ppoli61

@ppoli611674629039 · 04 Dec 2020

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Sidereal mermaid

#shortstory


The three of them came out of the trees, they gave the idea of a family, they even had a dog.
Only they were Permutants. They had not been seen for years, I recognized them for having studied them on the tables of comparative anatomy.
At the time I ran this tavern alone, I had too much to do to learn the languages of places I didn't care a damn about, so I had a hard time understanding them. But all refugees are the same and those three - father, mother and an ugly, curly child - needed a bed and food. They paid me in advance, although they had little money.
I assigned them a narrow, damp room. They accepted, without arguing, exhausted as they were. They only asked to be able to have meals in the room.
I brought them food at set times, but one evening, having a lot to do, I decided to do it early, and already at dusk I went up the rickety staircase with the dinner tray.
Outside the door I paused, since, from below, a strange light filtered and murmurs of infinite tenderness could be heard. I put my eye close to the keyhole.
I saw the two adults leaning over someone who, at first, I thought was the son.
When they moved away a little, I saw among them a young girl with mother-of-pearl skin and long white hair hanging down over her shoulders.
She was beautiful. The mouth just a cut in the face, the eyes so indefinite that you forget them as soon as you turned around, yet it seemed illuminated as if it had the moon inside.
I couldn't speak or look away as the two adults wiped away furtive tears, and the figure swayed, swayed, and merged.
A moment, and it was gone.
In its place, the ugly child, with his head outstretched to welcome smug but distracted caresses.
It took me a moment to get back, and to realize that, for the first time, I had witnessed the mutation of a Permutant.

Over the next few days, the vision haunted me. I was burning with curiosity and the desire to see her again, I invented a thousand excuses to go upstairs. When the strange light filtered from under the door, I couldn't resist and put my eye close to the keyhole, with my heart in turmoil.
Each time I appropriated a detail. The slender hands, the silver dress, the transparent skin. Some evenings I didn't see anything.
At night I dreamed of her, pale moon siren. We sailed through the galaxies holding hands, her dress was the silver tail of a noble starfish.
The flame of my love grew, I wanted her and only her, without thinking of the ungainly disguise under which she was hidden. Because so much beauty, so much harmony, I told myself, in this so ugly world, was certainly hiding.
I had learned to grasp the moment in which the child's features passed and swayed like signs on the water, until they became fluid and recomposed in the final perfection. Eagerly, I watched the appearance of the beloved form, its condensation in the light. And I too shared in the love that others bestowed on her and that she emanated.
But looking wasn't enough for me anymore. I wanted to approach her, talk to her, touch her.
One evening I couldn't help myself and threw the door open.
The dog barked, the adults spun around, surprised, embarrassed.

They came, they gestured, from the invaded lands. Of their beautiful city, only a few columns of the temple remained standing. And it was in the temple that their eldest daughter had died, when the explosion had destroyed everything.
It was to keep alive the memory of his sister, that the little one lent himself to assume her features, as long as the beloved parents had the illusion of seeing her again, of hearing her voice again.
Even today, that he is no longer a child, today that his parents are both dead, and that I am old, from time to time, good-naturedly, he still bestowes himself. He does it so that the good host, who brought his parents free food, can still dream of the priestess who came to offer him a little love.
And love, you know, in this world of ours, is now difficult to find.