Another Way Round

The Artist and the Merman

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There once was a city built on water, carved by canals into floating islands, connected by

crescent bridges of stone, once uniformly pale, now stained green. Known the world over as

home and mecca for artisans of all kinds, it was called the ‘Siren City’ by some, not only for

how it lured people into its maze-like alleys and waterways, but because far beneath its

watery reflection, down among its foundations of stone, wood and bones, another city

sprawled: a city of Merpeople.

 

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The room was an explosion of unfinished paintings and crumpled sketches. The Merman

reached for the nearest one: a spire, rising disembodied from the cream-coloured void. It was

at that moment that Alessandro, the room’s usual occupant, returned, easel under his arm.

Seeing what the Merman was looking at so intently, his cheeks pinked.

     “It’s not very good,” he mumbled, gesturing first at the sketch then around the room at the

rest of the discarded artwork, “none of them are, really.”

     The Merman looked around again at the uncompleted pictures: groups of lines, slashes of

colour, a figure or object emerging here and there. Each contained something brilliant and

vital, desperate to claw its way out, waiting, perhaps, for the right moment to do so. He shook

his head.

     “Not so,” he replied, voice low and mellifluous; liquid.

     Alessandro shrugged and busied himself setting up the easel. The Merman returned the

sketch to the floor. Outside, rain fell in sheets, casting rippling shadows through the panes

of grey-green light.

     “This is enough for you to draw by?”

     “It’s fine. Just make yourself comfortable.” Alessandro picked up a newly sharpened

pencil and held it poised, trembling faintly, above the paper.

     The Merman saw this. “Relax,” he said, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Alessandro looked up, eventually managing to match it with a small, nervous one of his

own. “Alright.” And so, with a deep breath, he began to draw.

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    #

 

They’d met only a few hours previously.

     It was Carnival and everywhere was colour and noise: bunting fluttered gaily above the

water; people waltzed arm in arm in silken costumes and glittering masks; the air sizzled with

the sound and scents of food frying on outdoor griddles and rang with music and laughter.

Alessandro had found himself alone atop one of the city’s many bridges, watching fireworks

explode in starbursts of colour: cherry red, acid green and sulphurous yellow.

     That is, he thought he was alone.

     From the canal below, eyes the colour of summer squalls drank in every detail: short

russet hair, long, graceful limbs clothed in a coat of sea green, and a profile in which

pensiveness fought with feelings not yet named. Through pale lips a tender sigh escaped.

Though the city was full of art, architectural flourishes and statuary in their likeness,

Merfolk themselves, whilst not a rare sight, were certainly an uncommon one. This particular

Merman was one of the few who came to the surface regularly. He came for the colours,

always so much brighter than anything in his underwater home. He too had been watching the

fireworks, until this new vision walked into his field of view and scattered his thoughts like a

shoal of fish. Following the young man as he resumed his wanderings down quieter back

streets (navigating them with the natural ease of someone the city had birthed and raised),

those same thoughts returned to swim about in circles: should he make his presence known?

Eventually, revels long left behind, they came to a small row of houses. Tall and thin, they

occupied a territory between elegant and shabby. One was perilously close to the latter, its

exterior tired, the garden unkempt, with untamed sprays of blossom cascading over the wall

like frozen clumps of sea foam. It was this garden the young man was about to disappear into

when the Merman saw that his decision was made for him.

     “Wait!” the cry flew from his mouth before he could take it back.

     Alessandro whirled around, saw the Merman and froze.

     The Merman waved. An uncertain fluttering of fingers. A twitch of a smile.

     “Hello.”

     

Alessandro was dumbstruck. He had, in a sense, grown up with Merpeople all his life,

their likenesses everywhere, had even glimpsed the occasional shadow flitting beneath the

surface. But this was the first time he’d seen one in the flesh. Those eyes…

     “Are you alright?”

     This brought Alessandro back to the present. “Hm? Oh, yes. I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve…

never met any of you in person before.” He bowed. “My name is Alessandro.”

     The Merman smiled apologetically. “I don’t think you’d be able to pronounce mine.”

     He swam closer, crossing his arms upon the path, chin resting on top to look up at him. “I

saw you watching the fireworks.”

     Alessandro sat, decreasing the distance between them even more. “Do you like them?”

     The Merman beamed. “I love them!

     “Really?”

     “Yes! So many different colours. And so bright! They’re my favourite part of your

festivals.”

     Alessandro smiled. “It must be very different to what you’re used to.”

     “Mmm. It can get murky in the water around your city; lots of shadows. But sometimes

you get bright shards of light when the sun shines on the water. It’s lighter out in the lagoon.”

Rippling layers of shadow and light; the gleam in Alessandro’s eyes said everything.

     “Are you a painter?”

     Alessandro’s smile swiftly disappeared. “Yes,” he replied softly, “but not much of one.”

His eyes grew distant as they looked past the Merman at something only he could see, hours

of working on something that, by candlelight, he felt proud of, only for the new day to

ruthlessly expose its flaws. “Every time I think I have something…” He trailed off into a

sigh.

     “May I see them?”

 

Moments later he was carrying the Merman up the stairs to his apartment, hands under taut

muscles and slippery smooth skin, chest to chest and inhaling the scent of the sea. When

Alessandro spoke, his voice was low and tremulous

     “Would you let me draw you?” He asked.

 

    #

 

And now here they were, in the overcast light of Alessandro’s sitting room, the soft

scratching of his pencil and the shushing of the rain filling the air. The Merman watched

him scribbling away furiously, eyes narrowed in concentration, and felt that rush of

tenderness again. Oh, that this would last forever.

 

Flawless white skin melding seamlessly into a powerful silver fish tail, long hair the colour of

seaweed, eyes rainclouds on a summer day; before laying eyes on the Merman, Alessandro

had never seen anything or anyone so ethereally beautiful. Gradually, the picture came to life,

pencil transmuting into hair and flesh. When it was finished he felt wrung out, and his sore

eyes began to fill with tears.

     “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

     Alessandro wiped his eyes. “I’m fine.” He smiled. “It’s finished.”

 

 

Both studied the picture, lost in thought, and both hearts broke. To the Merman, it was the

strangest and most beautiful thing in the world, to see himself as somebody else saw him.

“I wish we had more time.” Both knew nothing long-term could come of this; this night

was a rare grace to share. All they could hope for, could count on, was that, like fishermen,

each had left a lure in the other’s heart, and that anytime they thought about each other,

they’d feel it pull.

     Each took the others hand and squeezed it.

     “I know.”

     With his other hand the Merman turned Alessandro’s face towards him, and together, they

shared a kiss that tasted of salt.