And so ended the adventures of the Prince with his friend the wolf.
A Mermaid’s Tears1
Kurahashi Yumiko (1935–2005) was an antirealist and controversial Japanese novelist who published two volumes of fairy tales: Cruel Fairy Tales for Adults, which draws on European and Japanese tales as well as works by Oscar Wilde and Franz Kafka, and Cruel Fairy Tales for Old Folks. These titles might lead us to expect a parade of fairy-tale violence, but this is not the case: as Kurahashi herself noted, “cruel” refers to how the logic of magic is fully rational in its outcomes and does not yield to sentiment. The tales’ focus on the erotic has led to comparisons with Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber; however, unlike Carter, the Japanese writer held rather conservative positions on women and sexual politics.
Kurahashi’s parodic rewriting of Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid” is the first story in Cruel Fairy Tales for Adults. Its title, “A Mermaid’s Tears,” evokes the sorrow of Andersen’s heroine, but this mermaid’s tears are not due to unrequited love. Kurahashi follows Andersen’s plot with striking reversals, especially when it comes to the mermaid’s body, which in the Danish tale simply dissolves in pursuit of a soul. With a fishlike upper body covered in scales and beautiful long legs, Kurahashi’s mermaid is an unusual interspecies hybrid that some say was influenced by Magritte’s painting L’Invention Collective, which portrays a female fish–human being on the beach with similarly rearranged body parts. This mermaid also already has a soul; she acts on openly sexual desires with the prince; and her final transformation involves a transformation of his as well, although neither of them gives up the materiality of their bodies. There are two hybrid and new beings in the end: one in the human world, whose sexual and gendered plurality remains socially concealed, and the other underwater, keeping company with the sea witch.
While the story’s moral encapsulates Kurahashi’s ironic play of inversions, the unconventional images of embodied hybridity that proliferate in her story also point to the multiple ways in which women in the contemporary world are reinhabiting the figure and body of the mermaid.
A long time ago, at the bottom of the deepest ocean, lived a sea-king who had six beautiful daughters. Of all the king’s daughters the youngest was by far the most beautiful. Her eyes were as clear and blue as the deepest sea, and she was covered from her head to her chest with the most lustrous and exquisitely well-formed scales. She was quite unlike her older sisters, for not only could you see her navel, which is unusual for mermaids, but it was thought that no human girl could possibly match her long and shapely legs. The youngest of the mermaid princesses was shy and thoughtful, and often seemed to be preoccupied, but fish never close their eyes, so even when she was completely lost in thought her eyes had a golden glow and always remained wide open.
The mermaid princesses liked nothing better than to listen to their grandmother’s stories about the world above the sea. “As soon as you are eighteen,” she would say, “you will have my permission to rise to the surface, and then you will be able to watch ships and humans.” The most remarkable of all the tales that they heard about the world above the sea told of the sweet-smelling flowers that bloom there, and of the “fish” with delightful voices that swim in the wind. And it was almost unimaginable to think that a mermaid might sit on a rock soaking up the silvery light from a “night sun” that is invisible from the bottom of the ocean.
When at last the eldest of the king’s daughters reached the age of eighteen, she was given permission to rise to the surface of the ocean; however, as misfortune is sure to befall anyone who catches sight of a mermaid, she was warned in the presence of her sisters not to be seen by humans.
When the eldest princess returned, her sisters were entranced by her stories. It was the youngest, however, who listened most eagerly to how she had sat on a beach with her wet scales shining in the moonlight as she gazed at the twinkling lights of a town; and to how during the daytime she had hidden behind a rock listening excitedly to music and the peal of bells coming from a nearby church; and how, on approaching a wood, she had seen the sweet-smelling flowers and watched the singing “fish” darting through the air. Listening to these stories, the little mermaid was beside herself with excitement, but it would be another five years before she would be allowed to visit the world above the sea.
The following year, the second of the sisters reached the age of eighteen and was given permission to rise to the surface. She was followed by the third, the fourth, and the fifth until, in just one more year it would be the turn of the youngest. But the youngest of the princesses couldn’t wait a moment longer, and without waiting for permission she decided to rise up through the sea toward the surface.
She lifted her head above the waves just as the sun was setting and golden clouds glimmered in a rose-tinted sky; and right there before her very eyes lay a three-masted ship becalmed on the water. As darkness fell, lanterns of various colors were lit and the little mermaid could hear gay and festive music coming from on board. She swam close enough to the ship to be able to see a great number of elegantly dressed people through the cabin windows. The most remarkable of them all was an extraordinarily handsome young prince with eyes as clear and blue as the deepest sea and wavy, golden hair, the like of which had never been seen before at the bottom of the ocean. That day happened to be the prince’s birthday and the celebrations had just begun. The little mermaid could not take her eyes off the handsome prince. How wonderful it would be if only I could be human, she thought, a beautiful human girl living among these finely dressed people and dancing with a prince. Forgetting that she was a mermaid, the princess pressed her head against the cabin window.
At that very moment she caught the prince’s eye. He shouted, the music stopped, and his guests turned as one and stared in her direction. The ship heaved to one side, and as the lights went out, there were screams from on board. A dreadful storm had descended upon the ship, and the little mermaid realized that by ignoring her grandmother’s warning, she had caused this terrible misfortune, and now there was nothing that she could do about it. The ship was tossed about by the raging ocean until, in the midst of terrible thunder and lightning, it was smashed to pieces and swallowed beneath the waves. The mermaid, thinking of nothing but trying to save the prince, swam with his lifeless body, desperately trying to keep his head above the water.
The storm had subsided before dawn, and the little mermaid had managed to swim with the prince to the safety of a sandy beach where she would be able to take care of him. Suddenly, she noticed a tower of flesh rising rigid and acicular above his belly. Instinct told her to put the supplementary thing into the part of her body that felt a lack. It was a perfect fit, and getting hotter and hotter inside she forgot that she was a mermaid and even believed for a moment that she was becoming human. In the warm glow of the morning sun the prince’s face seemed to have regained a little color, and the mermaid would have liked nothing better than to have remained with him forever, but she leapt up horrified at the thought that on recovering his senses he would see the ugly upper part of her body. And so it was that with tears in her eyes the little mermaid returned to the bottom of the ocean.
Although she told her sisters about the adventure, the youngest of the princesses could say nothing about what she had done with the prince. And she could no more reveal her feelings about wanting to leave her sisters and her parents than she could about her wish to abandon the sea world altogether and become human. In fact, the youngest of the mermaid princesses, who had always been quiet and thoughtful, became more withdrawn than ever.
One day, she determined to visit the sea-witch who lived below the whirlpools in the darkest, fathomless depths of the ocean, where bleached human bones and the wreckage of ships lay scattered about.
“I know what you want,” said the sea-witch as soon as she saw the little mermaid. “You’ve had your way with a human and now, instead of that fish’s he
ad, you want the long hair, slender arms, and ample bosom of a human girl, don’t you?”
“That’s right,” cried the mermaid, “I’ll do anything, anything at all, if only you’ll grant my wish.”
The witch nodded and, with a strange smile, demanded the mermaid’s immortal soul. The little mermaid agreed at once. It didn’t matter to her if she died, only that she should be with the prince. “Listen carefully,” said the witch, “this will make you mortal just like humans, but if the prince were to love you more than his own life, you will regain your immortal soul. If, on the other hand, he should abandon you for another woman, you will once more become a mermaid, die, and turn into foam on the surface of the ocean.” At that, the witch gave the little mermaid a magic potion that she had brewed in her cauldron. As she drank the potion, the mermaid’s scales began to lose their luster and fall off, and in no time at all the upper part of her body was transformed into that of a young girl.
The little mermaid swam straight to the beach and waited. When evening came, the prince finally left the palace and, with a somber and pensive expression, walked toward the beach in the setting sun. He often walked along that same beach thinking vaguely about the girl who had saved his life on that stormy night, hoping that one day he would meet her again. Imagine his astonishment, then, to find a young girl standing there naked but for the golden glow of the setting sun. “It was you,” he cried, embracing her. “It was you who saved my life.” Once more they did what they had done on the morning after the storm, and at last the fog clouding the prince’s memory began to clear.
Now there could be no doubt whatsoever that this was the girl who had saved his life. As soon as the prince got the little mermaid back to the palace he dressed her in the finest clothes and installed her in his bedroom. Ironically, she felt ill at ease; after all, she was quite unused to dancing and wearing beautiful gowns, and polite conversation with the crowds who thronged to the palace made her feel awkward. And so it seemed quite natural that she should spend more time lying naked in the arms of the prince than she did wearing the gorgeous dresses that she had until so recently longed to wear. The prince’s lifestyle was starting to raise eyebrows. Not only was his behavior unacceptable to the king and queen, but it was also of great concern to their senior retainers. Consequently, the court went ahead with plans to find a suitable bride for the prince, and in time it was decided that the beautiful princess from the land across the sea should be his wife. The prince owed his life to the girl who had been introduced at court as “the fisherman’s daughter,” but the idea of actually marrying her had never entered his head; equally, he had no intention of removing her from the palace even when the time came to take a wife.
As soon as he laid his eyes on the beautiful princess from the land across the sea, the prince was besotted. Before long there would be a grand wedding, and the little mermaid realized that her time as a human would soon be over. On the evening of the wedding, the little mermaid returned to the sea, and as she swam in the moonlight, scales began to appear on her back and chest, and then, just as the witch had foretold, her head returned to its former piscine shape. At that very moment, the ship carrying the bride and groom sailed into view, and the little mermaid once more heard gay and festive music coming from on board. She peeped through the cabin window, and again misfortune befell the ship, which broke up in a dreadful storm and sank without trace. This time, however, the little mermaid embraced the prince and swam to the deepest part of the ocean. She lost consciousness as she was pulled downward by the roaring whirlpools, and when she regained her senses she found herself in the sea-witch’s lair. The witch looked at her incredulously and asked if she had another wish. “Please join us together,” said the little mermaid, “then we’ll be able to live as one until the day we die. I’ll give you the remaining halves of our bodies.”
The witch considered this quite a bargain. After all, the lower half of the prince’s body, the manly part, was as magnificent as it was desirable. And so she fused the upper half of the prince with the lower—human—half of the mermaid.
The people were delighted with the prince’s miraculous return. In time, he succeeded the old king and ruled the country honorably, but he never married and nobody really knew why, nor whether he was truly happy. The lower half of the prince’s body, the mermaid’s half, still had its own soul, and the two souls continued to communicate. However, while the prince could satisfy the little mermaid’s demands by comforting the most feminine part of her body, there was nothing that she could do for him in return. Whenever that part was comforted by the prince, it shed tears, which, in sadness or delight, immediately hardened into pearls, and it is pearls, they say, that continually flood the prince’s bed.
Moral: The nether parts are not for loving.
Abyssus Abyssum Invocat1
“Some stories will never be right,” Genevieve Valentine, a contemporary author of science fiction, fantasy, comics, and film criticism, writes in “Abyssus Abyssum Invocat.”2 This statement could refer to “The Little Mermaid,” as the moment in Hans Christian Andersen’s story when the mermaid falls in love is rewritten three times in this one. None of the scenarios, however, leads to a happy ending. Iconic images from Andersen’s tale—the drowning prince, the pained woman found on the beach, the ship sinking in the storm—are reshuffled to link with the mythology of the Sirens’ call and the mermaid as a death omen. Valentine’s story amplifies the yearning and isolation of the little mermaid in the human world, turning it into an obsession that envelopes the two main characters, Miss Warren/the mermaid and Matthew/the prince.
In this short story, Matthew attends a small school on the shores of Cornwall, which is one of the clues to linking Valentine’s story with a legend told about a famous mermaid carving in the Cornish village of Zennor. In the “Mermaid of Zennor” legend, a local man named Mathey also disappears after falling in love with a mysterious woman and her singing voice.3 The Latin verse that gives the story its title translates as “deep calls to deep” in the King James Bible and is from Psalm 42. It perhaps evokes the idea of the mermaid seeking to acquire a soul, and it definitely raises questions about language, translation, love, and humans’ attraction to mermaids.
The Prince
Once, a mermaid fell in love with a prince who fell from his ship in a storm; when he had ceased to struggle, the mermaid took his face in her hands, passed her fingertips over the lids of his closed eyes, pressed her mouth against his mouth. Then she delivered him to the surface, where he was safely found.
But the salt of a man’s lips was sweeter than the salt sea, and the memory of it drove the mermaid nearly mad, until at last she left behind all she knew to find the prince again.
She gave her voice to the hag in the grotto; the hag gave her a knife and said, “Very well.”
She swam until her home waters were far behind her, until the prince’s castle was in sight and she could swim no farther; then she lay at the edge of the water, and cut at her flesh until it was cleaved in two.
She was not allowed to wash her hands clean (she was not allowed to ask anything again, of the sea); when the men found her in the morning, they saw a naked woman holding a knife, up to her elbows in blood.
They hanged her from the first tree they found, so young that it sagged under her weight.
It’s grown crooked ever since; I can see it from my window, as I tell you this.
* * *
—
Miss Warren came to the school the winter the ice broke in filmy crusts across the rocks.
The rain was coming down in sheets, waves trying to devour the shore, and no one saw her arriving; she was just there, waiting for them in the schoolroom the morning after, as if she’d grown overnight from the boards.
She looked them over, one by one, as if searching for something, but she must not have found it, because they just studied geography, and she walked among them carefully, and sile
nt as the grave.
The consensus after class was, it was no wonder young single ladies were now permitted to teach in Cornwall, if they were as plain as Miss Warren.
(Matthew said nothing—he was already sixteen, and would graduate by summer, what did he care if she was plain for a spring?
She had paused by his desk a long time, watching him draw from the map, little strings of islands like a necklace of beads. He could feel her gaze on his neck; it never moved, all the time she stood there. Her hands were thin and white, and she held the fingers together, like a dove’s tail.
There was a hitch when she breathed, as if her lungs were giving out.
He watched her walk back up to the board, watched the line of her arm all the while she wrote the names of cities on the blackboard, her little white wrist sliding in and out of her sleeve, her hair as colorless and fragile as a sheet of ice.)
* * *
The Penguin Book of Mermaids Page 16