The Mermaid and the Horizon

‘‘Tell me about the mermaid again, Grandpa.’’

According to her mother, Lucy tells everyone she meets about me. Just like that. She’ll just walk up and say “Hi, my name’s Lucy, and my grandpa’s Theodore Flint.” Everyone in the city knows the name, of course. They know the stories, just as she does. Captain Flint, the kraken slayer. Old Flint, who sailed past the sunset and danced with gods. Theodore Flint, who returns every half a year or so in the dead of night, his coat pulled tight against the storm, and piles the treasures of the world at the people’s feet.

I went through that whole performance last night. Grand entry to the local tavern with a sack of gold in hand, every inch the windswept hero. At first the celebrations make me feel like my old self again, but the thing about fame is, you can’t turn it off when you’ve had enough. Spent the best part of the morning and afternoon today dealing with bumbling local boys who want to sail and swooning girls that don’t know to avoid old men like me. When I finally got away, I had to walk the back alleys and cut through the church courtyard to avoid the crowds and get back to the old house. At first, Annie’s husband wouldn’t even let me in, but Lucy’s nosy. Followed her father to the door and leapt on me as soon as she saw me. There was really no choice for him after that.

Now I’m sat by her bed, the candle light casting my shadow large on the wall. My coat’s hung up to dry by the door, a couple of salt stained boots underneath. The girl wants to believe my time is a gift to her, and leaving them out makes it look like I might disappear on another adventure any moment. Always the showman. Even with her.

‘Now, why do you love that old story so much? Doesn’t your father sing you the song?’ She makes the little thoughtful grimace Annie makes sometimes. I’m sure Annie’s mother must’ve done the same thing, but the memory’s hazy, like it’s a long way underwater.

‘He does. But you know what mermaids are really like. Father doesn’t know anything.’

I frown at her with mock seriousness, leaning back and pushing myself on the rocking chair by my heels, shaking my head.

‘Now that’s not true. Your father knows lots of important things. Like what size of hammer you need when you’re nailing a ship’s deck into place. Or how to fit a horseshoe. Are you saying you find mermaids more interesting than hammers and horseshoes?’

She nods eagerly. I smile at her like we’ve just shared a secret, members of an elite few.

‘Well, if you insist.’ She grins and curls her covers underneath her, propping herself up to face me. In the candle light the sheets merge with her nightgown, and she looks like a mermaid herself, with a tail of cool grey scales. I tell her as much, and she laughs, before urging me to start.

‘All right, all right. So, there’s a young man who lives in a little house by the sea.’

‘Did he live here?’ I raise an eyebrow theatrically and let out a long sigh.

‘That must be a new record time for the first interruption.’ She puts a finger to her lips and nods. ‘Yes, he lived here, at the docks.’

‘And this man, he wants to sail. He can see the sun set in the distance and all he wants is to know where it goes. He’s heard tell that it doesn’t go anywhere, that the world simply shows the sun a different face, and at night it lights distant lands while we sleep. And what he wants, more than anything in the world, is to see those lands, to explore. So he works hard, day in and day out. Eventually he buys himself a ship, little more than a cog, but sturdy and reliable. And he goes sailing.’

‘How does he sail without a crew?’ I put great emphasis on my annoyance, and this time she pulls the cover up to hide her face in her embarrassment.

‘Well, of course he did have a crew. A bunch of the other boys from the docks who wanted to see the world like him.’ Only people rarely mention them in the story. Just another detail, easily skipped. They missed out on being remembered. I push the thought aside.

‘Anyway, they sail many days and nights, and see many strange and wonderful things. They meet men who can make the rain fall with a whisper, or can breathe fire like dragons. They see islands that change shape, islands made entirely of gold, islands set on the backs of great turtles. They run afoul of mad sea-hermits who spend their days alone on little dinghies, practising magic and speaking to the ocean, and catch glimpses of the seven great sea serpents, so large that their stirring creates the waves.’

She looks fearful when I come to the serpents. She’s seen the skull mounted in the tavern, a head as long as her and pits as deep as tankards where its eyes once were. A part of me is reassured by those empty sockets, but sometimes I still catch glimpses in the corner of my eye of the unnatural blue light they held in life, and remember the way the spear shuddered in my hands that night long ago when I killed a myth.

‘And one day, they’re sailing through a familiar route, and a beautiful mermaid swims up to their ship. Her scales are like a gown of emeralds, and her hair is the dark brown of the cocoa beans they grow far to the west.’

‘Like mine?’ she asks sleepily. I nod, so she stays settled.

‘When she speaks, she’s almost musical, for below the sea they sing to one another instead of speaking. She offers them wonderful things. All of life’s comforts, good company, food, and drink, and enough gold to see them through their days. When she’s done, the man considers things for a long time. One by one, the crew all jump in to swim off with the mermaid, but he stays.’

‘And he says no. He thanks her for the offer, says it’s very generous, but he turns it down. “Why?” she asks. “Because it’s not where I belong”, he says. “I know it in my bones. I belong on the horizon, I always will”. And with that, off he sails toward the sunset, knowing he’ll never get there, trying all the same.’

Lucy’s mostly drifted off by the time I finish, so I stand carefully and hold the chair to keep it from creaking. The buckles on my boots give me away though, and her eyes open groggily.

‘I wish there was more about the mermaid in it.’

‘Me too. But I’m afraid I never learned as much about mermaids as I should have.’ The coat’s still wet when I pull it on.

‘Would you have gone with her? If it had been you?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s easy to say how you’ll live. Actually living’s the hard part. Now settle down. Gotta get to sleep soon.’

‘But if I go to bed you’ll be gone after.’ She hears me hesitate. ‘You will. You always are.’

‘Aye,’’ I say quietly, ‘but it can’t be helped. I’ve got some heroics to do, and you’ve got some dreams to dream.’ She looks down at her sheets with defeat, beginning to get upset. I lift her head to look at me and fake a smile.

‘Now what I do know is mermaids don’t cry. They got all cried out long ago. That’s why the ocean’s salty.’ She gives me a weak hug, and when I let her go I pull the covers to her chin.

‘Big dreams, little mermaid, and you can tell me a tale when I come back.’

Annie’s waiting outside Lucy’s door, and she walks me out of the house in silence. I lay a bag of coins in her hand, and tell her I love her. She tells me to leave. As I walk back to the ship, a group of drunks recognise me and tell me they wish they could sail off into the sunset, have adventures and become heroes. They smell like piss and cheap ale and carry themselves like lumbering trolls. After we split off, I can hear them singing most of my way back to the docks.

‘There’s more beauty here than I ever have seen,

But I cannot indulge and get lost in this dream.

The song of my fate shall not go to waste,

My song’s on the horizon and always has been!’

The ship’s empty when I get back. All of the men are out on shore leave, drinking and whoring. Likely only a few will return for a second journey, but there will be plenty of eager young hands for hire. That’s the point of the stories, after all. The roof of the cabin leaks slightly, and it’s spread to a corner of the bed, allowing the cold to wash in. I lay some bedding on the chair by my desk and sit. I smoke for a while, as if the warmth will spread through my bones, but it doesn’t work. Soon, I’m singing the old songs to myself, and eventually, I sleep.