Part 11 (1/2)

The next morning Jill slipped out of her room with no more than a syllable to Jack, and all day she was unable to keep her mind on her work. She dropped two gla.s.ses to the floor and then cut her hand as she cleaned up the shards. The innkeeper spoke to her sternly about her carelessness. Jill just wanted night to come.

At last, the villagers had gone home. Jill went to her bedroom.

”Did you break two gla.s.ses today?” Jack asked as she walked in. ”That's what it sounded like from up here.”

”I just want to go to sleep,” Jill said sharply. Jack looked surprised, and then away. The frog stared at Jill.

Jill got into bed and turned her back to Jack. ”How are you doing?” she asked without feeling.

”Fine,” Jack said as he blew out the oil lamp by his bed. He didn't sound fine. He sounded angry. Jill didn't care.

She waited until she heard the first note of the mermaid's song, checked that Jack was indeed breathing softly and evenly, and then hurried straight down to the little harbor. As she hurried, she sang along with the mermaid: Come, come, where heartache's never been.

And where you're seen as you want to be seen.

Come, come, the place of shadow and green, Where you'll never cry no more, dear la.s.s, Where you'll never cry no more.

When the mermaid rose out of the sea and onto the rock, Jill marveled at her moonlit body, her blacks, her greens, her eyes, her hair.

”There is my beautiful friend,” said the mermaid. Jill shook her head in the strong wind, but smiled anyway.

”Mermaid,” Jill said, ”you told me last night that you came from a place where there was once no sadness. Is there sadness there now?”

”Yes,” replied the mermaid.

”But why?”

”Do you remember,” the mermaid asked, ”that I told you there was one who would harm me if he could?”

”Yes.”

”Once upon a time,” she said, ”there were seven sisters who lived beneath these waves. I was the youngest. Each of my sisters was more beautiful than the last, and each more kind and more good. We would rise up on this rock and sing to the people of this village, and they loved us. Indeed, there was a little girl who loved us more than anything, and she wanted to live with us, down in the dark and green sea, where there is no sadness. You see, her mother had died of a great sickness, and she was left alone with her cruel father. When she asked if she could come to live with us instead, we told her no. A little girl, we thought, should live with her kind above the waves. But then we learned that she too was sick, and if she stayed in the village she would surely die. So we relented, and one night she joined us, and then there were eight sisters.

”But her father was furious with us. He cast a net and caught my oldest sister and cut her throat, so her blood, dark and green, flowed over her beautiful smooth skin. Some weeks later, he caught my second eldest sister in his net, and again he cut her throat and spilled her dark green blood. Again and again he caught my sisters, until at last there were only me and his daughter left, living here under the sea.

”The little girl was so sorry for what her father had done that she became sick with grief. After seven days and seven nights of pining, she died from her sadness.”

The mermaid's wide-set eyes and moon-hued lips looked like they might burst with sorrow. But she said no more.

”That's terrible,” Jill cried. ”Oh, it's awful, it's awful!” Suddenly, her sorrow for her own troubles seemed so small and stupid. ”Let me help you!” Jill said, ”Please! What can I do?”

The mermaid shook her head sadly. ”What is there to be done?” she asked. ”They are all dead. There is nothing to be done but weep.” And Jill could see that rivers of tears had been steadily streaming down the mermaid's face for many years, and had dug shallow canyons in her cheeks.

”Who is the man? Does he still live in the village?” Jill demanded fiercely.

The mermaid nodded sadly. ”I don't know who he is. I cannot see the faces of men. Just beautiful girls like you. But he still comes out some nights with his net and tries to catch me. I never know when. I believe he will not rest until I am dead. But what does it matter? My sisters, my sweet sisters, have all died already.”

”He will not kill you,” Jill swore, her teeth set, her hair blown back, her forehead s.h.i.+ning high and wet with sea spray in the moonlight. ”I will not let him do that.”

When pink began to streak the east, Jill blew a kiss to the beautiful mermaid and went back to the tavern.

The next morning, Jack was awake before Jill. She got up, and he smiled at her.

”I'm sorry for last night,” she said.

”You were tired from working all day.”

”Yes,” she said. ”Very tired. Are you feeling better?”

”A little bit better each day,” Jack replied. ”But sitting here is boring.”

Jill was humming a slow, sad tune when she slipped into the corridor.

As Jill scrubbed the tables in the tavern and the innkeeper s.h.i.+ned the scotch gla.s.ses, Jill said, ”Whose daughter was it that got lost in the sea?”

The tavern mistress stopped her s.h.i.+ning and looked at Jill curiously. ”Now what made ye think o' that, la.s.s?”

Jill shrugged and went back to scrubbing. ”Dunno. Just thinking.”

The tavern mistress shook her head. ”The man what told the story,” she said. ”With the red beard.”

Jill nodded. ”That's what I thought.”

She watched him as he ate his dinner and then drank his scotch and ale. He laughed plenty and told stories and seemed to be liked by all. But there was something about him. Something sad. In the pauses between stories, or when his big-bellied laughter died away, she saw him sigh or look down at the table heavily. She didn't know why she hadn't seen it before. Once, he caught her looking at him. She smiled quickly. He broke into a broad grin. This time, when he looked away, he did not sigh.

Jill ran down to the edge of the rocks that night and told the mermaid that she knew who it was that was trying to hurt her. The mermaid nodded sullenly. ”What good will that do, though?” she asked, and her lips and her face and her eyes were so sad and fine they made Jill want to weep. ”He will not stop.”

”I'll make him stop,” Jill said. ”I swear it. I swear it.”

This time, as the pink began to streak the eastern sky, the mermaid blew Jill a kiss. Jill felt it on her cheek, like soft sea foam.

The next afternoon, Jill made her way down to the little hut by the sea where the red-bearded man lived. She knocked on the door. There was no answer. So she went around to a small shed that stood behind the house to look for him there. The door stood ajar. Jill looked within.