7

Forgiveness

Luce watched Catarina swim over to the other mermaids. Their heads were only visible as dots flocking up and down on the darkening sea. She saw them draw close together and confer, then turn to scan the waves. If she didn’t go back soon they’d come to search for her.

Luce didn’t know how she could stand to talk to anyone, with her stomach so knotted and sick and her nerves prickling with dread. But if they had to look for her they’d get worried and upset, and they’d ask more questions. And Catarina might start to suspect that Luce had witnessed her closed in the arms of a human male.

Luce forced herself to swim back to the group. She pulled her reluctant mouth into a smile.

“Catarina! I was so worried when I couldn’t find you!” Catarina gave Luce one of her long, assessing stares. Luce knew Catarina was trying to read the look in her eyes, trying to guess what she’d seen.

“They said you went to look for me. Luce, that really wasn’t necessary. I can take care of myself.” Luce carefully brightened her smile.

“You’ve saved me twice already. I thought it was my turn. But I guess I swam down in the wrong place. You’re really okay?” Catarina seemed to relax slightly, though there was still something cautious in her stare.

“Of course I’m okay.” She gave Luce a smile that was a little too warm and affectionate. “I’m not the one who likes taking crazy chances. Swimming headlong into orcas!” Luce made herself laugh. “Honestly. For you to be worrying about me that way. It’s ridiculous.” She shook her head, and suddenly her warmth seemed genuine. “I bet you’re tired after all that. And everyone’s starving. Come on!” There was the flick and glint of long tails as the mermaids dove, and Luce went with them.

Sick as she felt, Luce already knew she would never betray Catarina’s secret. Maybe Catarina had destroyed the tribe’s honor by kissing that young man, but Luce would never be able to live with herself if Catarina was banished. She’d never stop thinking of her friend alone and adrift in a desolate sea. Even the idea of such abject loneliness made Luce want to cry. If she ever had to face expulsion, Luce thought, she might just feed herself to the orcas.

By the time they were all on the beach cracking mussels, Luce gave up trying to act cheerful. She let herself stare out at the deep blue clouds surging across the sky, the crimson rim of sunset. She could just make out the island where so many people had died that day, a dim pinnacle breaking the red streaks of the clouds. There was the noise of chopped air now as helicopters began to converge on the spot; men would climb out onto the rocks, divers would search the wreckage, all unable to understand why none of the crew had made it to shore. Luce had never even spoken to the sailor with the dark curly hair, but somehow she missed him terribly. Catarina was quiet, too, with a look on her face that contained a mixture of drowsy satisfaction and hungry sadness; Luce wondered if she was dreaming of the man she’d kissed, and killed.

Luce couldn’t just mourn for the curly-haired sailor in peace, though. She was surrounded by the other mermaids, who seemed tired but still giddy. Their chatter kept interrupting Luce’s thoughts, and she realized they were talking about her.

“Did you hear that out there?” Samantha asked behind her. “I mean, how different Luce’s singing is? It’s like, ‘Come here, little human; you’re not so evil after all! No, really! I promise you’re not evil!’ You know what I mean?” Samantha’s laugh sent a chill up Luce’s back. “What a joke! But they fall for it like crazy . . .”

Luce felt a fierce impulse to spin around and smack Samantha as hard as she could. She wanted to scream at her, lunge for her throat. Instead she stared down through the water at the silver shimmer of her own long tail.

Catarina seemed to stir from her reverie. “Luce’s song promises forgiveness,” she agreed slowly. “Or—what’s the word? Reconciliation. It’s interesting. It never would have occurred to me to try to sing that way, but I have to admit it’s effective. I certainly feel it when I hear her.” Luce hadn’t entirely grasped what it was that Catarina’s song promised until she’d seen the ecstatic way the black-haired boy had kissed her, but now it seemed clear enough.

“Effective!” Samantha giggled. “You were way on the other side, Cat. You didn’t see how berserk she made them. Luce had like twenty humans throwing themselves overboard before the ship even crashed! Like they were just dying to get to her!” Luce’s hands were trembling, and her stomach seemed to be full of cold stones. Samantha laughed again. “It’s amazing how stupid humans are! Believing that a mermaid could forgive them . . .”

But I do forgive them, Luce thought. I meant everything I sang. I forgive them no matter what they’ve done, and I wish they could forgive me. She remembered the choice she’d made out in the sea that day, to reject the enchanted numbness that had tried to steal into her heart. Samantha had obviously chosen differently. Of course it would be much easier that way.

“I thought Luce’s singing was beautiful,” Miriam said softly. “It made me remember all kinds of things . . .” Miriam hesitated, and Luce wondered if the things she’d remembered were from her human life. But what mermaid would admit to that? “Things from a long time ago,” Miriam finally said, and from something lost and wistful in her voice Luce knew she’d guessed right.

“Who cares if it’s beautiful?” It was Samantha’s cold, calm, sneering voice again. “What matters is that it works! We never could have taken that ship down before we had Luce with us, right? It was just too big. We wouldn’t even have tried!”

Luce turned around in surprise. “Catarina said you didn’t need me, though! She said the rest of you would sink the ship whether I came with you or not!” She tried to meet Catarina’s eyes, but the red-gold head swung away from her.

“Oh, no way!” Samantha trilled. “Cat, you seriously told her that? Why would you say that? You really don’t want Luce to realize how good she is, do you?” Catarina wouldn’t look at them. Her moon gray eyes were dreamily fixed on the horizon, but Luce knew she was only pretending not to hear . . .

Then Luce understood. Catarina had known all along that Luce wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to sing, not once she was surrounded by the voices of the other mermaids and their wild, rising song called to hers. Catarina had deliberately tricked Luce into swimming out with her because she’d known she needed Luce’s help. If only Luce had insisted on staying home in the cave, Catarina would have had to let the Coast Guard boat go on its way unmolested.

And maybe Catarina had reasons of her own for wanting to sink that particular ship so badly. Luce remembered the eager swishing of Catarina’s tail when she’d come to the cave, the barely suppressed hunger in her voice. She’d seen the crew of beautiful young men.

“Luce? Are you sick?” Miriam touched her shoulder with her soft, icy hand. “You must be exhausted. You worked so hard today, and you’re not used to it . . .” There was real sweetness in Miriam’s voice, but Luce couldn’t look at her. Would she really get used to murdering strangers? Luce’s body doubled over as if she were about to vomit, and her trembling came in violent waves. “Cat! I think Luce is sick. Oh, she really wasn’t strong enough yet to come out with us today! We should have let her rest for longer . . .”

“I’m okay,” Luce whispered. “I just want to be alone for a while.”

That got Catarina’s attention. “Alone?” she asked, and her steely voice stroked Luce’s skin. “Luce, are you upset about something? Because if you are we should talk about it.” Her eyes flared at Luce, daring her to say it.

You lied to me, you tricked me into helping you kill all those people, and maybe you’re the one who murdered—

Luce closed her eyes, trying to crush the thought before it went too far. Then she looked up into Catarina’s searching moon gray stare.

“Don’t you just feel like being alone sometimes, Cat?” Luce was amazed to hear how sharp and clear her voice had suddenly become. “It doesn’t mean I’m upset. It just means I’m not in the mood—for a lot of talk.” Samantha let out a short bark of laughter, but Luce didn’t smile.

“There are a few little caves up the coast,” Miriam offered; Luce thought maybe she wanted to get away, too. “Luce? Do you want me to show you? They’re all kind of cramped, but one of them isn’t too bad.” Catarina was glaring, but Miriam made a point of ignoring her. “Come on. It’s not too far . . .”

They drifted alongside the cliffs together, keeping their heads out of the water. One cave was open at the level of the sea, and the larval mermaids were already sleeping there, heaped up with their small arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Luce and Miriam kept swimming on for another mile or so, then Miriam glanced back at her and dove. The entrance of the cave was so narrow that they couldn’t even swim. Instead they had to wriggle through, pushing with their tails and using their hands to maneuver between the crags. The cave inside was as narrow as a tent, but it was deep and its beach was smooth, with round, small quartz pebbles. The roof was tall and fissured, opening onto a rag of dark blue sky.

Miriam twisted her body until she was halfway lying on the beach and stared up. There was just enough space for the two of them to lie comfortably side by side, and now that Miriam had brought Luce here she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. Her midnight-colored tail barely showed through the dark water, but Luce’s gleamed with silver lights. “Do you mind if I stay here for a little bit?” Miriam finally asked. “It’s just—everyone else gets so excited when we sink a ship. And sometimes I feel like—like I don’t want to make myself be happy about it. Does that sound crazy?” Luce sat up and looked down into Miriam’s eyes. Their color was so deep and inky that it was impossible to guess what she was feeling.

“You don’t need to act happy around me,” Luce finally said. She wasn’t sure if it was safe to tell Miriam how sad she felt about everything that had happened that day. She kept remembering the warm touch of dark curly hair, the glow in the young sailor’s brown eyes. More and truer love . . . Luce knew she had the power now to force any human being who came within earshot to love her. But they’d only love her as long as she kept them enchanted, only as long as they were speeding toward death.

“I thought—maybe since you’re metaskaza, or you just were, anyway—maybe you’d understand better than the others. Luce, I don’t completely hate humans. Or at least I don’t hate them enough. I mean, I understand why Catarina does, and I know she’s right, but sometimes I can’t help remembering . . .” It occurred to Luce that this might be another trick. Maybe Catarina had sent Miriam to find out how she really felt. “When I heard how you sang I thought maybe you remembered some good things about being human, too.”

Luce lay back down on the pebbles and thought about this. She didn’t want to say too much, but if Miriam was telling the truth about how she felt, then Luce didn’t want her to feel all alone either.

“I loved some of them,” Luce finally said. “Before I changed, I mean. So I just—I don’t totally care if humans are as evil as Catarina thinks or not.” Luce stopped, feeling like she’d already admitted too much. From the corner of her eye she could see Miriam’s dark shimmer swarming into those pictures that weren’t quite pictures. Miriam had loved her mother, Luce realized, but then her mother ran away one night with a strange man and never came back. Miriam had waited alone for days in an empty house, waited until the food ran out, and then she’d swallowed the contents of a brown glass bottle from her mother’s medicine cabinet, trying to die, and curled up in the bathtub.

“It’s worse when you love them,” Miriam whispered. “I think at first I wanted to kill all of them. Everyone. Because if there were no people left alive, then I’d never have to love one of them again.” She wouldn’t look at Luce; her face was twisting. “But once I realized that was impossible . . . What’s the point of killing any of them, Luce, when there are always so many left? And I’ve been in the water for so long now, and it’s always the same. They listen to us, and they die, and then soon enough there’s another boat . . .” Miriam sounded almost like she was talking to herself, and then Luce saw the gleam of a single tear.

Luce was surprised; it seemed like such a strange, pitiful reason for drowning people. But were her own reasons any better?

Were Catarina’s?

Miriam sat up and gave Luce a sad smile. “I’m really glad you’re living with us now, Luce. I mean, I know you weren’t singing for me today. It was all for those humans. But hearing you made me feel better, too. I don’t feel quite as cold inside.” Miriam looked away, as if saying it made her feel shy.

So, her fierce, powerful voice must not be completely evil, Luce thought. If it could comfort Miriam, even after all the long years she’d spent out in the sea, then maybe it would be okay for Luce to sing sometimes. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, she could even find a way to use her singing for good . . .

Miriam leaned in suddenly and kissed Luce on the cheek. Then she ducked down and squirmed out through the cave’s narrow entrance. Luce stared up at the sky. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone after all. The world was so enormous, yawning like a hungry mouth. She could forget all that hunger and loneliness when her tribe surrounded her, their long tails swaying next to hers and their faces dreaming together on the beach.

In the end it was pride that kept Luce where she was. She didn’t want Catarina to think she could get away with lying like that so easily.

***

That night Luce dreamed of her father. She was sitting on the bed in that cheap motel room outside Minneapolis, snow spinning in the window, while the sequin-covered woman dipped and leaped across the TV screen. Her father sat next to her, gazing into her eyes, a worried expression on his face.

Luce’s voice poured out of her: too big for a small human girl, too big for the narrow mustard-colored room. She couldn’t make her song stop, and she saw that her father wasn’t enchanted by it in the way all the other humans had been. He winced, and Luce thought her voice was hurting him. It floated up into that high, trembling note and coiled just under the ceiling.

“You know you don’t have to do this for me, Lucette,” her father said. “You’ve made your point. You can stop now, all right?”

I never judged you, Luce wanted to say. No matter what you did. But her mouth was full of that pulsing, savage song; it took hold of her throat, her chest, and since she couldn’t make the music stop, she couldn’t say anything. The piercing note broke and tumbled down an endless staircase.

“It’s not that I’m judging you, baby doll,” her father said as if he’d read her mind. His eyes were glazing from pain as Luce’s song clashed like metal snakes inside his head, but he was doing his best not to let her see how terribly she was hurting him. “How could I? I just hate to think that you’re doing things you might be sorry about later. And especially if you’re doing them because of me somehow. You don’t have to is all I’m saying. You can stop this right now.”

But Luce couldn’t stop. Her voice fell and fractured into aching chords and then her father couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed his head, trying desperately to make the pain stop. And Luce saw that it wasn’t snow in the window anymore, but tall lead-colored waves. The ocean knocked on the glass, asking to be let in . . .

No, Luce tried to tell the waves. You can’t come in. He’ll drown! But the song still controlled her voice, and she couldn’t make her voice say the words. The waves crested and slammed at the window, and Luce saw the glass starting to bow from their weight.

The glass crunched and screamed with a sound like tearing metal, and Luce was lost in the dark sea. She looked around for her father, but she couldn’t find him anywhere.

The scream of the breaking glass kept going, and then Luce realized that the scream was hers. She was flailing from side to side in the narrow cave, thrashing so hard that her body had rolled up out of the water and the top of her tail was exposed to the cold night air. It was the pain in her drying tail that had made her wake up. She was out of the water all the way to where her knees used to be, and for a second Luce just stayed where she was, feeling the burning claw through her.

It would be so easy to die, she thought. All she’d need to do would be to pull herself a little farther up the beach. So easy but also so terrible. She used her hands to slide herself back down into the sea, gasping as the pain gradually subsided.

If she could completely forget her human life, not miss any of it anymore, then being a mermaid would be so wonderful. She could be free and wild and beautiful forever; she could welcome the cold into her heart and not care how many people she killed. It would just be a game to her, the way it was for Samantha. A joke. She could laugh at the people she drowned for believing the forgiveness in her song was real, laugh at them for loving her. A trace of her father’s warm voice still thrummed in her mind, a residue left over from her dream.

Luce decided then that she’d rather die. She would never let herself turn as cold as Samantha seemed to be, not even if she’d be happier that way, not even if what Miriam had said was right. “It’s worse when you love them,” Luce repeated to herself, and the caramel-skinned boy smiled in her mind, his hair rippling in the green, shining water. Humans were grotesque a lot of the time, but—just once in a while—there was something about them that was marvelous, too. A sustained note of something that was greater and sweeter than any emotion . . .

There had to be some way she could stay a mermaid but still keep that note alive in her own song.