I lay on the rock they carved me up, tracing patterns in blood on my belly, my arms, my teats, slicing here and gouging there, and floating back to admire the effect while I struggled without moving and cried without tears. I thought I would die, and asked for it, with my voice silent as still air.
I don’t know how long it took. It could have been a day, from dawn to dusk. I felt the stone beneath me slippery with warm blood. In the end, I lost consciousness.
And woke. To see Grandmother sitting as she always did, weaving her nets, staring at nothing with her rotting saw-toothed smile and white eyes.
I didn’t dare to look at my body. I was in pain so great I cried out and moaned with it. It was the kind of pain that makes you feel you’re being torn apart, slowly, from the inside. I shut my eyes and tried to run away inside, again. I slept.
When I woke, I heard her hissing to herself as she wove. Like all old people, she talked to herself, because she spent most of her time alone. I smelt my blood all around me, felt it dried and sticky under my spread hands.
“You make too much noise,” Grandmother hissed, “for a little fish. Here, have this.”
She shoved some more weed in my mouth. This time I chewed it eagerly and swallowed it down, hoping not to wake again. Days went past. The ache lessened. With fear, my hand crept down and felt the place where my tail had been.
On my flanks, the blue-green skin was as it had been. Someone had washed off the blood when I’d been sleeping. I moved my hand over my skin, felt my hips, felt the part where I divided into two. Legs. I tried to sit up, fell back, nauseous and dizzy with pain.
“ I’ve got legs?”
“Oh yes, you’ve got your legs.” Grandmother hissed. “Two nice little human legs. Say thank you.”
I dragged my head up, looked down at myself. They were like no legs I’d ever seen. On the outside, the pale blueish skin all mer have, reflecting the colours of the water. It helps us in the hunt, and makes us harder for predators to see. On the inside, pinkish human skin, tapering down to five toed feet. A red line of new-made scar ran down the centre of each leg.
I tried to move one heavy limb, but it was as if the thing had nothing to do with me, as if you’d cut off my tail and sewed it on with the needles you used for making pouches out of fish skin. My beautiful, dead human legs.
I cried, not caring if she heard me, retching sobs.
“Be quiet,” Grandmother spat, high-pitched over my wails. “You asked for legs, you have legs.”
“Why don’t they move?”
“You wanted legs. You didn’t say you wanted to walk.”
If I’d been able to use those legs, I would have snatched a knife and cut my own gullet open with it. After I had no more crying in me, I looked at her with hate.
“Why did you let me do this?”
She grinned.
“Me? The spirits did it, not me. You saw them. You asked them to do it – they gave you what you wanted. You should be grateful.”
I wailed, biting at my fingers. Grandmother slapped the stone, cackling at her own joke.
“Besides, you don’t belong here.”
She reached out, and touched my thigh, leaving a long scratch. I didn’t feel it.
“I can’t even stand up.”
“ The feeling will grow, you’ll see. When it does, you’ll wish it hadn’t. Nothing can be had without suffering, little fish.”
I turned my back to her, and swallowed my crying, and sang myself to sleep with a sort of tuneless humming as my mother used to do, before she went to the sands to die. I wondered, how can life hurt so much, and yet, still be life.
Chapter 10
I lay for three suns on the dank floor of Grandmother’s cave, fed and cleaned by my sisters as they came in to spend their time with her. My father’s mate Casih stroked my head and combed my hair out, and poured cool seawater over my body, which she said would help soothe the pain.
I don’t know how long it took. It could have been a day, from dawn to dusk. I felt the stone beneath me slippery with warm blood. In the end, I lost consciousness.
And woke. To see Grandmother sitting as she always did, weaving her nets, staring at nothing with her rotting saw-toothed smile and white eyes.
I didn’t dare to look at my body. I was in pain so great I cried out and moaned with it. It was the kind of pain that makes you feel you’re being torn apart, slowly, from the inside. I shut my eyes and tried to run away inside, again. I slept.
When I woke, I heard her hissing to herself as she wove. Like all old people, she talked to herself, because she spent most of her time alone. I smelt my blood all around me, felt it dried and sticky under my spread hands.
“You make too much noise,” Grandmother hissed, “for a little fish. Here, have this.”
She shoved some more weed in my mouth. This time I chewed it eagerly and swallowed it down, hoping not to wake again. Days went past. The ache lessened. With fear, my hand crept down and felt the place where my tail had been.
On my flanks, the blue-green skin was as it had been. Someone had washed off the blood when I’d been sleeping. I moved my hand over my skin, felt my hips, felt the part where I divided into two. Legs. I tried to sit up, fell back, nauseous and dizzy with pain.
“ I’ve got legs?”
“Oh yes, you’ve got your legs.” Grandmother hissed. “Two nice little human legs. Say thank you.”
I dragged my head up, looked down at myself. They were like no legs I’d ever seen. On the outside, the pale blueish skin all mer have, reflecting the colours of the water. It helps us in the hunt, and makes us harder for predators to see. On the inside, pinkish human skin, tapering down to five toed feet. A red line of new-made scar ran down the centre of each leg.
I tried to move one heavy limb, but it was as if the thing had nothing to do with me, as if you’d cut off my tail and sewed it on with the needles you used for making pouches out of fish skin. My beautiful, dead human legs.
I cried, not caring if she heard me, retching sobs.
“Be quiet,” Grandmother spat, high-pitched over my wails. “You asked for legs, you have legs.”
“Why don’t they move?”
“You wanted legs. You didn’t say you wanted to walk.”
If I’d been able to use those legs, I would have snatched a knife and cut my own gullet open with it. After I had no more crying in me, I looked at her with hate.
“Why did you let me do this?”
She grinned.
“Me? The spirits did it, not me. You saw them. You asked them to do it – they gave you what you wanted. You should be grateful.”
I wailed, biting at my fingers. Grandmother slapped the stone, cackling at her own joke.
“Besides, you don’t belong here.”
She reached out, and touched my thigh, leaving a long scratch. I didn’t feel it.
“I can’t even stand up.”
“ The feeling will grow, you’ll see. When it does, you’ll wish it hadn’t. Nothing can be had without suffering, little fish.”
I turned my back to her, and swallowed my crying, and sang myself to sleep with a sort of tuneless humming as my mother used to do, before she went to the sands to die. I wondered, how can life hurt so much, and yet, still be life.
Chapter 10
I lay for three suns on the dank floor of Grandmother’s cave, fed and cleaned by my sisters as they came in to spend their time with her. My father’s mate Casih stroked my head and combed my hair out, and poured cool seawater over my body, which she said would help soothe the pain.
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