The Surface Breaks(6)
“The people have spoken,” my father says. “You shall sing, Muirgen.”
“I am tired, Father,” I say. My voice is one of the few things that is mine, and mine alone. I do not want to share it with this baying crowd. “I was hoping I could rest this evening.”
“I said, sing, Muirgen,” he repeats, his tone shark-threat. “I too want to hear your voice. You will not deny me, your father, will you?”
The Sea King cannot be denied. I learned that lesson a long time ago.
“Of course not, Father,” I say. “Whatever you want.”
I breathe in, and I can feel the notes trembling at the base of my throat, forming without any real effort. I open my mouth and the melody spills out, slithering through the water, turning everything it touches translucent.
The mer-folk look up at me, spellbound, the melody lacing us together as one. It has wound its way into their bodies, shivering through them. This is my gift, but unlike the much-admired symmetry of my face, this gift actually brings me joy. For the last few years, I have noticed that it is only when I am singing that I ever feel complete, as if my body and my soul have finally found one another. There you are, they whisper, curling up in each other’s arms, I’ve missed you.
“What a treat for you all, what an honour,” my father cuts in before the end, the song scurrying out of my reach, as if frightened away. “Such clarity. Such purity. I’m sure we can all agree that my daughter’s purity of voice has no parallel.”
“Thank you, Father.” I repeat the lines that I have been taught to say since birth. “Thank you for bestowing this gift upon me. I am fortunate to have been born as your salt-kin.”
“You are most welcome,” he says, kissing my forehead. “A father’s love for his daughter knows no bounds. And that is all any child needs, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Yes, Father … what?”
“All a child needs is the love of her father.”
“Very good. But let us not waste any more time chit-chatting,” he says. His eyes move from one sister to the other and each of us tense when we realize what is coming next. It never gets easier, somehow, no matter how often it happens. “Talia, you go at the end,” he says, grimacing as if he can barely stand to look at her. “Then Arianna, then Sophia.” Arianna looks momentarily perturbed, despite her claims to be above such “vanity”. “Nia,” my father says, “you are looking quite pretty today. Marlin is a lucky man.” My sister stares at the balcony floor. “And now,” he says, when it is only Cosima and I remaining. “Which of my daughters deserves prime position today? Whom shall win the honour of standing closest to me, your beloved father?” His gaze lingers on Cosima for a second, just long enough to give her hope. I wish he wouldn’t do this. “Cosima, you can go in second place,” he says. “And Muirgen, that face, that face! You are the winner, as it should be. Stand next to me, my love.”
I take my position behind him, lining up with my sisters. “Sorry,” I whisper when I accidentally brush against Cosima, but she doesn’t acknowledge me, just tosses her hair back as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. The opaque amber doors to the court are pushed open, and the chorus mermaids swim through, their voices blending together to create a wall of sound. The other mer-folk cheer at their arrival, taking to the water to dance, twirling with exquisite fragility.
“Oh, how lovely they all look,” Cosima says. “The maids in particular. See, Father? See how their pearls shine as they dance?” He affords her a rare smile and she lights up. “I feel sorry for the men,” she says to him. “How sad that they must live without such decoration.”
My father laughs at the thought. The men do not need to be beautiful. I watch them as they dance. They are not weighed down by pearls; their movements are a fraction faster than the mermaids, their limbs loose. Free.
The party continues and my family remains on the balcony, maintaining a dignified distance as we watch the revellers below. “It is late, Sea King,” my grandmother says when the light disappears, the water slicking black. “With your permission, I might put your daughters to rest. They are looking weary.”
“Yes, Thalassa,” my father says. “Some of the girls may go. It is essential they get adequate beauty sleep – particularly you, Talia.” My sister just nods. “But Nia and Muirgen, you will stay behind. I am sure your betrotheds would like to speak with you.”
“As you wish, Sea King,” my grandmother says, beckoning my sisters to follow her. Cosima turns back, and I know whose face she hopes to catch a glimpse of. Oh, Cosima.
My father picks up his trident, banging it once on the balcony floor for Zale and a second time for Marlin. The two mer-men are huddled in a cockle-shell with their friends but at my father’s command, their bodies rise out of the shell as if an invisible lasso is fastened around their waists, dragging them against their will. Zale struggles initially, but then he acts like he doesn’t care, that he desired an audience with the Sea King anyway. I watch as he gets closer to me, this man who will be my husband, and my stomach clenches, threatening to spit its contents out through my teeth.
“Sea King,” Zale says as he is pulled on to the balcony. Every time I see him I am struck once more by how old he is; his hair is thinning, with patches of grey fuzz, and he has deep-cut lines on his forehead. He is nothing like the handsome prince foretold in my grandmother’s nymph-tales of true love. My sisters and I, so small, nestled in our beds, waiting for her to finish the story with and they all lived happily ever after. I used to wonder then why my mother didn’t get a happy ending. Maybe they were reserved for girls who did as they were told.