"Welcome to my home," Martinius said in a deep voice. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. I come from a press conference in Gdańsk and we hit construction on the way back." He began to work his way along the table, shaking hands and asking names. His accent was similar to Antoni's, only stronger, and his English was close to perfect. I supposed a businessman as successful as he had to have excellent English in today's marketplace. I wondered how much he still worked.
He shook each hand and repeated every name. His smile wide and genuine, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners like tissue paper.
"He seems likable," I whispered to my mom. She shrugged, reserving judgment as she always did.
Finally, he came to my mother. He took her outstretched hand and studied her face. It was quiet for just a little bit too long. She wouldn't speak until spoken to, it was one of her siren traits.
"You must be Mira?" He continued to hold her hand and covered it with his other hand warmly. "The press really likes to splash your image around, don't they?"
"Unfortunately. They do, sir," she replied.
"Please, call me Martinius. I'm grateful that you've come such a long way to help me." He let go of her hand and moved to his place at the head of the table, which was when he spotted me. He reached out to me. My slight hand felt dwarfed in his. He held mine the same way he'd held my mother's, in a two-handed grasp. "And you are clearly Mira's daughter. I'm Martinius." He waited expectantly.
It took me a second to realize that I was supposed to say my name. All this formality was foreign to me, and I certainly couldn't expect Mom to teach me the necessary social graces. "Targa, sir," I finally responded.
He actually kissed the back of my hand. "A pleasure. You must call me Martinius. A hearty welcome to you. I've already directed Antoni to make sure you have everything you need, including an escort into Gdańsk should you wish to explore our little city. But please don't hesitate to ask him for any other thing your heart desires."
I was astonished by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you." He patted my hand and then released it.
He pulled his chair out and took his seat, which seemed to be a signal to the rest of the room to take a seat too.
I looked around and noticed that Antoni was no longer there. He must have slipped away while Martinius was shaking hands.
The wait staff was already entering the room with individual white soup bowls covered with porcelain lids. They set them before us in one synchronized movement. It seemed extravagant that ther
e was a waiter for each guest. The servers reached out and each put a hand on a lid. As they pulled the lids away, the steaming soup was revealed and a delightful smell filled the air. My stomach growled and I realized I hadn't eaten anything since the plane.
One of the staff announced the food. "For the first course. Barszcz." His accent was the strongest yet and though it was harsh, I found it warm. "It is a vegetarian soup made with mushroom and sauerkraut dumplings. Smacznego."
Martinius leaned over and whispered to me, "That means, have a nice meal."
"Smacznego," I said back to him, picking up my soup spoon.
He raised his bushy white eyebrows to me and tipped his wine glass in my direction.
As the soup bowls were drained, new dishes were brought. Platters and plates heaped with things I didn't recognize, steaming bowls, pitchers, and platters. Each dish was announced in Polish and then described in English, but there was so much that I forgot half of what was there. Vegetable dishes and seafood, as well as sausages, pork, and venison. There were potato dishes, vegetable mashes, fried onion dishes, gravies, and platters of cheese.
As we ate, Martinius told us about The Sybellen just as Antoni had said he would. He'd begun telling the story to Simon, and Mom and I were within earshot so we listened in. But before long the whole room tuned in as Martinius told the story. He spoke slowly and seemed to relish telling the tale as much as I enjoyed hearing it. I had a sudden desire to be sitting on the beach in front of a bonfire toasting marshmallows.
"I can't tell you the story of The Sybellen without telling you the story of the Novak shipping empire. It all started with my great-great-grandfather Mattis Novak. Before Mattis changed everything, the Novaks were tradesmen and laborers, not businessmen. But Mattis had different ideas. On top of being hardworking, he had an entrepreneurial streak, and before the age of 20 had already started a small newspaper delivery service. Once he had a taste of being his own boss, well he couldn't dream big enough."