word
never
. The mermaid held it long and low and so sad, and then let it fall and gutter like waves in a rocky shoal. The song ended. She did not pick it up again. Carefully, Jill walked back over the slick rocks, and then up the path and into the tavern. She closed the door behind her. She waited. Ten minutes later, she opened the door just a crack and peeked out. The bearded man’s door was tightly shut.
----
Jack was sitting up when Jill awoke the next morning. “Hi!” he said. “I feel a lot better. I think I can help you with your work today.”
Jill’s hands instantly became clammy. She sat up and stared at him.
Then, as if deciding something, she got out of bed and came to his side. “Let me feel your head.” The frog crawled out of the blankets and yawned sleepily. She put her hand on Jack’s forehead. Compared to her clammy, sweating hands, Jack’s forehead was smooth and dry and cool. “Take one more day,” Jill said firmly. “One more day, and then you can come downstairs and help me.”
“At least let me sit down there—” Jack began.
“No,” said Jill, and her voice was sharp when she said it.
“I don’t think sitting downstairs would be bad for Jack,” the frog replied, surprised by her abruptness.
Jill thought for a moment. Then she said, “Not for Jack, no. But I don’t think the innkeeper would like him sitting in tavern, staring at the customers, do you? With a bandage on his head?” And without waiting for a response she got up, left the room, and closed the door behind her. Once in the corridor, she took a deep breath and went downstairs.
The lunch service in the tavern was always quiet, because the fishermen did not return with their boats until midafternoon. As soon as the last patron had left, Jill slipped out the tavern door and hurried down to the hut by the sea. The door was closed and no light came from within. The bearded man would, like the rest of the fishermen, be out on the sea for a couple of hours yet.
Jill went around to the back of the house. There, she tried the door of the shed. It wasn’t locked. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
Within, she scanned the walls. Rusty instruments of death hung from every hook. She studied the hooked blade for opening a fish’s belly, the sideways-bending knife for separating meat from bone, the harpoon points with their barbs that caught and tore the flesh. She found a coil of rope and set to work.
----
Now, my dear reader, you are probably feeling a little tense right now. If I’ve told this story well at all, in fact, you should be feeling a tightness in your shoulders, and a lightness in your head, and your breath should be coming a little quicker.
And when I describe Jill hiding in the hut with all the “instruments of death,” as I think I called them—well, you are probably expecting something horrible and bloody to transpire.
Good. At least you’re expecting it. That should help a little.
----
The bearded man came home exhausted and stinking of fish. He walked into his little house and peeled off his great oilskin coat and changed his heavy boots for some lighter shoes. Then, sighing from the day’s work, he went out back and trudged heavily to his toolshed.
He pulled the door open and stepped inside—and found himself tumbling to the floor. His great frame crashed into the back wall, sending knives and knots and awls clattering down upon him. He looked back at the door. There was a rope tied tightly across the frame. He looked up.
Jill stood above him. Her face was furious and black. Her eyes were wide. Her nostrils flared. Her lips were pulled back around her teeth. Above her head hovered the largest, sharpest fish ax the man possessed.
“Leave the mermaid alone!” Jill bellowed.
And she brought the blade down as hard and as fast as she could. The man raised his arm to protect himself. The rusty blade hit his flesh with a
thwack
and buried itself in his bone. The man
never
. The mermaid held it long and low and so sad, and then let it fall and gutter like waves in a rocky shoal. The song ended. She did not pick it up again. Carefully, Jill walked back over the slick rocks, and then up the path and into the tavern. She closed the door behind her. She waited. Ten minutes later, she opened the door just a crack and peeked out. The bearded man’s door was tightly shut.
----
Jack was sitting up when Jill awoke the next morning. “Hi!” he said. “I feel a lot better. I think I can help you with your work today.”
Jill’s hands instantly became clammy. She sat up and stared at him.
Then, as if deciding something, she got out of bed and came to his side. “Let me feel your head.” The frog crawled out of the blankets and yawned sleepily. She put her hand on Jack’s forehead. Compared to her clammy, sweating hands, Jack’s forehead was smooth and dry and cool. “Take one more day,” Jill said firmly. “One more day, and then you can come downstairs and help me.”
“At least let me sit down there—” Jack began.
“No,” said Jill, and her voice was sharp when she said it.
“I don’t think sitting downstairs would be bad for Jack,” the frog replied, surprised by her abruptness.
Jill thought for a moment. Then she said, “Not for Jack, no. But I don’t think the innkeeper would like him sitting in tavern, staring at the customers, do you? With a bandage on his head?” And without waiting for a response she got up, left the room, and closed the door behind her. Once in the corridor, she took a deep breath and went downstairs.
The lunch service in the tavern was always quiet, because the fishermen did not return with their boats until midafternoon. As soon as the last patron had left, Jill slipped out the tavern door and hurried down to the hut by the sea. The door was closed and no light came from within. The bearded man would, like the rest of the fishermen, be out on the sea for a couple of hours yet.
Jill went around to the back of the house. There, she tried the door of the shed. It wasn’t locked. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
Within, she scanned the walls. Rusty instruments of death hung from every hook. She studied the hooked blade for opening a fish’s belly, the sideways-bending knife for separating meat from bone, the harpoon points with their barbs that caught and tore the flesh. She found a coil of rope and set to work.
----
Now, my dear reader, you are probably feeling a little tense right now. If I’ve told this story well at all, in fact, you should be feeling a tightness in your shoulders, and a lightness in your head, and your breath should be coming a little quicker.
And when I describe Jill hiding in the hut with all the “instruments of death,” as I think I called them—well, you are probably expecting something horrible and bloody to transpire.
Good. At least you’re expecting it. That should help a little.
----
The bearded man came home exhausted and stinking of fish. He walked into his little house and peeled off his great oilskin coat and changed his heavy boots for some lighter shoes. Then, sighing from the day’s work, he went out back and trudged heavily to his toolshed.
He pulled the door open and stepped inside—and found himself tumbling to the floor. His great frame crashed into the back wall, sending knives and knots and awls clattering down upon him. He looked back at the door. There was a rope tied tightly across the frame. He looked up.
Jill stood above him. Her face was furious and black. Her eyes were wide. Her nostrils flared. Her lips were pulled back around her teeth. Above her head hovered the largest, sharpest fish ax the man possessed.
“Leave the mermaid alone!” Jill bellowed.
And she brought the blade down as hard and as fast as she could. The man raised his arm to protect himself. The rusty blade hit his flesh with a
thwack
and buried itself in his bone. The man
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