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- mermaid | infected
It’s a little passed ‘too late’ when Martin looks up from the side of the boat, frowns at the rapidly darkening sky. This happened too often to him, staying out a little too long until the dark was so deep and black and couldn’t see the shore. He’s never been very good at navigating by the stars and really, what kind of fisherman couldn’t? Him, apparently, a fact everyone refused to let him live down. Anyway it meant the dark could have him sleeping in his boat til morning, hoping for calm seas.
It wasn’t so bad when it was calm, really, nice to sleep out under the stars. Sometimes he’d tell stories to himself, talk about his day, recite poetry, but tonight he thought about money. There was a wealthy man in town, Elias Bouchard, who offered steep rewards for bringing him anything ‘interesting.’ This usually meant strange things, weird and cursed things, though Bouchard’s eye was discerning and he’d sent more than one con artist on their way, chased out of town by his calm smile.
Martin never found anything interesting, maybe some trash or a weird shell here and there but nothing of note. Still, he thought, wouldn’t it be grand to find something Bouchard wanted, march it over there and finally have the money to care for his mother? He was barely scraping by as it was, usually only ate what fish he knew wouldn’t sell well and avoiding his mother’s sickly, hateful gaze. It was hard for her, being in so much pain. That was all.
Still, money to get her the care she needed, to finally prove something to her and his neighbors and maybe himself along the way.
He sighs, tugs at his net and decides to at least try and make it back to shore while there was the faintest light to do so. His net tugs back, and he frowns at the audacity it has to do so before he realizes. “Oh.”
Oh indeed, because there was something tugging weakly at his net, something large . For a moment Martin’s heart races- maybe it was a shark or something rare, exotic, something he could sell to Elias. Maybe it was a large school, a good payday. Whatever it was he steels himself, grunts and pulls and drags up the heavy thing until he manages to get it over the side of his boat- a flash silver, the wild flail of scales and fin.
All the part of a very large fish if the top half wasn’t decidedly human looking and hissing at him through the rope.
Martin presses back and ok, maybe not all human, because those teeth weren’t really human. Neither were the gills slitting its skin, or the skin itself with its grey sheen, or the claws or various fins and spines jutting out of the man before him. Not man-
“You’re- oh my god, ” Martin manages, raising his hands as the creature hissed at him again. The hissing fell to a hacking sound, a wheeze as it fell on it’s side. It seemed to be breathing air fine, must have had human lungs somewhere but- but there was a phlemgy quality to it, like it was sick.
He caught a mermaid and the only thought he had was to make it a cup of tea and get it a warm blanket.
“Hey,” Martin tries, keeps his hands raised as the merman glowers at him. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear! I um- I need to get the net off you? I’d rather not cut it, since uh, it’s expensive, so I hope you don’t mind if I untangle it? Just… stay still?”
The merman doesn’t seem all that impressed with his rambling though it does nod, its gills and fins lowering hesitantly and no longer making it larger seeming in defense. As he gets closer Martin gets a better look at it- him, it seems, at least his upper body looked like a man’s, all sharp features and black hair turning grey at the temple, hard to tell in the damp. His eyes are a little bigger than a humans, seem to have two eyelids and stare at him with an intensity that makes Martin nervous.
Still, it- he- lets Martin close, watches as Martin carefully untangles him. This close Martin can see the sickness, a weakness of movement and breath that concern him as he moves away the last of the rope. Even freed the merman doesn’t seem capable of much besides a continued glower, curling himself up protectively.
“Sick, huh?” Martin asks sympathetically, and for the first time he realizes he could sell this creature for untold sums. Maybe not even to Elias, he couldn’t imagine the amount of money something like this would sell for, an actual mermaid here on his boat, too weak to escape.
The merman sneezes, an awkward squeak, and the faint idea dies where it started. To be entirely fair Martin didn’t think he’d ever have it in him in the first place.
It doesn’t help that the merman is kind of handsome in a, you know, a fish way. “Um, I can make you some soup? If you like. I live right on the shore, you can… rest in the bathtub? Just you know, for the night. Until you feel a little better.”
His guest glowers further but looks so absolutely miserable he nods, slow, flicking his tail in what Martin assumes is warning.
“Well, that’s that,” Martin says, and sets off to shore.
-
He makes it before it gets too dark and manages to carry his new friend (he thinks?) inside, not without having to talk the merman down and promise he wouldn’t do anything bad. He’s heavy, slippery and cold but Martin’s used to carrying his mother and takes him through the back and into the bathroom, puts him carefully in the tub and turns it on.
“Um, you do need water, right? To breath? Or to be comfortable? Can you eat fish? I mean, of course you can, your teeth- but can you handle potatoes? Do you know what those are?”
The merman squints at him and Martin flushes. “Right, ok… just sit tight and don’t make any noise? My mum’s upstairs, she can’t get out of bed anymore really but- just… shh, ok?”
The merman rolls his eyes but nods, sinks deeper into the water as Martin goes to the kitchen. He makes hot, simple soup with fish, a pot of tea as well though he isn’t sure if merpeople even drink things. It’s using a lot of food he can’t really afford but he tries to ignore that, for now. He can go hungry a few days if he has to, and the merman clearly needed it.
The way he eats it proves that, taking the bowl with cautious, webbed hands, sniffing it before staring at Martin expectantly. Martin isn’t sure what he expected, maybe that the man would just drink from the bowl? But instead he stares until Martin startles and hands him the spoon he brought along. Only then does he start eating.
“I uh… didn’t think you’d even know what a spoon was,” Martin admits. He does not get an impressed look for his troubles.
He eats though and Martin can’t help but watch, fascinated by the sharp rows of teeth that tear into the soft fish chunks like butter. He leaves scratches on the spoon with them though he looks frustrated with himself at it, and when the bowl is done he reaches over, still sickly weak, and takes Martin’s arm.
“Oh,” Martin breaths, because his hand is damp and cold, and a clawed finger gently scrapes against the inside of his wrist. It doesn’t leave any marks and it takes Martin a breathless second to realize it was letters.
J O N
“Jon?” asks Martin, and the merman- Jon- nods. “Jon. Oh. Well, hello Jon, I’m ah- I’m Martin. Martin Blackwood.”
Martin stumbles over a greeting and Jon’s lips quirk, exhaustion at the edges. Martin thinks of the tea but no, he smiles back instead, stands. “Try to sleep, ok? I’ll come by with food in the morning.”
-
He is back in the morning, and the morning after, using the rest of the week to help nurse the merman back to health. Whatever it was seems to pass quickly enough with food and rest, a healthier set to Jon’s shoulders and shine to his scales. It means several days of going hungry for Martin but he manages, though carrying Jon back to the sea when he’s clearly better takes reserves of strength he isn’t sure he has. He almost collapses in the boat to Jon’s eyes watching him closely.
It isn’t until they’re farther out to sea that Jon says, “Thank you. For your help.”
“You- you can talk?” Martin gawks and Jon glowers at him like that is somehow a stupid question. He did that a lot.
“Of course I can, I just- I lost my voice when I was sick and you told me not to make noise in your home when I got it back.”
“Yeah but- I mean you could whisper ,” Martin tries and Jon flicks his tail in annoyance. It’s cute and Martin can’t help but grin. He has a nice voice. “Does that mean you sing sailors to their doom?”
“Ugh, certainly not. That would imply I eat humans and I have better taste than that,” Jon tells him, gills ruffled, and Martin realizes maybe he should have been more worried about that. Ah well.
He has so many questions but they’re out far enough that Jon slides out of the boat and into the deep waters, darting under for a long enough moment Martin’s heart clenches with loss before surfacing once more. “Come back here tomorrow evening.”
“Um, ok, why?”
Jon gives him a withering look and he’s so graceful in the water and Martin can’t help but stare. “Just do it,” Jon pauses. “Please.”
“Uh, sure, but-” Martin starts but Jon is gone, sliding under the waves.
-
Of course Martin comes back, eats a roll of bread and watches the sun set in his boat, trying to keep his chewing slow so he wouldn’t make himself sick with too much food too fast. He wonders what Jon wants, wonders if there were mermaids everywhere, wonders how Jon ended up in his net at all, wonders all the questions he should have asked but didn’t.
A splash catches his attention and he grins as Jon surfaces, looking pleased that Martin followed his instructions. He has something in his hand, something he urges Martin to take and pull up into his boat with both their strength, something that turns out to be a net overflowing with fish and crabs.
“I-” Martin stares, dumbfounded as Jon does what can only be described as preening.
“Replacement for the food I ate.”
“This is a lot more than you ate!”
“Well, for the medical services rendered- are you really going to complain?”
“No- no it’s,” Martin starts, baffled and maybe a little overwhelmed. Karma didn’t usually reward him for doing the right thing yet here they were, and he blinks rapidly as Jon cocks his head. “It’s great, it’s more than- it’s really good, thank you Jon.”
“You’re welcome,” Jon says, stiffly, when Martin beams at him. “Next time don’t just bring strange people into your home, what if I tried to eat you?”
“If I hadn’t you might have gotten sicker,” Martin argues, then, “Could we- I mean, maybe we can talk sometimes? You don’t have to bring fish, I just uh- maybe we could be friends?”
Jon stares at him, a bafflement Martin would consider being offended by if he wasn’t too busy being self conscious. “I… suppose. Maybe. If I’m around.”
Martin grins at him, tension melting and Jon offers the smallest of smiles back.
-
Martin doesn’t have many neighbors, the shores a little too rough around his parts compared to easier, better port a short while away. It works out well because Jon starts spending time in the waters of his backyard, always quick to give Martin an earful for any trash found nearby or pester him for the day’s news. For someone not on land he was awfully nosy about it’s happenings.
Today Jon lies on one of the large rocks of the jetty nearby, flat on his stomach and letting the sun warm his skin like a great, lazy snake. Martin long ago stopped trying to understand how Jon’s anatomy worked, whenever he came close to an answer he showed some trait Martin simply couldn’t explain.
“Here,” Jon says as Martin approaches on foot and takes a seat on one of the large rocks close by. Jon tosses him something he nearly drops, and when Martin finally stops fumbling he realizes a large, dark pearl is in his hands.
“I-”
“I found it travelling years ago but I have no use for it. Just a curiosity, really,” Jon yawns, tail unfurling in a lazy arch as he stretches and settles. “You can sell it, can’t you? Use it to buy a better boat, that scrap of wood you have is dreadful.”
“I like my boat!”
“You would,” Jon tuts, and if Martin weren’t still so flummoxed by the pearl he might have considered splashing him.
“This… thanks, Jon. You don’t need to, you know,” Martin mumbles, looking the pearl over, wondering if he could sell it Bouchard and how much leeway it would give him. Maybe he could start taking a few days off, maybe he’d have enough to send his mother somewhere they could actually help her.
“Of course I don’t, but I want to,” Jon huffs and Martin thinks he’d really like to kiss him, even if he’s pretty sure it would be a weird, cold fish kiss that could shred his mouth to pieces. “You can thank me by making more of that soup, please.”
Martin laughs, hopelessly fond. “Yeah, sure Jon.”