The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(12)

I was twelve years old, and I could feel the hours of our childhood slipping through my fingers like sand in the sea.

Later that night, my grandfather found me crying beside the pond in our garden. He settled himself on the grassy bank, his eyes on the blurry reflection of the moon on the water. The ducks appeared as if they were swimming across its pearly face. Neither of us said a word for a time. My grandfather understood the comfort there is in shared silence.

When I was ready to listen, he said, “In all my lifetime, I’ve never seen more wonderful creatures than ducks.” He paused to chuckle at the baffled expression on my face. “When ducks are born, they imprint on the first thing they see, usually their mother, and they will follow her quite determinedly until adulthood. Did you know this?”

I shook my head, unable to speak. There were still tears in my throat.

“You were born into this world an orphan.” His eyes were on the water, and I knew he was thinking of his daughter—my mother. “You were crying and crying, and your eyes were closed tight, and nothing seemed to comfort you. I was afraid you’d drown in your own tears. Even your grandmother was lost as to how to help you. But then Joon, who had been waiting in the garden, came quietly into the house. He was so little himself, not yet three summers old. He insisted on holding you. Your grandmother placed you gently in his arms, and when you opened your eyes and looked into his for the first time, the smile that lit your face was the most wondrous thing I’d ever seen. Like sunlight after a storm.”

“Grandfather,” I said, tilting my head to look up at him, “are you saying I’m a duck?”

Grandfather brought his rough hands to my eyes, wiping the tears from my face. “I’m saying, Mina, that Joon has loved you your entire life. Since the day you were born. He will always love you. It is his forever gift to you.”

I shook my head. “Then why did he leave me behind?”

“Because he knows that you love him enough to let him go.”

In the damp, cold alley of the Sea God’s city, I squeeze my eyes shut. Grandfather. He always knew the right words to say to make everything better.

He’s been gone for so long. Grandfather, I miss you. More than anything, I wish you were here now.

“Lookit!” a young boy’s anxious voice shouts from close by. “There’s a girl crying behind the fish shop. What should we do, Mask?”

A girl’s voice answers—much calmer than the boy’s and slightly muffled. “Wait for her to use up all her tears, of course. Once she’s finished crying for herself, she won’t start again. This one has a strong spirit.”

I lift my face from my knees, gasping, when I’m met with the most peculiar of sights.

A girl around my height stands before me, her head tilted to the side, the whole of her face covered by a wooden mask. Grooves in the wood show wrinkles, while the cheeks and forehead are painted with red circles. It’s the face of a grandmother, the mouth etched in a downward grimace.

“How can you tell, Mask? She doesn’t look like she’s going to stop anytime soon.”

I turn and almost touch noses with a small boy crouched beside me. Perhaps eight or nine, he wears loose hemp trousers and a thin jacket with wooden buttons. He has unruly hair, one long cowlick popping up at the side of his head like a flower. On his back, he carries what appears to be a cloth knapsack.

“Not even Miki cries nearly as much as she does,” he says, his brow puckering.

This statement is followed by a noise like bubbles rising out of the ocean.

The boy’s fingers fly to his shoulder, loosening the strings of his knapsack. He shuffles the bag around to reveal an infant tucked inside.

“Ay, Miki,” the boy laughs, lifting the tiny girl out of the knapsack. “Smile for the baby.”

He holds the infant out before me. She can’t be more than a year old. She has rosy cheeks and a short haircut very much like the boy’s, except hers is neatly combed to the side. From the way she’s dressed in a soft cotton dress, sewn with small pink flowers, I know she’s very much loved. Miki and I blink at each other. Whether it’s magic, or whether it’s Miki’s infectious smile, my tears stop flowing altogether. Miki giggles, reaching her small hands out toward me.

“No, no, Miki,” the boy scolds, pushing the knapsack wide and tucking the baby gently back inside. “You stay with me, now.” He pats Miki on her head before moving the knapsack to his back once more.

I look to the masked girl. The expression carved onto the wood of her mask has changed, from a frowning grandmother to a smiling grandmother. “That’s better,” she says. “Tears are fine every now and then, but it’s never a good thing to waste water.”

“Who—who are you?” I say. Or try to say. Like before, I make no sound.

She surprises me by answering. “We are spirits.” Her voice has a soft muffled quality to it, coming as it does from behind her covered face. “I’m Mask,” she says, pointing to herself, “and this is Dai and Miki.” She waves to them offhandedly, and Dai gives me a wide grin. “We saw you in the alley making a silent racket, and we came to investigate.”

Dai looks from Mask to me. “How is it that you know what she’s saying, Mask? Can you hear her?”

“Of course I can’t hear her!” Mask says, exasperated. “Her voice is a magpie, after all. I’m just using my wits. What do you think a human girl like her, caught alone in an alley in the middle of the Sea God’s city, would ask? Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? What do you want? I’ve answered all of these questions. Nod, girl, if I’m right in answering at least the one you asked.”