by Gene Wolfe
That set Gelt off on folklore—selkies, swan-maidens, mermen, and the rest. I let him go on longer than I should have because some of his ideas about the Rhinemaidens were new to me and interesting.
Finally Morgan raised his hand. It was the first time that hand had gone up all semester; so I silenced Gelt—which wasn’t easy—and called on Morgan.
He rose. He’s tall and as lanky as a rake, straight black hair like a Native American, swarthy and hatchet-faced. “All those things,” he said, “those mermaids and all, they’re nothing but the ghosts of people that drowned.”
It started an uproar, everybody laughing and talking. I got them quiet and explained to Morgan as kindly as I could that there are no such things as ghosts. When I finished, he said, “Okay, but that’s what they are. My granddad was a fisherman all his life, and he talked to them. He knew.”
The bell rang soon after, and long before I carried our suitcases out to the car I had forgotten the whole incident, though I shouldn’t have. Gelt was contradicting and arguing because he loved to contradict and argue, but Morgan was as sincere as only a man his age can be. His belief was deeply held. I should have thought more about that.
My ex and I did all the things we’d planned to do. We slept late, ate big meals, lay on the beach, lay beside the pool, swam a bit, and did a little sightseeing. It was the end of the season, you understand. The very end. Our hotel would close its doors the week after we checked out.
On the last day, the weather turned bad. Not raining, but dark and chill, with a north wind blowing. My ex took one look and said she was going shopping. I could do whatever I liked, but no more bathing suits for her. No beach and no pool. I can’t stand shopping, you understand. I made that plain years ago. She could shop all she wanted wherever she wanted, and try on a hundred pants suits. But I wouldn’t go with her. Not for one minute, not for one hour, and certainly not for all day. I wished her good luck and read for half the morning before I started feeling restless. One can read at home, after all.
I’d had the foresight to bring a wool sweater. I pulled it on and went outside. The whole place was deserted. The beach chairs, the tables, and the umbrellas were still there, but the people had gone. All of them. Well, well, I thought to myself, this is really quite nice! I went down to the water’s edge and breathed the sea air, and began to walk.
Have I mentioned that I was wearing shoes? I was. These shoes here.
He stood up and came forward to let me see them better. They were ordinary black oxfords, laced tight and a good deal worn.
They got sand in them, he said, and I decided to take them off. I stuffed my socks into them and put them up on some rocks where I would be sure to find them, and went on, hiking down the beach, barefoot over the sand.
Not that it was all sand, not after the first mile or so. There were rocks and sea oats and so on, and several times I wished I had brought my shoes. But I persevered. I’m not a hiker and I’m not telling you this to boast about my walking prowess, but I went a hell of a long way.
Now here’s my first confession, and you have to accept it: I got lost. Doesn’t that sound ridiculous? I went out of the hotel, turned left, and started walking down the beach. How could anybody get lost like that? But I did. I turned around to go back, you know, and nothing was familiar. Nothing. There were rocks I’d have to climb, and I had no memory of having climbed them before. None. Finally I convinced myself that I’d been wrong in thinking that the ocean had been to my right—that it had actually been on my left.
It wasn’t foggy, but it was dark, as I said, with the sea kicking up and the wind blowing spray. I stopped a dozen times to watch the big combers rolling in, while an old poem ran through my head.
Where run your colts at pasture?
Where hide your mares to breed?”
’Mid bergs about the ice-cap
Or wove Sargasso weed;
By chartless reef and channel,
Or crafty coastwise bars,
But most the ocean-meadows
All purple to the stars!
So I tried to see the white horses. Sailors have been seeing horses—and a lot of other things, too—in the sea for thousands of years. Poseidon was the god of horses as well as the sea god, although I didn’t know that then. I’ve been reading up on these things since.
Well, I didn’t see any horses, but I started seeing people. Men. Fish-like men with white hair and white beards, hiding in the waves. They wait underneath, you know, hiding in the water, and looking out at us through the foam when they think they can’t be seen.
I was frightened, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I was alone out there, and there were hundreds of them. Perhaps as many as a thousand, men with brutal shark faces, little eyes, slit mouths, and wide, flat cheeks. Oh, I saw them better later on, believe me. I saw them up close. I wish to God I hadn’t.
The smart thing would have been to get up and walk inland, fast. I knew that, but for a time I didn’t do it. I froze like a rabbit, staring at them while all sorts of things ran through my head. One was that they would think me afraid, and of course I was, very much so. Another was that I would have to turn my back on them and they would jump me, dragging me into the water. There were more, but I’ll spare you the rest. Finally, I suppose the actual time was no more than half a minute, I jumped up and ran straight inland, terrified that I was going to fall and knowing I was a middle-aged man now, and a sedentary one. I couldn’t run far or fast.
When I couldn’t run any more I stopped and leaned against a little stunted tree, gasping for breath. I was out of sight of the sea, in a sort of scraggly wood, and there was nothing behind me. Nothing chasing me.
I sat down and cried. That’s my second confession. There are more coming, I warn you.
It was very slow walking through that woods. There were sticks and briars and all sorts of things, and my feet were tender and bleeding. I kept telling myself that there would be a road soon. Another step, another step. Another hundred, perhaps, and there would be a road. I would wait there beside the road for a car, and flag it down, and explain that I was lost and offer the driver a hundred dollars (I had more than that in my wallet) if he’d take me back to my hotel.
But there was no road. There were open spaces of sand and sea oats, and rocks, and stunted trees, but no road, no cars, no food, and no water. I was hungry by that time, tired and ready to drop, and terribly, terribly thirsty. It seemed to me that I ought to be in the middle of town, the town where my wife was shopping. It hadn’t been all that far from the hotel, and I had walked for miles and miles.
Finally I came to a big dune, much too big to see over. I will never forget it. Never. I climbed to the top, which wasn’t easy at all. Can you guess what I saw?
No, not the hotel. I wish it had been. I saw the ocean. I had curved around like any fool, thinking that the wind was veering, so that the north wind that ought to have been to my right was behind me, then to my left. I was back at the beach. They knew it and were coming up out of the water.
They are dwarfs, I suppose, really. Perhaps we ought to say that our dwarfs are throwbacks to them. They are bullet-headed, and have no more shoulders than a seal; but their short thick arms and legs are as strong as iron. Their skin is very white. I don’t imagine that they would come up out of the water any time the sun was bright and hot. Just on days like that, you know. And at night.
I got away from them. That’s all I’m going to say. I’d like to tell you I laid five low with devastating punches or something. The kind of thing you see in movies. I didn’t. I didn’t outrun them, either. I was so tired by then that I couldn’t have run two steps. I bargained my way out, all right? I did them a certain favor and promised to do certain things. Don’t ask any more. I’m not going to confess that.
What difference does it make to you what language they spoke? We communicated. Trust me, we did. I knew what they wanted, and I did it. I understood the other thing they wanted me to do, and I promised to do that too.
; And they let me go. No, I didn’t ask them to point the way to the hotel. I doubt that they would have, and I never thought of it. I just wanted them to go away, which they did.
Maybe I could have just walked down the beach in safety after that. I probably could have. But I didn’t, and I would have given everything I’ve got in this world not to. I never wanted to see the ocean again. I still won’t go near it.
So I told myself not to be a fool this time. Remember that the wind is in the north. Keep it on your right, and you’ll be walking inland, and if you walk inland far enough you’ll come to a road. I don’t know how far I walked. Maybe it was ten miles, but as tired as I was already, it was probably a lot less, just trudging along with my head down, and thinking about what I had promised, you know, and getting back to the hotel and resting, and eating a lot, and drinking all the ice water in the place, maybe with some vodka in it.
Then I came to water—an inlet, sort of a little river or something. I screamed when I saw it. Would you believe that? I did. I thought they were going to come right up out of it.
But after that it hit me. I had to be pretty far inland. It was probably fresh water, and if it was I could finally get a drink. I ran to it and knelt there in the mud, and put my face down into it, and it was warm and muddy and tasted absolutely wonderful. I drank and drank, taking deep breaths in between, until finally I’d drunk enough. I straightened up and had a look around, and there she was smiling up at me through the water.
Her name had been Jo Ann. Two words: Jo Ann. I saw her, and I knew that I had loved her a long, long time ago. I started crying again, and that’s when she came up out of the water, bare breasts, you know, and long hair, and the fresh, beautiful face of seventeen. She called my name and told me not to cry, and motioned for me to come to her. Finally I did, wading out into the water.
We hugged and kissed and hugged again, and I said—this is exactly what I said, the exact words, “Oh, God, Jo. I loved you so much.” She only smiled, but when she smiled, it hit me.
I had drowned her.
I had murdered her and gotten away with it, and I had been fooling myself all these years, my unconscious mind deceiving my conscious mind entirely successfully.
No, I want to tell somebody. Why do you think I’m here? It’s eating me alive. I’ve got to tell somebody, so listen.
It was our junior year. Some kid’s parents went away and gave him the run of the house. Henry something. I don’t remember, and it really doesn’t matter. He threw a big party and asked everybody in the class. Jo Ann and I had been going steady, and I just assumed, you know, that she would go with me. I went over to her house to get her that night, and her mother told me she had gone with somebody else. I know how childish it sounds now; but then, that night, it was the end of the world. I decided I wouldn’t go and went home, but after a while I went anyhow. I was going to find Jo Ann and have it out with her.
So I got there late, and everybody was pretty tight. I looked all though the party without finding her and drank a couple of beers, more or less by myself, and then I went out to the pool again. Henry’s folks were rich, and they had a big pool. Some of the kids were skinny-dipping, some had brought swimsuits, and some were swimming in their underwear or cutoffs or whatever. I thought it looked like fun, so I stripped and jumped in.
Some of the guys were ducking each other and ducking girls and splashing them, and some girls were ganging up to duck guys. Some guy ducked a girl and let her go, and when she came up I grabbed her.
You know who it was.
I got her back under and I held her under. She fought me at first, then went limp; but she wasn’t fooling me, I knew she was still alive and I kept her under for another five minutes or so. Then I let go and just let her drift away.
And I got out of the pool and went home. Nobody saw her body at the bottom of the pool until the next day.
So it was an accidental drowning, and nobody even talked to me about it. Nobody asked me anything. They talked to the guy she had gone to the party with, and a couple of other kids, and that was it.
Did you like hearing the truth?
Maybe you’re thinking of calling the police. You can if you want. I’ll say it never happened and I never told you anything, and my doctor will tell them about me. They’ll write you off as vindictive and ethically challenged, so go right ahead.
That’s good. Maybe I’m just making it up. You can’t really know, can you? Maybe I am. All right if I tell you what happened next?
Jo Ann, there in the water—both of us waist-deep in that little river—said, “I really loved you. I want you to know that. I loved you and I thought you were getting bored with me, and I wanted you back.”
Then we talked, and she showed me the direction and said that if I’d walk that way, straight, I’d come to some rocks. If I’d climb the rocks and look to my right, I’d be able to see the hotel. After that we kissed again and she swam away.
Under the water.
So I did what she said. I swam across the little river—oh, I was wet already. It didn’t matter. I swam across and walked like she had said, and climbed the rocks.
He paused and pointed to his feet.
And there they were. These shoes, exactly where I had left them, with my socks still stuffed into them. I sat down on the rocks and pulled the socks on again just like I had that morning, and put on these shoes and tied them.
Everything changed when I did that. It started to change when I first put my foot into a shoe, and by the time I had tied the second shoe it was complete. I knew that none of it had really happened. There were no brutal pre-humans living under the sea. There had been no mermaid Jo Ann in the river. It was all nonsense, and I climbed off the rocks and went back to the hotel.
I’ll make the rest short and sweet. I’ve gone on too long already, and I know it. My ex came back to the hotel with eight or ten packages and shopping bags, and I said I was tired too and we’d just stay in and order room service, which is what we did. I put off undressing for bed as long as I could, because I knew my feet had been bleeding in my shoes and it would upset her. So I let her take the first bath and get into bed, and then I went into the bathroom to undress.
When I untied my left shoe I felt something. I can’t describe it, but I did. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. By the time I had that shoe off—it had stuck, like I thought it would, and it was torture to get it off—I knew. It had all been real. I’d promised what I’d promised, and if I didn’t keep my promise they’d come for me. Someday. Some way. They would come for me, those sea devils, and they would own me body and soul. Of course you can guess what I did next.
You can’t? Well, you should have. I put the shoe back on. I put it on, and everything was all right. Back in the bedroom I got my bag, very quietly, and went down to the lobby. I told the woman at the desk I’d received an important call, and I had to go home at once. I paid our bill and said my ex knew and she was going to sleep tonight and take a plane home in the morning.
I got a place of my own the day after I landed, a little apartment. I couldn’t tell her, you see. I simply couldn’t, and naturally she would want to know why I slept with my shoes on.
Which is the only way I can sleep. Oh, yes, I take them off sometimes. I have to. Maybe once a week, and then I wash my feet very carefully, and put iodine on the ulcers, and put on clean socks. While I’m doing that, the whole time, I’m shaking with fear. The sweat runs down my face, and my hands tremble, and I know that this is a more terrible world then you can possibly imagine. Do you sleep barefoot? I thought so. I used to do it too.
Other shoes? Yes and no. Sometimes they work for a while and quit. Sometimes they don’t work at all.
You’re right. The law is just a bunch of made-up rules created for the benefit of those who have power. It has nothing to do with justice. Besides, I never really confessed to—well—anything. I’m a bit challenged, you know. Reality-challenged. Ask my students.
He smiled as he turn
ed to go, and when I saw his smile I knew there was no point in trying to have him punished for the murder he had committed so many years ago. He has been punished already, punished by his own mind, and he will live in Hell for as long as he lives. It is worse here than anything any judge could ever do.
You can trust me on that. I know.
Has Anybody Seen Junie Moon?
The reason I am writing this is to find my manager. I think her name is really probably June Moon or something, but nobody calls her that. I call her Junie and just about everybody else calls her Ms. Moon. She is short and kind of fat with a big wide mouth that she smiles with a lot and brown hair. She is pretty, too. Real pretty, and that is how you can be sure it is her if ever you see her. Because short fat ladies mostly do not look as good as Junie and nobody thinks boy I would really like to know her like I did that time in England when we went in the cave so she could talk to that crabby old man from Tulsa because Junie believes in dead people coming back and all that.
She made me believe it too. You would too if you had been with Junie like I have.
So I am looking for a Moon just like she is, only she is the Moon that I am looking for. The one she is looking for is the White Cow Moon. That is an Indian name and there is a story behind it just like you would think, only it is a pretty dumb story so I am going to save it for later. Besides I do not think it is true. Indians are nice people except for a couple I used to know, but they have all these stories that they tell you and then they laugh inside.
I am from Texas but Junie is from Oklahoma.
That is what started her off. She used to work for a big school they have there, whatever it says on that sweatshirt she wears sometimes. There was this cranky old man in Tulsa that knew lots of stuff only he was like an Indian. He would tell people, this was when he was still pretty young I guess, and they would never believe him even if it was true.
I have that trouble too, but this cranky old man got real mad and did something about it. He changed his name to Roy T. Laffer and after that he would tell things so they would not believe him or understand, and then laugh inside. Junie never said what the T. stood for but I think I know.