The mermaid

“Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours”

Shivering he was mumbling the verses at the end of the breakwater.  Because of the mist, visibility from the rock he stood on fainted by the minute with the dark approaching ...A barrel painted bright orange floating not far from the end of the wall of stones he smoked his joint on seemed to catch his focus, bouncing up and down with the tinny waves .

The bottom of my sunken thoughts lies in the sand on the bottom of the sea.  Hmm...

The sun was far by now and light was losing its battle...  Isabelle became just a faint memory also... earlier in the day they were frolicking on the beach.  He still had sand in his ass.

Wonder if she has also sand in her ass?  Stupid.  He puffed another drag from his joint.

The wind started to give him a light headache and sat quickly on the first flat rock in sight.  It was at the very end, well into the sea.  He lowered his head covering his ears with his knees.  Several tries to stand up brought a dizzy-spell immediately.....  Sitting on his rock became necessary.

“What’s your name?”  The voice was clear and cutting through the lapping sound the water made against the rocks, like the clinking of glasses amidst a party.  There was nobody behind him and ahead, only sea.

“Here silly, I am down here.”

By the rock, bobbing up and down in the water just like the barrel he stared earlier, was the upper half of a girl with a grin stretching from one ear to the other.  Her teeth were glowing in the dark but most of her features sunk in the mist.

“I wish you would give me a drag from your fag …There’s not much to do around here and I am bored out of my mind.”  She continued chirping like any spoiled girl on land “Yes, I know, I live in the water, smoking is wasted down here, but I am bored .Very, very bored!”

“How come you are British?”  It was not the question anybody would have asked when spoken to by a girl in the water at the end of a wall of stones going into the sea but that was the first thought crossing his mind: Brits call cigarettes fags.

“What, haven’t you heard of a British mermaid?”  She giggled obviously delighted by the confusion and bewilderment created in the man’s thoughts.  Surprisingly however, the lonely human talking to her seemed pulled together.  He did not freak out like others before him.

“Here “he said extending his arm with his cigarette down towards her “You can have it all, there’s about half of it left “

“That’s fancy of you, I was afraid I scared you.”

“Does everybody get scared?”

“What do you think?  There was one who tied himself to his boat just so he doesn’t go crazy”

“Ulysses, right?”

She seemed puzzled now…

“Yeah, Ulysses, how do you know his name?  That was long time ago …Wonder what happened to the lad?”

“Eventually he turned out OK” He answered smiling.

She puffed the joint with a delight he could only hear and once in a while, as she dragged from it, the light at the end of the cigarette radiated on her face ever so briefly.  Maybe she had long, red hair and green eyes.  Maybe a silver tail.  She had to have a tail!  Why not silver then? Perhaps he should ask.

“So you have a silver tail?”

“Of course, any self respecting mermaid has one.  We are born with a green tail but when we turn 14, it turns silver.  There’s a big party going with that and the next day, we end up playing tricks on un-expecting sailors out at sea . “

“That’s not nice of you “

“I know” she giggled amused”But it’s so much fun “

“Well” she resumed, “Thanks for the fag.  Got to go now …I’ll see you later!”

“Bye” he just rolled the word out of his mouth as she disappeared under water.

There was no point in walking back in the dark so he remained sited, closed his eyes leaning his back against a rock and letting go of his thoughts …

"Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure"