Strange things happen at sea

“What?” I wipe my hands on my apron. I’ve been busy preparing a sea-food lunch and I’m not in the mood for idiots or elderly men, or both.

“I said, I went to school with your folks. I'll trade you some fascinating information about them for a swim in your pool right now.”

“What information?”

“Aha – swim first.”

“We don’t have a swimming pool,” I say.

“I heard splashing.”

“That’s just the dog’s paddling pool.”

I stop talking, shake my head and remember to breathe. I’ve had weeks of people at the door: nosy neighbours, keen reporters, excited TV crews, all desperately seeking a juicy story about my parents and the bizarre circumstances surrounding their disappearance. This is the first time that someone has offered me any information about them.

“Who are you? What do you know about my parents?” I demand.

“Paddling pool first, information later.” His shoulders sag, suggesting fatigue, perhaps even heat exhaustion. It is a swelteringly hot day. His mouth opens and shuts as if he is gasping for air. His skin glistens, scaly skin illuminated by the sun’s relentless rays,  

I stare at him. He reminds me of a fish out of water, desperately flapping its fins as its thrown on the ship deck in its final moments of life. I consider gutting him with one quick flick of my knife. My father was a fisherman. He would have acknowledged it was necessary; despite the sorrow it always gave him to watch death occur.

“The world must be fed, Kat,” he’d say, sadly. “Everyone needs to eat.”

“Just be thankful you’re at the top of the food chain,” my mother would laugh. “It’s no fun being a little fish in the sea.”

Beads of sweat pepper the elderly man’s forehead and his hair clings in damp waves to his balding head.

I should send him packing, yet somehow, I can’t seem to do it. It would be cruelty to send him away in this excessive heat. I think of my father again, always sentimental about the sea life he dredged up from the ocean floor, and my stomach clenches with despair. I miss him so much that it feels like my lungs have emptied of air.

This man is my one link to my parents, to their past lives.

“Please, I need water,” the man says, his eyes grey as the sea on a winter’s morning.

The colour of the sea as my parents took their last dive from the cliffs after phoning me to say goodbye.

Did they know it was to be the final dive? Was it deliberate? Can I continue to hope it was an accident?

“You need a drink of water?” I ask the man.

“No. I need to be submerged in it.”

The word spears me.

Submerged.

It brings my mother to mind and her longing for the sea and her dolphin-like dives into the water through winter and summer alike.

Submerged.

Just like my parents now, their bodies trapped deep in the ocean, amongst the sea anemones and shipwrecks.

“What do you know about my parents?” I demand.

“Please!” He is floundering now, a frightened fish out of water, pulling on his collar to allow more air in. “I will tell you but…I must get into water. Now.”

Against my better judgement, I lead him through the house, grabbing my filleting knife on the way.

He balks as he sees my dog, shaking water from her fur.

“Go on. Get in the pool,” I say, waving the knife at him. I nearly tell him the dog is no threat to him, but think I should keep a little control over him.

He slides into the paddling pool, belly first, reminding me of the way a penguin will slide from a cliff edge into the sea, oblivious to the leopard seal waiting below. My mother used to tell me tales of hapless creatures swimming mindlessly to their deaths. She was lithe as a porpoise in the water, but always aware of the sharks lurking.

The man sighs and moves his scaly arms, allowing the water to run through his fingers.

“Thank you,” he says. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Tell me about my parents,” I demand. “You said you went to the same school.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“What did they tell you of their past?” he asks in return.

Not enough, I think with a pang. It was all half-truths and suggestion with them.

He watches me and nods. “Yes, I thought so. You have been left adrift, my child, a shell abandoned on the shore, a beached whale left to dry in the scorching sun.”

I laugh ruefully. “A beached whale? That’s hardly complimentary.”

“Ah, pardon me. I can get carried away with my sea analogies.” He stretches his legs out and I stare at the iridescent shimmer that appears. “I will tell you, if you really want to know the truth.”

A shiver of fear snakes through me. Do I really want to know the truth?

I nod.

“Our school was of the oceanic kind.” He waits for me to catch up, and the leap is not as huge as he or I might expect.

“They always belonged in the ocean,” I murmur.

“Your mother always did,” he agrees.

“And my father?”

He shakes his head. “Your father came later, after capturing your mother in his net. Then, she captured him and brought him to our world below the waves. He was a willing student, and she was an excellent teacher.”

I think back to my father’s adoration of my quick-silver mother and her constant yearning for the wide oceans. Had he really given up his normal, human existence to join her in those dark depths?

“I don’t understand,” I say. “We lived here, in this house all through my childhood.”

The man submerges himself in the paddling pool and I gaze down at the fish I now see gently floating beneath the surface. He rises up to the surface, his silver hair glistening in the sun.

“She left us and came up to the human world when they decided to have you,” he says. “But we all knew she would return to us one day.”

“Us?”

“Her kind; her family.”

“And my father?”

“He would always follow wherever she chose to go.”

“And leave me behind, alone?” My voice breaks with pain and indignation. “Not knowing what happened to them…?”

“It’s why they sent me to tell you. Your father worried you might not understand.”

“And my mother?”

He shrugs, his eyes bulging a little. “You must forgive her – it is difficult to be overly emotional when you are a cold-blooded creature.”

I think back to the telephone call, them both saying goodbye before their last diving trip.

“We’re going on a journey, and may be some time,” my mother said, a buzz of excitement underlying each word. "You’re a grown-up now. I know you can look after yourself.”

Then, my father’s warmer tones: “You mustn’t worry, Kat. It’s what we’ve both wanted to do for a long time, you see. You’ll be ok, love. We’ll be thinking of you, always.”

I sit at the side of the paddling pool; tears running down my face. The dog hurries to my side, licking the salty tears from my face.

“Are they happy now?” I ask, my throat tight and sore.

The man smiles. “They are ecstatic now. Your mother’s a big fish in our parts and whatever she wants, your father is happy to provide.”

“I miss them so much,” I admit.

He nods. “Yes, I can see that. One day, when you’re ready, you should take to the waters to find us all. We will be waiting.”

I stroke the dog’s warm fur and gaze out towards the ocean. “No,” I say. “I belong here, in this world.”

He nods and stands up, soaked and content.

“For now,” he says. “We may meet again, my dear. The call of the ocean is a strong pull.”

I watch him leave the house in silence, feeling an ache I can’t name. I return to the kitchen, where the half-prepared fish waits. My stomach flips and I slide the fleshy creature into the bin. I will never eat fish again, I know. 

The dog tips her head to one side, panting. I decide we should both go for a splash in the paddling pool this afternoon. I have a sudden wish to be submerged in water.