Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [10]
Margrethe’s head shot up in surprise. Her heart began to beat frantically. “He is real?”
“The man on the shore? Of course. He is safe, because of you. But you should have called to the others, not gone yourself.”
“I thought I had dreamt him.”
Edele looked closely at Margrethe, her round eyes full of concern. She shook her head. “Are you sure you are well?”
A few of the others were gathering round. “He is a foreigner,” one of the nuns said.
“There are no signs of his ship,” another said. “It’s a miracle that he washed up on our shore and that you found him there.”
“A miracle,” Margrethe repeated.
And then she felt his wet skin, under her palm, saw the mermaid’s blue eyes, her white-blond hair, her silvery green tail glinting above the rocks.
“Maybe you should go back and rest,” Edele said. “I will bring you tea and bread.”
“I’m fine,” Margrethe said, her eyes shining. “Where is he?”
“The man?”
“Yes, I want to see him.”
Margrethe could see the women giving each other looks, but she didn’t care. The man was her responsibility.
“The infirmary,” a young nun said. “The last room.”
“Excuse me,” Margrethe said, squeezing Edele’s hand. “I will see you at supper.” And she slipped away.
She crept down the corridor that led to the infirmary. The hallways were dark, the torches flickering from the walls. Outside, the wind continued to battle the trees and cliffs. There seemed to be ghosts on all sides of her, hidden in the shadows.
She arrived at the door. She put her hand against it and then paused, trying to calm herself. Her heart was pounding. The rain must have started up again. She could hear it pummeling the rooftop.
She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and walked in.
The room was dark, lit by a faint lantern next to the bed and a fire in the corner. The man was lying in the bed, sleeping, his body wrapped in bandages, furs strewn all around. Even in the faint light, she could see he still had the sheen of the mermaid on him. His chest bare and glimmering.
She stared at him in wonder. The mermaid had come to him in the water, carried him to shore, placed him on the rocks. That shimmer—if anything, it seemed more pronounced, sparkling as the firelight hit it, on his cheeks, his eyelids, his chest. As she moved forward, to the edge of the bed, his face came out of shadow. Up close she saw his lips, the outline of them: the top lip perfectly shaped, coming down in a V, the shimmer extending across his bottom lip, which was more full.
He was as beautiful as the mermaid, she thought, studying him.
His chest rose and fell with his breath. She moved closer. Slowly she reached her arm forward and lightly, with just the tip of her index finger, traced the curve of his shoulder. Who are you? she wondered.
She looked back to his face and realized, with horror, that his eyes were open, that he was watching her now. Gasping, she yanked her hand back, moved away.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t leave.”
Again she was startled. His face was surprisingly soft and his eyes, a green-brown-yellow, the color of a dying weed.
The lights from the fire cast his shadow on the wall, jagged and strange. He looked at her as if he could see her thoughts, and she turned away, embarrassed. No one had ever looked at her this way.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She almost told him her given name, then remembered herself. “Mira.”
“Mira,” he repeated. He seemed to taste each syllable. “Mira, my savior. I am Christopher.”
“It was a terrible storm,” she said. “You are lucky to be alive.”
“That was no storm,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever seen a dragon?” he asked.
“A dragon?”
“A monster who breathes fire,” he said, lowering his voice. “As big as a glacier, maybe two. They live in the sea. We were sailing along, and everything was fine. Me, my men. There was music, dancing. We’d done hard battle, nothing to talk about to a lady. And then suddenly, there