by Jeremy Bates
“What you’re implying is nonsense.”
“What do you talk about with her other than sonar?”
Marty filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco and lit up. “Clownfish,” he said around a mouthful of pungent smoke. “We discussed their breeding behavior today.”
“Breeding behavior, huh? Do clownfish have any particular fetishes?”
“No, but they have some peculiar fishishes.”
Rad stared at him, her eyes disapproving.
“It was a joke. Fetishes, fishishes—”
“I got it, Marty. I just didn’t find it funny.”
“Look, Rad, I’m sorry I mentioned—”
“Forget it.” She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the table between them. “Is the food ready—?”
Marty’s mobile phone rang. He took it from his pocket and checked the number.
It was Jacky.
“I should probably take this,” he said, standing.
∆∆∆
“Martin speaking,” he said, entering the salon.
“Professor Murdoch. It’s Jacqueline DeSilva—we met a couple of years ago.”
“I remember. Long time.”
“A very long time. How are you, Martin? Marty?”
“Marty’s fine, and I’m good. It’s nice to hear from you.”
“Is it?”
He glanced through the window to the foredeck. Rad was facing away from him, watching the sea, which was now indistinguishable from the black sky.
“Marty?”
“I’m here. And, yes, it is nice to hear from you.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“On that boat of yours?”
“That’s right.”
“I know this is out of the blue, but I need to talk to you.”
Marty wondered what she was up to. “I have a few minutes right now.”
Dead air on the line for a moment. Then, “No, in person.”
Marty’s curiosity got the better of him, and he said, “I’m free tomorrow morning—”
She said, “I’d rather we talk tonight. I have a flight tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t tonight. I’m with someone right now.”
“It’s important, Marty. Really important.”
Marty’s heart stopped. Was he a father? No. Impossible. What a ridiculous thought. They’d only had that one night together on the Oannes, and they’d used protection… Besides, if he’d gotten Jacky pregnant, the kid would be more than two years old already. Why would she wait so long to tell him such news? “I’m sure it can wait until—”
“Who are you with?”
“A friend.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.” He glanced through the window again. Rad was fiddling with her phone. “And I should get back to her.”
“Marty—”
“I have to go, Jacky. If this is as important as you say, call me tomorrow.”
“Marty—”
“Talk then.” He hung up and returned outside.
Rad set her phone aside as he took a seat.
“Business or pleasure?” she asked, lighting a fresh cigarette.
“Someone I knew once. She wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Did you tell her you’re on a date?”
“Is this a date?”
“I didn’t know you were seeing anybody, Marty.”
“I’m not seeing her, Rad. We went on a single date three years ago. I haven’t spoken to her since.”
“Then what does she want to talk about?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
∆∆∆
After eating and washing up, Marty and Radhika retired to the salon. He’d been teaching her how to play the piano, and now they attempted to play Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe.” When Rad hit a B-sharp instead of B-flat, she laughed and said, “Enough for me, Marty. Night cap?”
“Sure,” he said, locking his fingers together and cracking his knuckles.
Rad went to the liquor cabinet and poured two sherries.
She handed him one and said, “What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
He chuckled. “You’re still going on about her?”
“What’s her name?”
“Why?”
“Maybe I know her.”
“Why would you know her?”
“You know how cliquey Colombo can be among certain circles.”
“You don’t know her,” he assured her.
“So tell me her name,” she insisted.
“Jacqueline DeSilva. She’s a reporter for the Daily Mirror.”
Rad was immediately on her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Googling her.”
“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he said, throwing her words back at her.
“I’m curious, that’s all. Is this her?” She showed Marty the photo she’d found. It was the one Jacky used in her bylines.
He nodded.
“She’s pretty. Did she break up with you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Entertain me.”
“We were incompatible, that’s it.”
“That’s not complicated. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Do you want to go out somewhere?”
“You’re changing the topic?”
“How about Beach Wadiya?”
“My Lord, you mean you’re serious about actually setting foot off this ship? You’re not going to burst into flames when you touch land, are you?”
“I go to Wadiya once a week. It’s where we met, if you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Fine, let’s go—”
“Hello?” someone called.
∆∆∆
Marty and Rad went to the gangway. The silhouette of a woman was visible down on the pier. She waved, saying, “Ahoy, mateys!”
“Bloody Christ,” Marty muttered. He couldn’t see Jacky’s face, but he recognized her voice. “Wait here,” he told Rad, and stalked down the gangway. At the bottom, he unclasped the “PRIVATE: NO BOARDING” sign hanging on a chain and stopped in front of Jacky. She had always reminded him of a bird of prey, her nose beakish, her eyes quick and sharp.
“Good evening, Dr. Murdoch,” she said, a smile lifting the ends of her lips and dimpling her cheeks.
“What are you doing here, Jacky?” he demanded. “I told you we could talk tomorrow morning.”
She peered past him. “Do I know her…?”
“No, you bloody don’t.”
“She looks familiar. Why don’t you invite her down?”
“We’re heading out.”
“Stop being so damn stubborn, Marty!”
“I’m being stubborn, Jacky? You’re stalking me!”
“Why don’t you want to hear what I have to tell you?”
“We haven’t spoken in three years. I’m sure whatever you have to tell me can wait another day.”
“It really can’t.”
“Do we have a child?”
Jacky stared at him before bursting into laughter.
“Right,” he said, turning away from her.
“I’m missing all the fun, it seems,” Rad said, coming down the gangway and blocking his way up it.
“Let’s go,” Marty told her.
She stopped next to them. “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s so amusing?”
Jacky said, “Marty believes I’m here to tell him he’s the father of my child.”
Rad chuffed. “Being the prolific lover that Marty is, I’m sure it’s hard for him to keep track of just how many children he has fathered.”
Jacky extended her hand. “I’m Jacqueline DeSilva.”
“Marty mentioned that,” she said, shaking hands. “I’m Radhika Fernandez.”
“I do know you. You have a show on ITN…? I knew I r
ecognized you!”
The Independent Television Network was a Sri Lankan state-governed network that broadcast content in Sinhala, Tamil, and English. Rad was a longtime host of an English travel show that chronicled her travels throughout South Asia.
“Mad Rad, that’s me,” said Rad. “Would you care to join us for a drink?”
“Sure—”
“I don’t think so—”
“Don’t be so rude, Marty.” To Jacky, “Have you ever been to Beach Wadiya?”
∆∆∆
Beach Wadiya was less than two blocks away from the pier, located along a stretch of Galle Face that overlooked virgin beach. It was a Thursday night and the pub was crowded. The hostess showed them to a table that was being cleared of dishes and wiped down. A waitress promptly came by, and Rad and Jacky ordered the same cocktail.
“Marty?” Rad said.
“Nothing for me.”
She said to the waitress, “A Scotch on the rocks for Mr. Grumpy Pants here.”
“No, thank you,” Marty told the girl.
“Yes, please,” insisted Rad. “In fact, make it a double.” Then she sat down at the table with Jacky, and the two of them began chatting like old friends. The waitress blended back into the milling crowd. Reluctantly Marty sat as well. For the next several minutes he listened silently to Jacky and Radhika’s animated conversation. Jacky was asking about an episode of Rad’s show filmed in the mountain range that ran parallel to the west coast of India. Rad and her crew had been exploring a cave when they came across a twelve-inch-long centipede hanging from the rocky ceiling by some of its feet and feeding on a dead bat. It had devoured most if its meal in about three hours (which Rad’s production team had time-lapsed down to a handful of seconds).
“It makes my skin crawl thinking about that little horror,” Jacky said, shivering. “And you pitched your tents right outside the cave! Weren’t you afraid that the centipede might crawl into your sleeping bag at night?”
“I made sure my tent was zipped up. Besides, centipedes, no matter how large, don’t attack humans unless in self-defense. They prefer more manageable prey like frogs, mice, birds, small snakes.”
“I think you’re incredibly brave. You’d never catch me in half the places you’ve visited.”
The waitress returned with the drinks. Marty immediately took a burning sip of his Scotch, while Jacky and Radhika clinked their blue cocktails in a toast.
“Lovely meeting you, Rad,” Jacky said.
“Likewise, Jacky,” said Rad.
“Did you two want to get a private room?” Marty quipped.
“Ooh, a threesome,” said Rad. “I’m up for that! I’ve been trying to get Marty to be a little more adventurous in bed for some time now!”
He scowled. “That’s not what I meant—”
“How long have you two been together?” Jacky asked.
“We’re not together,” Marty said promptly.
“No, we’re not,” Radhika said. “More like friends with benefits.”
“I see,” Jacky said.
“Can we change the topic?” Marty said.
Rad frowned at him. “Why are you being such a sour puss?”
“You know I’ve slept with both of you, right?”
“That’s a conversation starter,” said Jacky.
“My point is, you should feel uncomfortable around each other. You shouldn’t be acting like best friends.”
“Would you prefer for us to fight over you instead?” Rad asked playfully. “Pulling hair and ripping clothes and rolling around on the sand?”
Marty took another, longer sip of the Scotch, leaving little more than ice cubes in the tumbler. “Why don’t we skip the small talk and get to the point of why you’re here, Jacky.”
“Absolutely.” She folded her hands together on the table. “I take it you haven’t watched the news today, or you’d know why I’m here.”
Marty rarely watched the news. CNN and the BBC were the only two English-speaking channels that his TV received. Sometimes he put them on as background noise, or when he wanted the simple pleasure of hearing people (other than Pip) speaking English. But that was about the extent of his interest in the wider world. “I had CNN on today for a while,” he said, “but I wasn’t paying much attention to it.”
“I’m talking about the local news.”
“I never watch the local news.”
“You should, Marty. You’re living in Sri Lanka. You should watch Sri Lankan news.”
“It’s in Tamil, which I don’t speak.”
“You should learn! You’re living in—”
“What’s the big news?” he asked impatiently.
“I recorded the segment. It’s better if you watch it.”
Jacky brought up a video on her phone and handed the device to him. The paused frame showed a woman standing in front of a weather map. “Did you come all this way to tell me there’s a tropical storm on the horizon?” he said sardonically. “Should I be back at the Oannes battening down the hatches?”
“Press Play.”
Rad leaned close to see the screen. Marty tapped Play. The weather segment ended, replaced by a reporter standing in a shed with a microphone held up to her bright red lips. He didn’t understand a word of what she was saying.
“I told you I don’t speak—”
“Just watch.”
Soon the camera panned to a decapitated great white shark lying on a steel necropsy table. The shot cut to a bleached-white skull on a blue tarp and next to a wooden ruler. The lower jaw was missing, as were all of the teeth. Yet this specimen was clearly human, as demonstrated by the globular cranium, the zygomatic arches below the eye sockets, the triangular nasal cavity, the maxillary bones, and the hard palate in the front of the mouth.
Except, he thought, his brow furrowing, the frontal bone that formed the forehead protruded far too much to be…
The shot cut back to the reporter.
Marty jabbed the screen, pausing the video. He dragged the buffer bar back several seconds. When the skull appeared again, he zoomed in on it.
Without looking up, he said, “Did this skull come from inside the shark?”
“Indeed it did.”
Rad said, “What’s wrong with its forehead?”
Jacky said, “Ask Marty what he thinks.”
Rad looked at him. “Marty?”
He finally pulled his eyes away from the small screen. He blinked, stunned.
Can this be what I think it is?
“Was there a body too?” he demanded.
Jacky shook her head. “Only that skull.”
“Who dissected the shark?”
“An American oceanographer. I spoke with her earlier today.”
Rad grimaced. “What’s gotten you all worked up, Marty? You haven’t dumped any enemies into the ocean recently, have you?”
Marty didn’t reply. He was finding it hard to think straight. His thoughts were moving too fast, contemplating too many possibilities at once.
“Seriously, Marty,” said Rad, touching his forearm. “What’s gotten into you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I don’t think that’s a human skull,” he told her flatly.
Chapter 3
MARTY
“The forehead might be a bit wonky,” said Rad. “But the rest of it certainly looks human to me.”
“It’s humanoid but I don’t think it’s human,” Marty clarified.
“Humanoid but not human?” Rad’s expression filled with amusement. “Please don’t tell me you think this is the skull of The Great Gazoo or some other little green man from outer space?”
“No, it’s terrestrial,” he said, trying to read Jacky’s expression.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Rad asked, shooting them both suspicious looks. “What do you guys know that you’re not telling me?”
Marty took a moment to quiet his riotous thoughts and said, “Are you familiar with the sound a dolphin makes?”
> “Of course.” She impersonated Flipper, clucking her tongue in rapid succession.
“Do you know why they make that sound?”
“To communicate with other dolphins, I imagine.”
“No. Dolphins communicate with whistles and groans and sighs and squeals and other noises. The high-frequency pulses allow a dolphin to build an image of its environment. When the pulses, or clicks, encounter an object, they bounce back to the dolphin, which can then calculate the object’s size, shape, speed, distance, and direction, allowing it to ‘see,’ so to speak.”
Rad shrugged. “Echolocation. So what?”
“The clicks are produced in small air sacs in a dolphin’s melon, which acts as a kind of acoustic lens, focusing and modulating the clicks in whichever direction the dolphin is facing.”
“Melon?”
“A swollen mass of extra soft tissue located between a dolphin’s snout and the blowhole.” He added pointedly, “What you might call its forehead.”
Rad’s eyes flashed in surprise. “What are you saying, Marty? That skull is human, not dolphin, and as far as I’m aware, humans don’t have a melon.”
“But is it human?” he asked her.
“What else could it be?”
“What do you know about mermaids, Rad?”
∆∆∆
Marty spent the next few minutes outlining his aquatic ape theory, and one of his central hypotheses that if humanity’s ancestors had evolved into fully aquatic marine mammals over the course of millions of years, human eyesight, even greatly enhanced, would not suffice in a dangerous underwater environment. For merfolk to successfully navigate the murky ocean depths and track prey and evade larger threats, they would have evolved a physiological process for locating distant or unseen objects.
The most obvious candidate was echolocation.
Rad listened to him without uttering a word. By the dismissive look on her face as he wrapped up, he knew she wasn’t buying any of it. She dug a cigarette from the silver case in her clutch and lit it with a quick, flustered motion. “Is this why you never told me what you do on your boat every day, Marty? Because you’re hunting mermaids?”
“I told you I’m a marine biologist and a zoologist, and I’m mapping the ocean with sonar, all of which is true. But yes, I believe mermaids and mermen exist—the non-binary preferred plural form is ‘merfolk’—and yes, they’re the object of my search.”