Church of the Old Mermaids

2008-08-09T14:19:00.000-07:00

Everyone has a siren song....It's whatever you do that you love completely. Something fluid, beautiful, all yours. —Myla Alvarez, Church of the Old Mermaids

COTOM: Chapter Four

2008-07-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

Chapter Four

Things change. Get over it.

—Sister Bea Wilder Mermaid

David and Maria did the dishes. Myla started to remind David that the house had a dishwasher, but she watched the two of them trying to talk to one another, and she decided to leave them alone. Theresa and Cathy sat in the living room and discussed job possibilities. Luisa and Stefan played cards at the kitchen table. Lily watched.

“What are you playing?” Myla asked.

“Old Maid,” Luisa said. She smiled as though she had said something very clever. “You wanna play?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of boring with just two players,” Stefan said.

Myla sat at the table with them. “How do you play this game?”

“First you take away one of the queens,” Luisa said. “Then you pass out all the cards to the players. Every player puts down all the pairs they have. Then you go around the circle and each player takes a card from the player on the right. If you get a pair with that card you put it down. You do this until one person is left with the single queen. The Old Maid. That person loses because she’s the Old Maid—she’s a loser because she’s all alone.”

Myla made a face. “The person who ends up with the Queen is the loser? She should be the winner!”

“It’s not the queen then,” Luisa said. “It’s the Old Maid. Get it. Everyone is in pairs except the queen. I mean, except the Old Maid.”

“Maybe she is like the queen bee,” Myla said. “The queen bee is not part of a pair. Or maybe she’s an old maid goddess, or an Old Mermaid goddess. Atargatis was a mermaid goddess, you know. Yemaya too. There are many others. Sometimes they were alone, sometimes they were part of a pair. That makes me think of something. Where’s the box the cards came in?”

Stefan handed it to her. She opened it and pulled out the joker.

“Let’s play Old Mermaids instead,” Myla said.

“Oh here we go!” Theresa said from the couch. She and Cathy got up and came over to the table.

“We need thirteen mermaids,” Myla said.

“Why?” Stefan asked.

“It’s a nice round number,” Myla answered.

Luisa frowned. Theresa laughed.

Myla began pulling the face cards out of the deck. When she had them all, she spread them out on the table and added the joker. “Here are the Old Mermaids! It’s played like Old Maid except whoever ends up with the most Old Mermaids wins. And the thirteenth Old Mermaid, if you get her, you get an additional thirteen points.”

“Is she making this up?” Luisa asked.

“I’m remembering it as I talk about it,” Myla said.

“She does that a lot,” Theresa said.

“Shall we play?” Myla asked.

“These look like mermen, not mermaids,” Luisa said.

“Where do you think little mermaids come from?” Stefan asked.

Myla laughed. “Well, that is a story for another night too.” She picked up one of the cards. “We could decorate these and make them all into Old Mermaids.”

“You mean draw on them?” Stefan asked.

“Why not?” Myla looked up at David who had come over to watch. “They’re your cards, I presume?”

“Do whatever you like with them,” David said.

“I’ve got crayons, pencils, and markers at my place,” Myla said. “David, you’re an artist. What about your room here? Do you still have anything here?”

“There might be something in the closet,” he said. “I’ll go look.”

“I’ll come with,” Luisa said.

“Me, too,” Stefan said. Luisa gave him a dirty look. Lily slipped her hand into Luisa’s.

“We’ll have an expedition then,” David said. They disappeared down the hall.

“Wow,” Theresa said. “I should have brought Luisa here earlier. She’s actually playing well with others, sort of.”

“My son was angry,” Ernesto said in English. “He left home when he was fourteen.”

“What happened to him?”

“No say. No say.”

“Uplifting story, Ernesto,” Theresa said.

He shrugged.

A few minutes later, David returned with the children. Luisa carried a cardboard box. She set it on the table and took off the lid.

“Mom must have saved this stuff,” David said. “I haven’t done art in years.”

“I thought you got a degree in art education,” Myla said.

“Didn’t pan out,” he said.

“Look,” Luisa said. “We’ve got colored pencils and pens. And glitter glue. Sequins. Beads. We can make these mermaids into babes.”

“Some of these babes are going to have mustaches,” Stefan said, holding up a Jack.

“Some of the best women I know have mustaches,” Myla said.

Cathy and Theresa made coffee while everyone else sat around the table with the face cards. Luisa began coloring on a queen. Stefan took a jack. Lily a king.

Lily asked her mother what she was supposed to do.

“We’re making them into Old Mermaids,” Maria said in Spanish.

“You too, Maria,” Myla said. “David. You haven’t done art in years? Now is the time. Your life is your art statement. Everything is about art!”

Soon, the table sparkled with glitter. Sticky glitter. Luisa used sequins to approximate the scales on the Old Mermaid’s somewhat truncated tail. Lily glued sequins everywhere and then added glitter. Maria shredded ribbon David found in his mother’s sewing basket and made it into hair for her mermaid. Ernesto drew in a hammer and nails. “Someone has to do the work around the sanctuary,” he said. David’s mermaid seemed to get darker and darker the longer he worked on the card. Stefan colored in the mermaid and then added more figures so it looked like a tiny mural.

“I wish these cards were bigger!” Luisa said.

Myla walked around the table and looked at the artwork.

“That one with the green tail, Luisa,” Myla said. “She reminds me of Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid. She was very wise. You have a wisdom about you, too. That must be why you thought of her. She listened and thought about things a great deal.”

“She was wise and beautiful,” Luisa said.

“Of course,” Myla said. “And yours, Lily. Ahhh, I think that might be Sister Laughs A Lot Mermaid. She is a happy glittery kind of Old Mermaid. Now Stefan, that must be Sister Magdelene Mermaid. They call her Sissy Maggie. She’s very artistic. You’d like her. Maria, which Old Mermaid is that? I think it might be Sister Bridget Mermaid. She had long curly hair, a bit red. I know what you’re thinking. All Old Mermaids have long hair, but that isn’t actually so. Some do have long hair; some don’t. Sister Bridget Mermaid knows all about poetry, herbs, plants, songs, healing. She and Sister Faye Mermaid plan the parties and ceremonies for the Old Mermaids. They know when the moon is full or when it is dark. They know the best sea chanties. Ernesto, that has to be Sister Sheila Na Giggles Mermaid. She is practical, too, and very handy around the house. She tells it like it is. If she thinks someone is getting too fanciful, she’ll say, ‘Get the starfish out of your eyes, Sister Mermaid.’ And she knows the more colorful sea chanties.” She walked over to David. “Ahhh, this must be the Grand Mother Yemaya Mermaid. She knows more about the oceans and seas than anyone. She knows more about the mystery of ourselves—our watery bodies—than anyone. She is like your grandmother, Maria. She has moon beauty. When you feel as though you are drowning, she is the Old Mermaid who will save you.”

“That’s only six,” Luisa said. “We’ve got seven more to do.”

“Next week,” Theresa said. “It’s getting late. Some of us have had a long day.”

Luisa looked disappointed. “We still haven’t played Old Mermaids.”

“David, can we leave this stuff somewhere here?” Myla asked. “Then they could finish it next Saturday.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be here, but I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll take everyone home,” Theresa said.

Myla glanced at Luisa who was putting the supplies back into the box.

“Oh, wait,” Theresa said, understanding Myla’s hint. “Um, I forgot. I’m not going that way.”

“What way?” Luisa asked. “We can take them. Come on, Mom.”

She was sharp as a tack, this one.

“I need the exercise,” Ernesto said, “so I’ll walk.”

“Yeah, us too,” Stefan said.

Luisa shrugged. “Whatever. See you later, gators.” Her mother handed her the empty bowls.

“Sorry to leave you with this mess,” Theresa said to David. “My husband and I are newlyweds, sort of. He misses me, so I better get home.”

Luisa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, good old Del Rey. We should have had him here tonight. Hearing you all talk about communes would have given him a heart attack. He’d probably think you were communists or something.”

“He’s not like that,” Theresa said. “Don’t pay any attention to her. He’ll come sometime, I promise. Night!”

Theresa and Luisa left.

“Can I say good night to the mermaid in the pool?” Lily asked.

“I’ll take you out,” Myla said. “We don’t want you to go out to see the Old Mermaid in the pool without one of us going with you.”

“Why?”

“Because the water is deep,” Maria said.

“The Old Mermaids said they would teach me to swim,” Lily said.

“Oh really?” Maria asked.

“The Old Mermaids come to me in my dreams. And they’re teaching me.”

“Well, we’d feel better if you only went out to the pool to see the mermaid with one of us,” Myla said. “And don’t ever try to swim without one of us there, even if the Old Mermaids have taught you to swim.”

Lily nodded. “Okay.”

The girl took Myla’s hand, and they walked through the living room out to the patio. The pool light was the only illumination. The two of them walked to the edge of the pool and looked down at the mermaid. After a few moments, Lily began nodding, as if she were listening to someone speak.

Myla sat near the edge of the pool. Lily sat next to her.

“What are you listening to?” Myla asked.

“The Old Mermaids,” she said.

“Oh? What are they saying?” Myla asked.

“Not to be afraid,” Lily said. “They sing to me while I sleep.”

“What kind of song?”

“A not-be-afraid song,” Lily said.

“That’s good,” Myla said. “Then you probably don’t need what they left in the wash for you.”

“What is it?” Lily asked.

Myla carefully took the dreamcatcher earring from her pocket. She handed it to Lily.

“This is called a dreamcatcher, Lily my Lily,” Myla said. “If you put it in your room, it’ll take away all the bad dreams. A Native American healer gave one like it to the Old Mermaids when they first came to the sanctuary. It was all new to them, and some of them were afraid. Sister Laughs A Lot Mermaid, who was the youngest, had bad dreams. When the medicine man gave her this dreamcatcher, the bad dreams went away.”

Lily nodded solemnly.

“Sometimes when I open my eyes in the dark, I see it all moving,” Lily whispered.

“What’s moving?” Myla asked.

Lily whispered, “Everything. Like when we crossed the river. The water pulled on me. And there were flashes of light in it. I couldn’t keep a hold of Momma’s hand.”

“That must have been very scary,” Myla said. “Have I told you much about Grand Mother Yemaya Mermaid?”

“A little.”

“Well, she is the wisest of wise,” Myla said. “She is one of the ones who is a moon beauty, like your great grandmother. And her skin is as dark as night. Darker. She is so grand that she had two tails before the Old Sea dried up.”

“The Old Mermaids don’t have tails any more?” Lily asked.

“Well, that’s a good question,” Myla said. “They do and they don’t. If you were to see them most days, you would not see a tail. You would see only their legs. But other times, if the light is just right or if you are a bit sleepy, you might be able to see the glitter of their tales—as though they are wearing beautiful gowns—with flashes of color and light. In a good way, not like your scary flashes. And if you wake up and the darkness frightens you, remember Grand Mother Yemaya Mermaid is there with you. She is the darkness that protects you. Those flashes of color and light are just her mermaid tails.”

Maria came to the patio door. “It is time for bed, Lily.”

Lily waved to the mermaid in the pool. “Buenos noches!” Then she threw her arms around Myla’s neck and hugged her. “Good night, Myla Mermaid.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

The girl let go and ran to her mother.

“Good bye, Myla!” she heard the others call. Myla waved, then looked down at the mermaid in the pool. She was suddenly very tired. She wasn’t sure she was up for her yearly sojourn with George tomorrow.

The patio door opened and closed. Myla looked up at David. He sat next to her. She put her hand on his back.

“I’m sorry I sprung all this on you,” she said. “You wanted to rest and I gave you us.”

He smile and took her hand in his.

“Oh!” Myla said. “I felt a spark.”

“Sorry about that,” David said.

“It’s very dry in the desert,” Myla said. They were silent for a moment. She laughed. “I suppose that’s like saying the ocean is wet!”

David laughed. “You always knew how to draw me back into things,” he said, “especially when I didn’t want to be drawn in.”

“That’s an interesting choice of words, David. ‘Drawn’ into things. You gave up your art? Your mother didn’t tell me.”

“So many school districts have cut out all the art programs,” he said. “And I didn’t want to teach anything else. So I got my MBA, and I’ve been brokering deals between small struggling companies and larger corporations so that the small companies can keep doing what they’ve been doing using the backing and capital of a big company.”

“Sounds like it could be interesting,” Myla said.

“Except most of the time it didn’t work,” David said. “At least not the way I envisioned it. If it was a small company doing business sustainably, the corporation would always put pressure on them to be more profitable. Even if they were profitable, the corporation wanted more profits. I kept wondering when is more enough?”

“So you’ve taken a break from all that?” Myla said.

“I quit,” he said. He rubbed his face. “I’m done with it.”

“You look tired,” Myla said. “I’ll clean up. You go to bed.”

“You’re just about perfect, aren’t you, Myla?”

“Don’t you say that,” Myla said. “You knew me way back when. You know I’m not perfect—whatever that means.”

“You were always kind,” David said. “And beautiful.”

Myla laughed. “I was ragged from a bad divorce. I can’t imagine I was nice.”

“I didn’t say you were nice,” David said. “You always told me nice is overrated, but kindness is a gift. Kindness is acknowledging that we are all kin. Nice is a fake smile, trying to cover up the truth, which is often dark and painful.”

“I said all that?” Myla said. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember a lot about that time.”

“Do you remember all the time we spent together?”

Myla said. “I remember you painted this mermaid and everyone thought it was me. I remember we walked the wash together.”

“Do you remember we talked about starting a school together?”

“Together?” Myla said. “Did we? Yes, now that you say that. What else? Have I forgotten anything important?”

“No, no,” David said. “That was it. I think I’ll go in now. You don’t need to clean up. I’ll do it in the morning. It’ll give me something to do.” He stood and reached a hand down to Myla. She took it and let him pull her up.

“If you say so,” Myla said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Myla Mermaid.”

George knocked on Myla’s door too early the next morning. When she didn’t answer it, he opened it and came in to the apartment. Myla covered her head with a pillow. George whistled.

“Come on, girl,” George said. “The day is wasting. I brought bagels, croissants, coffee, and orange juice.”

Myla sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“You really have got to stop this boozing, Myla,” George said. “The hangovers are awful.”

“Very funny,” Myla said. “Any protein in that bag?”

George sat on the bed and opened the white sack. He reached in and pulled out two boiled eggs. He tossed one to her. She tapped it against the wall until it cracked and then began pulling the broken shell off of it.

“George,” Myla said just before she bit into the egg.

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you ever think perhaps we’re getting a bit too old for this? It has been ten years.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m here. We might as well go.”

Myla got out of bed and took off her red cotton pajamas. She didn’t care that George watched while he ate a bagel and gulped coffee. He watched her like she imagined he watched a football game or an animal crossing the road in front of him: with interest but without enthusiasm.

“I like your curves, woman,” he said.

Well, maybe she was wrong about the enthusiasm.

“Thank you, George.”

She pulled on a pair of slacks and tucked her camisole inside them. Then she took a purple shirt from her small closet and put it on.

“He got that right,” George said.

“Who got what right?”

“The guy who painted the mermaid in the pool got your curves right.”

“What made you think of David Crow?” Myla asked.

“I saw him as I was driving up.”

“You recognized him?”

“He looks the same to me. I remember him because he tagged along with you a lot then. You even let him walk the wash with you. You never let me do that.”

“That’s because you talk too much.”

“He had quite a crush on you,” George said. “Made me a little jealous.”

“David? I think you’re mistaken. I’m almost as old as his mother. Well, not quite.”

George shrugged. “I’m telling you. Men know about this kind of stuff.”

“Oh really?”

“About other men. Sure.”

Myla snatched the paper bag from him. “George, you’re talking nonsense. Let’s go.”

They drove to their old neighborhood. Brick houses predominated, making it look like a suburb in the Midwest. Or someplace like that. Myla had never actually been to the Midwest. She only knew these houses did not look like desert houses. She wondered why she had ever agreed to live here. Had she actually liked it? George slowed the car as he turned the corner onto their old street. He parked two houses away from his old house, three from her old house. Her ex-husband’s car was in the drive. At least that was the car he had last year. Several plastic children’s toys were strewn around the yard. They had finally taken out the grassy lawn and replaced it with rock. About time.

George relaxed against his seat and lifted a cup of coffee from the paper sack.

“I heard the shop isn’t doing well,” George said. “I bet you’re glad you took a lump sum.”

Myla didn’t say anything. She stared at the house. Would her ex look different this year?

The front door opened and George’s ex-wife, Nadine, stepped outside. A nine-year-old girl came out next. Or was she ten now? She had been born a few months after Myla and her husband broke up—a few months after Myla found her husband on top of Nadine, in Myla’s bed. Nadine had been naked, her breasts heavy—when normally they were small—and her belly round. Myla knew then why this thin young woman had been wearing baggy clothes for months. Still, it had taken her a moment to grasp what she and George had walked into, so she said, “Congratulations. You look just like those pictures of the pregnant Madonna.”

“Only the Madonna isn’t naked,” George had said. Something about George’s voice had woken her up then. She had blinked and realized her naked husband was getting dressed, and Nadine was crying.

“It can’t be mine,” George had said. “She hasn’t let me come near her for a year or more.”

Now Myla felt a tickle in her stomach.

“George, I think we should go home.”

“Wait,” he said. “Just a bit longer.”

Then Richard—Myla’s ex—stepped outside onto the steps and shut the door behind him. Nadine looked back at him and smiled. Myla could see his lips moving. He looked old enough to be Nadine’s father. She was what now? Thirty-five? And he was fifty-five. Myla had been twenty-three when she and Richard married; he had been over thirty. Both old enough to know what they were doing.

The family got into the car. The girl laughed. Or whined. Myla couldn’t be sure.

“The girl looks just like her,” George said. “That could have been my kid.”

“I thought you didn’t want children,” Myla said.

“That’s beside the point.”

The car backed out of the driveway. Then they drove by Myla and George. George stared right at Richard, but he was talking and looking ahead.

“God I hate him,” George said.

Myla said, “I don’t hate him. Or her. That can’t be good for you to hate them.” She sighed. “George, I’m going into the house.”

“No, you’re not,” he said.

She put her hand on the door handle. “I am. I want to see it. It was my house. The only house I ever owned. I feel as though I was evicted and never got a chance to say goodbye.” She didn’t know if any of what she said was true. Maybe she had said goodbye. She could not remember any quiet contemplative moments from that time, but that did not mean she hadn’t had any. What she did remember was that it had been her home and then suddenly it wasn’t. After she saw Richard and Nadine in bed together, the house had felt contaminated, and she had to leave it.

“If you go in,” George said, “I’m driving away.”

“Oh you are not,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Myla got out of the car. She crossed the street, went up the driveway, and through the paved path between the carport and the house around to the back door. She stopped for a moment and breathed deeply. Then she went up the steps and opened the screen door. Then she put her hand on the back door knob, turned it, and pushed the door open. She stepped into cool semidarkness and quietly closed the door. The house pulsed with silence. On her tiptoes, Myla walked across the kitchen to the living room. Different furniture and arrangement. Same coffee table. The house looked familiar but different. Smaller. Stuffier.

She walked down the hallway. Four doors. Two closed. Two open. The first closed door was the bathroom. She carefully opened the door and looked inside. She didn’t recognize anything. It had been redone in red and white. She shuddered and closed the door again. The second closed door was what she and Richard had used as a guest bedroom. She opened it. Now it was a little girl’s room. Pale blue and white. A small canopy bed. A little dressing table. Someone had painted pastel-colored stars on one wall. It was a beautiful room—cluttered and messy—just like a young girl’s room should be. She closed the door again.

Now she was at the end of the hallway. The master bedroom. The door was wide open. There was the bed. It looked like the same bed. Same headboard. Was that possible? Richard was extremely frugal. Cheap, actually. He never replaced anything until it broke. Nadine had probably wanted to get rid of the bed he had shared with Myla for fifteen years, but he wouldn’t do it, Myla guessed. She stepped into the room. Their old dresser was still here. She had found it at a garage sale. Beautiful old oak dresser. Richard hadn’t wanted it. She insisted—one of the few times in her marriage that she had insisted. Ordinarily when they disagreed about something, she usually gave up—worn down by their “discussions” which usually consisted of him haranguing her until she came around to his viewpoint, or at least she pretended she did so she get him to shut up. When she married him, she had thought he was a great debater, a man with an intellect. She shook her head. Had she really ever been that naive? She ran her hand over the top of the dresser. She should have taken this with her. She had not taken much—only her clothes, gardening tools, books, and a few pots, pans, dishes.

She walked to the bed, put her hand on it, then sat on it. She bounced on it, slightly. Then she lay back and looked at the ceiling. It was comfortable. They must have gotten a new mattress. She closed her eyes.

A toilet flushed.

She sat up.

Someone was in the master bathroom. Right behind her.

She jumped up and ran out of the room.

“Is someone there?” A woman’s voice.

Myla ran through the living room and into the kitchen. Then she stopped. She couldn’t help it. She stared at the tiled kitchen wall. Her tiled kitchen wall. When she and Richard had first moved into the house, they had decided to put in a tile backsplash. She had wanted to tile the whole wall beneath the cupboards and above the sink, but she hadn’t been able to convince Richard. He thought it would be too expensive.

One day he took her into the back room of the shop.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said. He opened up a box of tiles. Myla began pulling them out. Some were indigo blue, others were light green, and others had seashore scenes painted on them: sea shells in the sand, clams, starfish in the ocean, sea gulls against a blue sky.

“These will be big sellers,” Myla told him.

“No, they’re for our kitchen.”

“But these are ocean scenes,” she said. “They’re better suited to the bathroom. Or somewhere near an ocean. I want desert scenes. We live in a desert.”

“This whole desert was once an ocean,” he said. “And you can do the entire wall beneath the cabinets if you use these. I got a good deal on them.”

Myla had finally agreed. She and Richard had tiled the wall themselves.

Now Myla walked closer to the wall, her hand outstretched. She walked until her fingers touched one tile over the sink, at the center, right above the faucet: a tile of a mermaid.

How could she have forgotten this? She had looked at this mermaid every day for years. This mermaid had made the ocean tiles work for her. She had loved seeing the mermaid every time she came into the kitchen, every time she did the dishes. Until—

Until she forgot to look?

“Who are you?”

Myla turned around. An older woman stood in the kitchen behind her, holding a phone.

“I’m going to call the police,” she said.

Myla said in Spanish, “No habla English. I’m the housekeeper.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Est Sunday? Oh! I’ve missed mass then! Lo siento, lo siento!” Myla hurried out the back door. She ran around the house and across the street to George’s car.

“Hurry!” she said as she got inside. “We’ve got to get away.”

“Why? Did you steal something?” He started the car.

“No. Someone was there!”

George quickly drove them out of the neighborhood and onto a main street.

“Who was it?” George asked.

“I don’t know!” Myla said. “Some older woman. Maybe Nadine’s mother.”

George laughed. “I hope so.”

“Why?”

“Because her mother hated him,” George said. “Believe it or not, she liked me. And she was very upset when we got divorced. She could be really mean. I hope she’s living with them!” He laughed loudly. “Out into the desert for our celebration?”

“No,” Myla said. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Home then for some midday delight?”

“George, take a hint.”

“Sorry,” he said. “What was the house like?”

“It wasn’t much different,” Myla said. “He’s still a cheap s.o.b. They’re using some of our old furniture. Even our old bed.”

“That’s kind of creepy,” George said.

“And us going over there once a year and me sneaking into their house is normal?”

“Did it still feel like your house?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I started remembering some things.”

“Like seeing them naked together, his—”

“George.”

“Okay. Like what?”

“Like the kitchen tile. There was a mermaid.”

“Huh,” George said. “I don’t remember that.”

“Why would you?” she said. “It wasn’t your house.”

“So what if there was a mermaid?” he said.

“Take me home, George.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. She had had a mermaid in her previous life. How could she have forgotten that? For the last decade she had been certain that the Old Mermaids were only part of her new life—conjured to save her, to help her reclaim her life and find purpose. The Old Mermaids had absolutely nothing to do with her old life.

When she first started the Church of the Old Mermaids—after the dream—she saved the money she earned. It wasn’t much, but she knew she would figure out what to do with it eventually. One day during a trip out into the desert searching for treasure, she saw a group of people in the sandy bottom of an old wash. She went over to say hello. Three men, a boy, and a woman sat on the dirt, too exhausted to move. Myla immediately offered them water. They gave it to the barely-conscious woman first. Myla wanted to take them to the hospital, but they refused.

Once they drank the water and ate the food she gave them, they revived. They had crossed the border illegally, as she guessed, and had been deserted by their smuggler—the guia—soon after they crossed. Myla took them to her apartment in the Crow barn, fed them, and let them use her phone. The woman—Grace—was too ill to leave with the others, so Myla let her and her son, Roberto, stay. She didn’t even think about it. She got her keys and drove them over to the Ford place and let them sleep there. The Old Mermaid Sanctuary—in its present form—was born.

Two days later, using some of the money she had earned from the Church of the Old Mermaids, Myla bought Grace and Roberto bus tickets to Texas where Grace’s husband worked in the fields. After taking them to the bus station, Myla came home and went to the Ford house to clean it, but the house was spotless, the garden tidy, the dirt raked. Myla believed the house felt better too. Which was how it should be, she decided. A house was created to be lived in. That was its purpose. When the Fords returned, they even remarked that the place had never looked better.

Myla kept making excursions to the desert, near la frontera. Sometimes she found people, sometimes she did not. She was careful about who she brought home with her and even more careful about who she let stay in the houses. When she told Theresa what she was doing, Theresa offered to help. Myla was glad to have her as a partner, especially since Theresa was a private investigator and many of the migrants came looking for family, friends—and a job. After a while, Theresa and Myla began going to the desert together, mostly in the summer when it was so dangerous for those crossing. In recent years, they sometimes encountered people from Humane Border, who left water in the desert for the migrants, or the No More Deaths volunteers who sometimes transported migrants to the hospital, all activities which had been deemed legal until recently. A few months earlier a couple was arrested as they drove several people to an area hospital. They were charged with aiding and abetting illegal aliens. Or something like that. Myla knew if she got caught, she wouldn’t be able to help anyone, so she and Theresa kept quiet about what actually went on at the Old Mermaid Sanctuary, and they avoided the other rescuers as much as possible.

In the winter, the Sanctuary was usually quiet, except for visits from the homeowners. Summer was busier. Myla made certain each house was not occupied often or for very long, and visitors always did work around the property in exchange for their room and board. One year a family retiled the Castillo roof. Another time, a man helped fix the greywater irrigation system at the Ford house. Myla told the migrants that if anyone happened to see them and ask what they were doing there, they were to say that Myla had hired them. After all, the homeowners had instructed her to keep up the yards, facilitate repairs, and make the houses looked lived in. Myla made certain all that happened—only the workers stayed in the houses while they did the work.

Myla kept an Old Mermaid Sanctuary binder. In it, she put photos of the visitors with their names, ages, which house they stayed in and what work they did. Almost always, the migrants sent Myla a postcard once they were settled, and she’d add those to the binder.

Myla understood that these niceties would not placate the owners should they ever learn of her venture. She knew they would view what she was doing as a betrayal. Criminal even. She knew she could not adequately explain what she was doing and why; she could not tell them that the Old Mermaids had come to her in a dream and that she was doing their work here on dry land. That would sound crazy. Or—at the very least—possessed. She had tried to figure out other ways to explain what she had done—what she was doing. It wasn’t like she thought God had spoken to her, or that she was channeling Ramtha or that she’d seen a vision of the Virgin Mary. It was more like the Invisibles of the land—and the sea—had spoken to her. But that wasn’t right either. The land and its occupants were always speaking—and she just happened to be able to understand them one morning a decade ago, and now she always heard them, in the form of the stories that poured from her mouth like a wonderful kind of babel—or babble—which most people, fortunately, understood. (She had encountered the occasional visitor to the Church of the Old Mermaids who said something like, “I see your lips moving, but all I hear is nonsense.”)

Now after seeing the mermaid tile in her old house, Myla wondered about her raisin d’etre. Maybe the Old Mermaid dream had only been a bit of undigested memory making itself a character in her vision. Maybe she had concocted the Old Mermaids as a way of hanging onto some shred of her former life.

George stopped the car. Myla looked up. They were home.

“You sure I can’t come in?” George said. “It’s tradition.”

“Maybe sometime we can go on a real date,” Myla said.

“A date? Now that’s crazy talk.”

Myla leaned over, and they kissed.

“See you later,” Myla said.

“I could come in, and we could just talk,” George said. “You seem a little lost.”

“Thanks,” Myla said. “You’re welcome to come to Saturday dinner though. You always are.”

Myla got out of the car and then shut the door. As George drove away, she stood in the drive listening to the silence for a few minutes. Then she went to the edge of the wash, stepped down onto the sand, and walked unsteadily until she came to a wide stretch. She looked north, and she looked south. The wash disappeared into desert trees. She looked east, and she looked west.

What if it had all been a dream? No call to action. No cosmic message. Only a dream.

She heard crunching in the wash and turned in the direction of the house. A moment later Gail came around the palo verde bend; Theresa followed.

“I figured you’d be here,” Gail said.

“David said he’d seen you go this way,” Theresa said.

“You two together?” Myla asked.

“No!” they said at the same time.

“Thought you might need company,” Gail said. “How about that movie?”

Myla turned around again and kept walking.

“I don’t feel like a movie,” she said.

“I’m glad to see you decided not to go to your old house,” Gail said, following her. “Don’t you get a lot of sand in your shoes when you do this?”

“Decided not to go where?” Theresa asked. “You need to wear walking shoes, Gail. Or something to protect your feet. You’re in the desert, for chrissakes. A scorpion or rattlesnake would bite right through those tiny little things.”

“I did go to the house,” Myla said.

“What house?” Theresa asked.

“Her old house,” Gail said. “It’s the anniversary of her catching her husband doing the nasty with her next door neighbor.”

“Why on Earth would you go back there?” Theresa asked.

“Well, it used to be her house, too,” Gail said. “I remember when she moved in there. Kind of a strange little house. Looked like it didn’t really belong here—you know—in the desert.”

“Do you remember we redid the kitchen soon after we moved in?” Myla asked. She stopped and turned to her friends.

“Vaguely,” Gail said. “You used some strange tiles. Bathroom tiles or something.”

“You remember that?” Myla asked.

“Probably just because I thought it looked stupid,” Gail said.

“I was never at your house,” Theresa said. “I met you right after you came here.”

“Do you remember there was a mermaid tile?” Myla asked.

“A mermaid tile?” Gail said. “In the kitchen? No, why?”

Myla shook her head. “I had a dream, remember? The Old Mermaids came to me in a dream. I thought it was a message from the Universe. I thought they were telling me what I should do with my life.”

“Why would you want anyone to tell you what to do with your life?” Theresa asked.

Myla made a noise and continued walking. “I don’t mean like that. It was like a sign that I could go on, that I could make a difference. I mattered. I can’t explain it!”

“I think I know what you mean,” Gail said.

Theresa frowned. “A message from God? I don’t believe in God.”

“Theresa, we’re talking about me,” Myla said. “I didn’t say anything about God. I said Universe. The Old Mermaids were about my new life. They had absolutely nothing to do with my old life.”

“And because there was a mermaid tile at your old house, you’re doubting your mission, or whatever it is?” Theresa asked. “Come on. There are mermaids everywhere. They’re a ubiquitous symbol. You didn’t make up mermaids.”

“She did make up the Old Mermaids,” Gail said. “They’re pretty cool.” Myla looked at Gail. Gail shrugged. “You don’t think I pay attention, but I do. The Old Mermaids are interesting.”

“I didn’t make them up,” Myla said. She did not like talking about the Old Mermaids like this. It seemed rather sacrilegious—gossipy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You always want to talk about everything,” Gail said.

“No, not the Old Mermaids,” Theresa said.

“What are you talking about? She is always talking about the Old Mermaids. She spends every Saturday talking about them nonstop.”

“That’s not talking about them,” Theresa said. “That’s more like being with them. It’s like remembering interesting stories about your family and then sharing them.”

“Exactly,” Myla said. Although not quite. She stopped abruptly and looked down. “This is why I don’t let anyone walk the wash with me. If you’re talking all the time, you don’t see what’s right in front of you.”

Gail and Theresa came up beside her. Directly in front of them was a shoe in the sand.

“Looks like a dog gnawed it all to bits,” Gail said.

“More likely a coyote,” Theresa said. “Hardly anything left but the sole. Wow, Myla. You really do find things here. That’s perfect. What a story you could make out of that. Someone must need a soul.”

“No, I think it means someone should bare their soul,” Gail said. “See, because it’s been eaten down to the sole.”

“It’s more like someone lost their soul,” Theresa said.

“Someone lost their shoe,” Myla said. “And now it’s a coyote plaything.”

“You mean you aren’t going to take it?” Theresa said.

“No,” Myla said. She stepped over it and kept walking.

“I think it’s a message for you,” Gail said. “The Old Mermaids want you to bare your soul. To us. You can talk to us, Myla. We’ll listen.”

Myla groaned and turned around. Ordinarily, she was a patient and good-natured woman. Beyond her friends she could see the log wrapped in orange rope. Maybe it was time she unraveled that rope because she suddenly felt at the end of hers. Just then, David came into view. He stepped over the log. Luisa scrambled behind him.

“Hello,” David said.

“I know you,” Gail said. “You’re David Crow.”

“You remember him after all these years?” Myla asked.

“You were just talking about him yesterday,” Gail said.

“She was talking about me?” David asked.

“You’re the one who painted the mermaid in the pool,” Gail said.

“You painted that mermaid?” Luisa asked.

“Myla said that last night,” Theresa said.

“Well, I didn’t hear her,” Luisa said. “That mermaid is naked and everything. And she looks like Myla. Not that I’ve ever seen her naked.”

“The mermaid is not naked,” Myla said. “She has a tail. David is an artist. He extrapolated.”

“Technically, she is naked,” Theresa said. “A tail doesn’t constitute clothing.”

“In any case,” Myla said.

“What does extrapolate mean?” Luisa asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gail said. “Could you use it in a sentence?”

“I just used it in a sentence!” Myla said.

“Could you use it in another one?” Gail smiled. Myla started to laugh. Soon the three women were giggling. Luisa and David watched.

“What?” Luisa asked.

“Nothing,” Theresa said. “You had to be there.”

“I was there,” Luisa said. “Here. Whatever. Are we going to a movie? Or would you like to paint another mermaid, David? I could be your model this time.”

“I was not his model,” Myla said. “Would you all please go away? I don’t want to go to a movie. You go. Theresa and Gail, you need to get to know each other better. Learn to like one another. Get along together. Show Luisa how it’s done. Luisa, you are not going to pose naked for this man or any other man. Or woman. Not today. Away!”

“All right,” Gail said. She embraced Myla.

“Okay, okay, let her go,” Theresa said. She hugged Myla. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Gail said.

“Go away,” Myla said. “Well, except David. You live here. You can stay.”

The two women and girl walked away together. Myla stood still until she no longer heard their voices.

David looked down at the shoe.

“A sole,” David said. “I wondered where I had lost that. Just what I needed.” He picked it up. “See you later, Myla Mermaid.” Then he turned and left Myla alone.

That was just what she needed.

Found in Translation

2008-05-22T09:25:00.000-07:00

A young woman stumbled onto the Old Mermaid Sanctuary the other day. She was lost. She was more lost than any being I had ever seen, and remember, we walked out of the Old Sea and into the New Desert. We know about being lost.

She had thorns in her feet. They had gone right through her shoes. She had thorns in her arms. She had palo verde leaves in her hair. And her fingers were bleeding. She was wild-looking. Not good wild. Not natural wild. Lost human being wild.

We took out her thorns and helped her bathe her cuts and bruises. Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid made her soup. Sister Sheila Na Giggles Mermaid made her tea. Sissy Maggie Mermaid gave her clothes. She ate the soup, drank the tea, and put on the clothes. And she talked. She talked about all that had happened to her, she talked about all the misery she had seen, she talked about trying to get away from the roar that followed her everywhere.

"I can't stand it!" she finally said.

We listened and dried her tears.

Then Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid took the woman into the desert. They didn't walk far. Just far enough.

"Now be still," Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid said.

"But then all I will hear is the roar," she said.

"Then listen to it," Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid said. "Stand it. But first, first, listen for the birds. Listen to the cactus breathing. Listen to sound of the air on the wings of the crow as she flies over. Listen to the trees."

Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid left the young woman. We glanced out at her a few times. We could tell she wanted to bolt, to run, to keep going, going, going. Gone. But she was learning what we all must learn: We can't run away from the roaring inside.

When it became night in the desert, the young woman returned to us. "I am learning the language of my soul," she said. "The trees, birds, bees, wind, the coyotes and lynxes—they are all helping me with the translation."

We nodded. Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid said, "Yes, that is the way to be."

Later, we all went out into the desert night and held hands with the stars.

Ahhhhh.

—from Sister Lyra Musica Mermaid

COTOM: Chapter Three

2008-05-07T10:53:00.000-07:00

Chapter Three

Step lightly. Dance hard. Eat your vegetables. —Sister DeeDee Lightful Mermaid

“Did you have a good day?” Gail asked Myla as they drove down Speedway.

“Yes, it was wonderful. You?”

“I got a lot done,” Gail said. “By the way, Sarah Crow left a message on my voice mail that she’s been trying to reach you.”

“My phone must not be working again,” Myla said. “Did she say what she wanted? Anything wrong?”

“She asked me to ask you to call her,” she said.

Myla said, “Okay. You coming to dinner tonight?”

Gail never came to the Saturday dinners even though Myla invited her every week. It was just as well. If Gail ever found out what she was doing, Myla wasn’t sure how she would react. Gail had come to the Church of the Old Mermaids only a couple of times, and Myla didn’t think she was impressed.

“Don’t you ever feel guilty selling people that junk?” Gail asked. “You can’t need the money that much.”

“I don’t feel a bit of guilt,” Myla said. “People know exactly what they’re buying.”

“Fairy tales,” she said. “They’re trying to buy fairy tales. And life isn’t about stories.”

“What is it about then?” Myla asked.

Her friend looked at her and said, “I don’t know what it’s ‘about.’ I do know it’s hard.”

“Life is shit and then you die?”

“Exactly.”

Myla laughed. “I wish you had stayed today. I had just what you need.”

“I doubt that,” Gail said. Myla glanced out the window. Gail was driving too fast. She always drove too fast.

“I had lemonade from Maya Quetzal,” Myla said. “It was so good. No sugar.”

“It must have been sour,” Gail said.

“No, they put honey in it. Not too much. It was still tart but not sour.”

“Why are you talking about lemonade?” Gail asked. “You know, since your divorce, you’ve gotten a little strange.”

“That was ten years ago,” Myla said. “But you’re right. I have gotten a little strange. I’m going with the flow of the rest of the world. And you, sugar, you could use some flow—and sweetening. You’re getting a little sour.”

“I don’t understand half the things you say,” Gail said.

“That means you understand half? That’s progress.”

Gail laughed.

“Are you coming tonight or not?” Myla asked again.

“No, I can’t,” she said. “Too much to do. Although I’d love to meet your friends. Is Theresa going to be there?”

“I hope so.”

Gail made a noise.

“What?”

“She’s so...she just seems so full of herself.”

Myla laughed.

“What are you laughing about?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure you’d understand. Do you ever wonder why we’re still friends?”

“Because my husband is a sonofabitch and I need an excuse to get out of the house every Saturday.”

Myla nodded. “And I’m just what you need.”

Gail laughed. “Yes, you’re just what I need. I’ll show up to your strange Saturday night dinners one of these times. You wait.”

“I’m waiting.” Myla sighed.

“What’s that sigh about?” Gail asked.

“Tomorrow is the anniversary,” Myla said. “George is coming over.”

“You and George still perform that stupid ritual?” Gail deftly wove them in and out of traffic as they traveled down Speedway. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange?”

“Of course it’s strange,” Myla said. “But George and I went through this together. He’s the only one who understands. Remember my husband was having an affair with his wife.”

“Of course I remember,” Gail said. “But they’ve moved on. You should too. It’s been ten years. He was not such a great man, you know.”

Myla nodded. Gail glanced over at her.

“He wasn’t. You had an inflated view of him.”

“I’m over it,” Myla said. “Him.”

She could not explain how she felt to Gail. Or to anyone. She allowed herself to mourn her lost life once a year: on the anniversary of the day she walked into her bedroom and found her husband on top of her next door neighbor, George’s wife Nadine. She didn’t love her ex-husband any more, but she still missed something about their life together. It was as though he had been imprinted on her being when they got married and she couldn’t change that now. Just like she couldn’t change the color of her eyes or the DNA in her cells.

After they had recited their wedding vows, Myla had felt relaxed, as though she had completed a long meditation—or been given a really good drug. He had promised to love her for life, and she had promised to love him for life. It was a pact they made together, and she never doubted it. It was not as if she had not been loved during her life. Her mother loved her. Her father probably loved her, at least before he deserted them, but she could not swear to that. Even so, they were family, and that did not feel like real love—being loved for herself, not because she happened to share chromosomes with someone. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted? Someone to listen to them, to see them, to curl up next to them at night, someone who would want them always? Her ex-husband had told Myla she was the best person he had ever known. She had had no hint that he no longer loved her. Even after she found him on top of George’s wife—his much younger wife—she thought he still loved her.

But then he told her, “You are still the best person I know, but I don’t love you any more. Not in that way.”

For a long time afterward whenever she closed her eyes, she would see her husband’s mouth moving and hear his words, “I don’t love you any more. Not in that way.”

Richard. That was his name, but she tried to avoid saying it out loud if she could.

Tomorrow was the anniversary of that day, the same day she and George walked in on their spouses, the same day she learned her husband did not love her any more.

“Maybe this year we won’t go to the house,” Myla said.

“What?” Gail said. “You mean you go back to your old house?”

Myla didn’t say anything.

“Woman, you need to get laid,” Gail said.

“That’ll happen too,” Myla said. “I don’t know why George’s wife left him. He’s a much better lover than he was.”

Gail laughed. “Myla Alvarez!

“I’m speaking truth,” Myla said. “But saying George is a better lover isn’t saying much.”

Gail laughed. After a moment of silence, she said, “I know it was a bad time for you, Myla. But you got through it. You proved you don’t need him. I went by the shop the other day, on my way to something else, and it doesn't look like it’s doing well. Shabby imports from Mexico. Not like the stuff you used to bring in.”

“I wish them all the best,” Myla said.

“No, you don’t.”

“Sometimes I do. Today has been a good day. What do I care about them?”

“So ignore that stupid anniversary,” Gail said. “We could go to a movie or something. Call me.”

“That reminds me,” Myla said. “I need to make sure my phone is on.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Gail said.

“Hey, I thought I saw David Crow today,” Myla said. “Isn’t that strange? I was thinking about him this morning.”

“Whatever happened to him?” Gail said. “When you first moved there, you two were together all the time.”

“We weren’t together all the time,” Myla said. “He was a nice boy. We kept each other company.”

Gail laughed. “You keep telling yourself that, Myla. That’s what you used to say back then—and I didn’t believe you then either. You were attracted to him.”

“Maybe a little,” Myla said. “But I didn’t act on it. I knew I was just lonely.”

“Didn’t keep you from acting on George.”

“George wasn’t fifteen years my junior,” Myla said. “I’m not my husband.”

“If I had had a choice between George and David Crow,” Gail said. “I would have eaten crow.”

“Gail!”

Gail laughed. Myla smiled.

“I did not have a choice,” Myla said. “And George isn’t that bad. He’s easy. I don’t ever have to worry about him leaving me.”

“Because he’s already gone,” Gail said.

“That’s right,” Myla said. “He doesn’t care whether he ever sees me again. I don’t care either. That’s fine with me. Better than living a lie, I can tell you that much.”

Myla hurried into her apartment after Gail dropped her off. It would be dark soon, and she needed to make dinner. She diced two onions and several handfuls of shitake mushrooms, then sautéed them in olive oil. She added dried oregano, basil, and four large cans of crushed tomatoes. She minced a few garlic cloves and dropped the pieces in, too.

“There,” she said. “Instant spaghetti sauce. Thank you, everything in this pot. We appreciate your nourishment.”

She looked in her cupboards for the big pot to cook the pasta in but couldn’t find it. “Must have left it in the big house.” She stirred the bubbling sauce. “Cumin.” She had almost forgotten her secret ingredient: cumin. She shook some into the bubbling sauce.

“Are you decent?” Theresa said as she knocked on the screen door.

“Hardly,” Myla answered. “Come on in.”

Theresa opened the door and came through, carrying a grocery sack. She pulled a covered bowl of salad and two loaves of bread from the bag.

“I left apple juice and water on your table outside,” Theresa said. “Guess who came with?”

“Who? I’ve got to get a bigger pot,” she said.

“Luisa,” Theresa said.

Theresa’s teenaged daughter had been living with her father in Los Angeles for the past year.

“Since she was with me, I didn’t stop and get Maria and Lily,” Theresa said. “I didn’t want Luisa asking all kinds of questions.”

Myla looked at her. “I thought she was still in California.”

“She showed up on my doorstep two days ago,” Theresa said. Myla handed her a serrated knife from the silverware drawer. Theresa began cutting the bread. “And she’s dyed her hair blond.”

“You haven’t told her anything?” Myla asked.

“No!” Theresa said. “I never told her before. Why should I now? Nothing has changed. She and Del Rey still fight all the time, so I brought her along tonight.”

“Have you found out anything about Maria’s husband?”

“Do you know how many Juan Martinez’s there are?”

“I can guess,” Myla said.

“She said he came with his cousin, so I’m searching both names,” Theresa said.

“I need to go make the noodles over at the Crow house. I’ll be back in a few.” Myla grabbed three boxes of spaghetti pasta and went out the door. She stopped and looked at the Catalinas and Rincons. The fading sunlight created sharp distinct shadows on the mountains. She loved this instant of the day—before night fell. Everything seemed more alive than at any other time. A moment later, the sharp, black shadows disappeared. Myla stepped off her porch—which was just several planks of wood raised off the dirt—and went across the drive and down a bit, toward the house. She passed by Theresa’s car and waved to Luisa who sat in the passenger seat talking on the phone.

Maria, Cathy, and Lily walked up the drive toward her.

“Myla, Myla!” Lily said.

Myla crouched and opened her arms to the girl. They embraced.

“How are the Old Mermaids today?” Lily asked in accented English.

Myla laughed. “They are great!”

Myla hugged Cathy and then Maria. The young woman looked tired.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the house this morning, Cathy,” Myla said. “You and Stefan do all right?”

“We’re good,” Cathy said. “I worked on my resume today. Stefan cleaned the house.”

“He doesn’t have to clean every day!” Myla said.

“We’re trying to do our part,” Cathy said.

Ernesto and Stefan walked up the drive toward them. Stefan was tall and gangly, his fifteen year old body trying to grow into a man overnight it seemed. Ernesto walked a bit more sprightly than he had earlier in the day.

“Good evening, Ernesto and Stefan,” Myla said in Spanish when they reached them. “How are you?”

“I am well,” Ernesto said.

Stefan nodded. “I had to hurry to keep up with him.”

“Good, good,” Myla said. “Theresa’s daughter Luisa is joining us tonight.”

“That means we should all keep our mouths shut about where we’re staying,” Cathy said. “Right?”

“Yes,” Myla said. “That would be best. Now I’m going to make the noodles in the house. Theresa is at my place. I’ll meet you there.”

Myla left the group and went up the steps to the long porch in front of the Crow house. This was a good spot to watch the sun come up over the mountains in the morning. She had done so once or twice, wrapped in a blanket and curled up in one of the chairs. It had been a while since she had watched a sunrise. When she first moved here, she had felt so tired and battle-scarred that she had needed the comfort of watching the sun come up and go down every day. She needed to feel the rhythms of this place. Any place perhaps. But this place, this land, was what had rocked her back to sanity.

She took out her keys and unlocked the door to the Crow house and went inside. She wiped her shoes carefully on the mat, then looked at the soles to see if they were clean. She walked down the short hall, through the living room, and into the large kitchen. She hummed as she opened the cupboards and took down a large stainless steel pot. She filled it with water from the sink, put a bit of olive oil in it—”I owe you, Sarah Crow,” she said—then she put the pot on the stove to boil.

“I wonder if it’s true,” she said, “that a watched pot doesn’t boil.”

“Why don’t you ask the Old Mermaids?”

Myla started and turned around. A man stood several yards from her. She must have looked frightened because he immediately put up his hands.

“Myla, it’s me, David Crow,” he said. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Of course!” she said. “I thought I saw you today, but I decided it was only wishful thinking.”

She went to him, and they embraced.

“I’m sorry, David,” she said. “It’s been a few years. You’re all grown-up.”

He laughed. “I think I was grown-up last time you saw me.”

“Weren’t you just out of college then?”

“Still a grown-up,” David said. “And I finished college late.”

“Well, you’ve grown into an even more handsome man,” Myla said. She walked back to the stove.

“Thank you, Myla,” David said. “You, too.”

Myla laughed. She had forgotten how shy David was. “I am a handsome young man?” She looked over at him. In the kitchen light, she saw him blush.

“Now I feel like I’m twenty-five again,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Myla said. “I shouldn’t tease you. By the way, I would have knocked if I’d known you were here. Ahhh, is this why your mother called me? To tell me you were coming? I just got the message that she wanted me to call her. I think my phone isn’t working.”

“You used to leave it off the hook because you didn’t want anyone to be able to get a hold of you,” he said. He sat at one of the stools at the counter. His curly black hair was short, his face neatly unshaven. And he looked tired.

“I did that?” She shrugged. The water began to boil. She opened the pasta boxes and tipped the spaghetti noodles into her hand. She broke them by the handful and dropped them into the water. “After my divorce I was a little crazy. I was reminded of that today. You only knew me as that crazy woman. I’m different now. I’m much crazier.” She laughed. “So you’re just visiting?”

“I’m visiting,” he said. “For a while.”

“You and your wife, kids?” No, it was too quiet in the house. He must be alone.

“No wife, no kids. Just me.”

“I thought you got married.” Myla took a wooden spoon from a container near the stove and stirred the pasta.

“That was my sister Susan. She’s the well-adjusted one.”

Myla set the spoon on the stove and looked at David.

“You’ve come to the Old Mermaid Sanctuary for some sanctuary then?” she said. “That’s good. You are welcome.”

David laughed. “Thank you, Myla. It’s good to see you. I’ve missed the Old Mermaids.”

“I understand,” she said. “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have one,” he said. “I’ve been in Chicago for the past few years.”

“Have you been living la vida loca?” She leaned against the counter and looked at him.

“Interesting question, Myla,” he said. “As always. I have been having a life. Better than most people, I suppose.”

“A bunch of us are having dinner at my apartment. You’ll join us?”

“I’m not really up for a party,” he said.

“You don’t have to entertain anyone,” Myla said. “Just sit, eat, breathe.”

“All right. When?”

“As soon as the pasta is finished,” she said. “You’ll bring it when it’s done, and then we’ll eat. You do know how to cook? I know your mother. She would not have let her children go out into the world without showing them how to cook.”

David nodded. “You throw the noodles at the wall, right? And if they stick, they’re ready?”

“See, you’re feeling better already! Wait, I have an idea, David. Why don’t you invite us here? We can all sit at the table on the patio. It’s bigger than mine and everyone will get to see the mermaid in the pool.”

“Uh, okay.”

“I’ll go tell the others. What a perfect way to end the day! I’m so glad you’re here, David.” She smiled at him. “And not just because you have a bigger house!”

“I’m glad, too,” he said.

Myla went out the door nearest the kitchen and hurried across the drive to her porch where the others had gathered. Luisa stood a bit a part from the others.

“Change of plans!” Myla said in Spanish. “David Thomas Crow is visiting and he’s invited us to eat at his house. Everyone grab a dish, and we’ll go over there. Theresa, did you hear that?”

“Yep,” came her voice from inside the apartment. “I’ll bring the sauce. Luisa! Come help.”

Luisa’s face seemed to close down, or harden, as soon as she heard her mother’s voice.

“Hello, Luisa,” Myla said. “It is nice to see you. How have you been?”

“Hi, Myla,” she said. “I better go see what my mother wants.”

Lily gently took Myla’s hand, and they led the others across the drive and into the kitchen of the Crow house where David stood over the boiling pot of pasta.

“David Crow, I would like you to meet Cathy, Ernesto, Maria, Lily, and Stefan.”

“Buenos noches,” David said.

“Buenos noches,” the others said, awkwardly, suddenly shy.

“Hello, hello, hello,” Lily said, letting go of Myla’s hand and clapping.

“Hello, hello, hello,” David said. He smiled.

Myla crossed the kitchen and living room and turned on the light to the patio. “We’ll eat at that table next to the pool,” she said. “David, can you wet a towel and give it to Stefan? The table and chairs might have some dust on them. It is the desert, you know, and no butts have sat in those chairs for a long while.”

David pulled a tea towel from the drawer and dampened it with water. He held it out to Stefan who shyly took it. Neither looked the other in the eye.

Myla opened the door to the patio and the others filed out, except for Lily and David. Lily stood a few feet from David watching him, her face a portrait of intense fascination. Myla crossed her arms and watched them.

“The noodles are just about done,” David said. “Would you like to try one and tell me if they are ready?”

Lily glanced at Myla; Myla translated what David had said. Lily looked at David again and nodded. David dipped a fork into the pot and pulled out several strands of pasta. He bent over so the fork was at Lily’s level.

“Picante,” David said.

“Caliente,” Myla corrected.

Lily pursed her lips and blew on the spaghetti strands. Then she lifted two of them off the fork and put them in her mouth. She chewed and breathed through her mouth at the same time, trying to pretend it wasn’t hot.

“Okay,” Lily said.

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it,” David said. He handed Lily the fork, and she ate the few remaining strands as she watched him. Myla came into the kitchen and opened an upper cabinet door and pulled out a colander. She held it over the sink. David turned off the burner, then carried the pot over to the sink.

“Got it?” he asked.

Myla nodded.

He carefully poured the water into the colander as Myla held it until the pot was almost empty; then he let the pasta fall into the colander. He reached over Myla—“Excuse me,” he said—and turned on the cold water. She shook the colander to let the cold water go all through the noodles and drain out.

“Make room,” Theresa said, coming through the kitchen door. “I think the sauce is ready. Where’s the meat, Myla? This sauce has no meat. Ernesto needs some meat on his bones.”

“There are mushrooms,” Myla said. “Besides I have him on the Old Mermaid diet.”

Theresa made a noise as she set the pot on the stove. “What kind of diet is that? Seaweed and vegetables?”

“It’s a bit more than that,” Myla said.

“We’ll have the spaghetti family style?” Theresa asked.

“Sure,” Myla said.

“Hello, I’m Theresa,” she said to David. She turned around as Luisa came into the kitchen carrying a bowl of salad. “This is my daughter Luisa. You’re David Crow.”

“I like your name,” Luisa said. “It’s so dark and mysterious.”

“David?” He shrugged. “Never seemed that mysterious to me.”

Myla laughed quietly. Theresa rolled her eyes.

“I meant crow,” Luisa said. “Do you have any tattoos?”

“Not any that you can see,” Theresa said. “Luisa, take the salad out to the table. Did they get the bread and drinks?”

“Take Lily with you, please,” Myla said. “Lily, will you go with Luisa?”

Luisa sighed loudly. She smiled at David, then went out onto the patio, with Lily bouncing next to her. Myla heard Lily exclaim, “There’s the mermaid in the pool!”

Myla nudged Theresa, and the two women laughed.

“I hope I wasn’t that obvious when I was Luisa’s age,” Theresa said.

“Her age? You’re still that obvious.”

“Please,” Theresa said. “I’m a married lady.”

“David, you watch out for that girl tonight,” Myla said. “She’s looking for trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

The women looked at him. He stared back. Theresa and Myla glanced at each other and shrugged.

“She was flirting with you,” Theresa said.

Myla put the pasta into a large glass bowl. Theresa ladled sauce over it.

“Flirting with me?” David made a face. “She could be my daughter.”

“Oh?” Myla said.

“I mean age-wise. If I’d procreated when I was young. Which I didn’t do.”

Myla and Theresa stared at him.

“I think maybe I’ll go to bed,” he said. “I’m kind of tired.”

“Oh, honey,” Myla said. “I’m sorry. We’re just two old women giving a handsome young man a hard time. No one has flirted with either of us for a long time. Please, I’ll be good.” She put her hand on his arm and smiled. “I promise.”

David frowned. “It’s not you. I am tired.”

“Please,” Myla said. “We’ve invaded your house. Have a meal with us. Then we will let you sleep. Go sit with the others. We’ll serve you. Be with all that young energy. It’ll do you good.”

David started to say something, stopped, started to leave, hesitated, then went through the living room and out onto the patio.

“You have some history, you two?” Theresa said as she tossed the spaghetti between two forks to cover it with sauce. “You seem very familiar with each other. Won’t it be a problem that he’s here? We’ve got so many people at the sanctuary right now.”

“I’ve known him since he was a boy,” Myla said. “He’s all right. His mother is a good woman.”

“You knew him before you moved here?”

“No, why?”

“You’ve been here for about ten years? That man is in his mid-thirties. He’s not a boy! If he finds out all these people are living here—illegally, might I add—he might not be too happy about it.”

Myla shrugged. “Don’t worry so much. It will all work out.”

“So you say,” Theresa said. “Maria and Lily were too much. I knew that.”

“No, Cathy and Stefan were too much,” Myla said. “But where would they be without us? And I had to help Lily and Maria. They have been deserted too many times. You’ll find Cathy a job in California, and they’ll be moving on.”

“It’s getting to be too much,” Theresa said. “With the business, Del Rey, now Luisa. Del Rey thinks I’m cheating on him.”

“Where is Del Rey?” Myla asked. “He’s welcome to our Saturday dinners. I told you we could change it to a different night if that was better now that you’re a married lady again.”

Luisa came into the kitchen. “Mom, we’re getting hungry.”

“We’re coming.”

The two women went outside and set the spaghetti on the table. Someone—must have been David—had turned on the pool light. The mermaid undulated on the bottom of the pool.

Myla sat next to Lily and David. Theresa sat between Luisa and Stefan. They began passing around bowls of salad, a plate of lightly steamed pea pods, a basket of bread, and the spaghetti.

Before they began to eat, Myla looked around the table and said, “I am so glad we are all here together. This is a beautiful place made all the more beautiful by the company. I would like to thank the spirits and beings of this place, especially the Old Mermaids who have made all this possible.”

“A-men,” Theresa said. “Now let’s eat.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while.

“Ernesto, did you want to phone your wife tonight?” Myla asked in Spanish, then in English. “That reminds me, I need to call your mother, David.”

“It is so dark now,” Ernesto said. “I should call earlier.”

“The phone is at the little market in her village,” Myla explained to David. “When someone gets a phone call, the boy at the store tells the person calling to call right back—or to hang on—and then he gets on his bike and goes to the house of the person wanted on the telephone. Then that person either rides the boy’s bike or walks to the store.”

“Why not just get a cell phone?” Luisa asked.

“Why not indeed,” Theresa said. “Child, these things cost money.”

“I had a cell phone in Los Angeles,” Luisa said.

“Until you ran up an enormous bill,” Theresa said, “just like I told your father you would.”

“I’d have figured out a way to pay it,” Luisa said.

Maria whispered something to Lily. Lily nodded.

“If we speak English we leave out half of the table,” Myla said. “If we speak Spanish, we leave out the other half.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand much Spanish,” Luisa said.

“It’s your father’s language,” Theresa said. “You should learn it better.”

“I can understand some of it,” David said. “Besides, I don’t mind. Hearing a language that isn’t your own, that you don’t quite understand, is like listening to music. I imagine that’s what the sailors used to hear when they passed the mermaids at sea. The mermaids were talking in a different language.”

“You believe in mermaids?” Luisa asked.

“Mermaids, mermaids, mermaids,” Lily said.

“This is the Old Mermaid Sanctuary,” Stefan said.

“The what?” Luisa said.

Stefan glanced at Myla.

“Remember, Luisa,” Myla said. “I sell things on 4th Avenue on Saturdays. I call it the Church of the Old Mermaids.”

“Church of the Old Maids?” Luisa asked.

“Luisa!” Theresa said sharply.

“This spaghetti is very good,” Stefan said.

“Kiss ass,” Luisa murmured.

“Luisa Ann, I brought you into this world, and I can take you out. Don’t doubt that.”

Ernesto said, in Spanish, “The one with the straw hair should not throw insults.”

The women laughed. Ernesto shrugged. “That is a saying in my village, at least.”

Luisa blushed. Myla nodded. So the girl understood more Spanish than she let on.

Lily tapped Myla on the arm. Myla leaned over so her ear was close to Lily’s mouth. She whispered in Spanish, “Did the Old Mermaids eat spaghetti like this?”

Myla smiled and said in Spanish, “That is a very wise question, Lily.” To the rest of the group, she said, “She wondered if the Old Mermaids ate spaghetti.”

“Yes, do tell us about the Old Mermaid diet,” Theresa said. “How did the ol’ mermaids stay slim and fit.”

“Oh no,” Myla said. “It wasn’t about staying slim. Fit, okay, yes. But Old Mermaids came in different shapes, sizes, colors, personalities. They understood that image wasn’t everything, but it was a great deal and their image of themselves was very clear: they loved their Old Mermaid bodies, even after that Old Sea dried up and they had to lose their tails and walk on land. Yes, those Old Mermaids loved, Lily my Lily. They loved themselves, they loved each other, they loved the sea and they loved the dried up wash. They loved the cacti and the quail and the coyotes and the mesquite and the Old Man and Old Woman of the Mountains. They loved their neighbors. And guess what else they loved?”

Lily said, “Butterflies?”

“Yes, Lily. They loved butterflies! They loved so many things. And they loved food. They loved to eat. They were glad they had enjoyed the bounty of the Old Sea and now they enjoyed the bounty of the New Desert. But I’m rattling on and you wanted to know if they ate spaghetti. And I’m sure they did. They spent a lot of their time growing food, preparing food, eating food. They talked to the plants they grew, and they talked to everything they ate.”

“Did they get tired of talking?” Lily asked.

“Or tired of listening to the talking,” Luisa said.

“I don’t know,” Myla said. “It was just the way they were. It was like breathing to them. They held conversations with the trees and animals and clouds and wind.”

“Like crazy people,” Luisa said.

“Maybe,” Myla said. “Maybe some crazy people have a bit of Old Mermaid in them and no one understands. The Old Mermaids were very thankful for what they had. So when they prepared the spaghetti, they would thank the tomatoes and the herbs and the water and the onions. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“So what was the Old Mermaid diet?” Luisa asked.

Myla glanced at Theresa. She wondered if she realized that Luisa was listening; she was listening carefully to everything everyone said.

“Part of it was that they honored every ingredient,” Myla said. “And they ate plants that had been treated well before they were harvested. And the land they grew up from was treated well.”

“How do you treat a plant well?” Luisa asked. “Give it a hug every day?”

Stefan smiled. “Or kiss it maybe.”

“That would work,” Myla said.

“Unless of course they eat prickly pear pads,” Luisa said. “When I was a kid Mom took me on some outing where the Indians showed us how they got things from the desert.”

“The Tohono O’odham,” Theresa said.

“Maybe the plants would like to hear stories,” Lily said in Spanish, “the way you tell us stories.”

Myla nodded. “Ahhh, that is a good idea. I will have to remember that.”

“I tried to teach Luisa to eat right,” Theresa said, “but the experts keep changing their minds about what’s good for you and what isn’t. And it’s hard cooking meals for two or three people. Eating in community is much nicer and more efficient.”

“I think it is more natural for us to live and work in community,” Myla said.

Cathy shook her head. “The communes in the sixties sure didn’t work.”

“I don’t think you can make a blanket statement like that,” Theresa asked. “Do you know that all the communes didn’t work? And I hate that word. Commune.”

“Mom’s just an old hippy,” Luisa said.

“I’ve been hearing about these squatter communities sprouting up all over the world,” David said. “They’re creating community from necessity I suppose. Worldwide one person in six lives in a squat now.”

“What’s a squatter community?” Stefan asked. “Is that where people move into empty houses that aren’t being used?”

His mother glanced at him.

“I mean, I’ve heard of that happening,” Stefan said.

“Most often they’re people from the country who come into the city because they need work,” David said. “They’ll find work but there isn’t housing. Or they can’t afford housing. They build these places on empty lots or on land that isn’t being used. They build houses, figure out sanitation, have their own government.”

“Doesn’t sound easy,” Cathy said.

“Why should things be easy?” Myla asked.

“Don’t you have it easy here?” Luisa said. “You live in a beautiful place and all you do is look for junk in the wash.”

“And you have such a rough life?” Theresa asked.

“I was just saying,” Luisa said.

“We shouldn’t judge people until we walk a mile in their shoes,” Cathy said. “That’s what my mother taught me. She also said that teenagers should be seen and not heard. Truthfully, she said they shouldn’t be seen either.”

“That seems pretty judgmental,” Luisa said, her face red, her voice angry.

“All of us have a right to be seen and heard,” Myla said. “That’s what most of us want. To be seen, truly. To be heard. All of us. Whether we are younger or older.”

“Yes, it’s nice to think so,” Theresa said. “But it goes both ways, Stefan and Luisa. When you see someone older, if you see someone with gray hair, for instance, do you just assume they’re stupid or have nothing worthwhile to say to you?”

Stefan and Luisa glanced at one another.

Luisa said, “It depends upon whether it’s a man or a woman. If it’s a man, I might listen. If it’s a woman, you’re probably right. I just ignore her.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Theresa put down her fork.

“That is a stunning statement,” Theresa said.

“It’s the truth,” Luisa said. “I bet everyone here feels the same way.” She looked at Stefan. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t think I notice whether people are young or old,” Stefan said.

“Liar,” Luisa said. “If a pretty girl and an ugly old woman came up to you, you wouldn’t pay more attention to the pretty girl?”

“Why does the older woman have to be ugly?” David asked.

“I’d probably pay attention to the pretty girl,” Stefan said, “because I couldn’t help it. Hormones you know.”

Several of the adults laughed.

“But that’s not because I’d think she was smarter than the older woman or that she had more to say.”

Myla had been translating to Ernesto and Maria. She now said to them, “Ernesto and Maria, what do you think of all this?”

Ernesto shrugged. “When I was a boy, we listened to our elders. They knew more than we knew. That was just the way it was. I felt honored that an elder would take time for me. Now I am becoming an elder. I am not certain I know much yet. But I would be glad to share not much with anyone who wants to listen.”

“Maria?” Myla asked.

Maria smiled painfully, shyly. Myla regretted putting her on the spot.

“I don’t understand much of what you are talking about,” Maria said. “I was thinking that I miss my mother. She has very black hair, but she has shown me a few gray hairs. She told me she was glad to have lived long enough to have gray hair. My grandmother has gray hair. You could say she is an old woman. She knows more than anyone else. It’s a fact. And if she doesn’t know, her best friend knows. They are both beautiful women. Once I asked my mother if I would be beautiful like my grandmother when I was old. She said I was beautiful now. She told me I was sun beauty because I was young. Bright and shiny, she said. My grandmother was moon beauty. Old people, especially old women, were beautiful like the moon. Both sun and moon beauty were good, but those with moon beauty knew more secrets because they knew about things and places where the sun did not shine.” Maria smiled.

Myla nodded. “Your mother is a wise woman.”

“I like that,” Theresa said. “Maybe I’ll stop dying my hair and become naturally moon beautiful.”

“It’s getting a bit chilly out here,” Myla said. “Time to go inside?”

“Sure,” David said.

Everyone stood and began clearing the table.

“We never did find out what the Old Mermaid diet was,” Luisa said.

“Myla, whatever happened to the Old Mermaids?” Stefan asked.

“Ah, well, that’s a story for a different night,” Myla said.

“I sure like these Saturday night dinners,” Stefan said. They began clearing the table.

David said, “You do this every Saturday?”

“Not in this house, but yes, we have dinner at my place,” Myla said.

“Last Saturday, we talked about art,” Ernesto said.

“Arte publico, especially,” Myla said. “Very interesting.”

“Yeah, made me want to do a mural,” Stefan said.

“David painted the mermaid in the pool,” Myla said. “He might have some tips for a mural.”

“Wow!” Stefan said. “You painted her? She’s great.”

David said, “It was a long time ago.”

“She’s held up well,” Theresa said.

David glanced at Myla. She smiled.

“Oh Ernesto,” David said. “I can turn on the spa, if you like.” He pointed to the tiny pool next to the pool. “That water gets hot.”

Ernesto shook his head. “Oh, too much trouble, Señor!”

“No, really it isn’t,” David said. “Takes just a few seconds.”

“Maybe another time,” Myla said. “Some hydrotherapy might be good for you, Ernesto.”

“Very kind,” he said. “Maybe the mermaid in the pool will come over and join me.”

“You never know,” Myla said.

Tea Shell Offerings

2008-05-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

Tea Shell Offerings
* Faery Dust Tea With A Hint of Agave Laughter
* Lentil Storytelling Soup Soaked in Mountain Wisdom
* In Love Apples & Blueberries Spilling With Secrets

No Coyotes Harmed

2008-05-01T14:18:00.000-07:00

I like this journal Annie gave you. She said she got the thread from Betty, the Woman Who Weaves, who got it out in the desert from Grandmother Spider. One day I hope Betty will let me tag along with her when she goes out to gather thread. I have heard it is an experience I will never forget. Or else I will forget it immediately. Grandmother Spider is like that. Who knows, maybe I've already gone out and harvested thread and forgotten. Whoa! Hadn't thought of that before.

Anyway, I wanted to thank you for the lovely day spent at the Old Mermaids Sanctuary. I know you've all said that thank yous are not needed because we all live on this desert together. But I remember Sister Faye Mermaid telling Tulip once that it was just polite to thank the wind, the sun, the water, the earth, the birds, the cacti—to thank all the elements of life, thank them for their gifts, to express our love for them. So that is what I am doing: thanking the elemental Old Mermaids for all your gifts.

Tulip has not had another nightmare since she met you. She is convinced now that every night she falls to sleep and grows two tails and swims in the Old Sea with all of you. Two tails like Grandmother Yemaya Mermaid used to have, she says, glittery, like the tiny pebbles in the wash. Blue-green like Sissy Maggie's eyes. Or Sister Sheila Na-Giggles Mermaid's. Oops! I've forgotten. Ah well. Tulip remembers. (I'm talking a lot about forgetting and remembering, aren't I?)

Tulip remembers everything.

She remembers how the dirt in the wash feels on the soles of her feet.

She remember the sound Old Crow makes when he laughs.

She remembers the kiss of the wind on her cheek.

She remembers to open her mouth when she gets butterflies in her tummy so they can fly out.

She remembers what the trail looks like after desert faeries have been there, so she can track them through the wash as well as the Old Man of the Mountains can track the mountain goats up the east ridge.

And she remembers to breathe, breathe, breathe it all in.

You taught her that. I am only her mother who was lost for so long. Finding my way now and so grateful Tulip has had you all.

Did you hear her today at the Tea Shell? Billy Bad came in. You know how he kids around.

"Hello, darlin'," he says to Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid. "I think I'll try that Coyote Whispers tea with the soup. I love your soup, Sister Ruby. And I've always wondered what those coyotes were whispering about. After I drink this tea, will I know? You didn't hurt any of them yippin' canines none to get at their whispers now, did you?"

Before Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid could say anything, beefore Sister Sheila Na-Giggles Mermaid could slap Billy Bad on the back and ask him how he was doing and he could say, "How do you think? Ain't I the picture of grandeur?" Before all that, Tulip said, "No coyotes were harmed in the making of this tea."

Billy Bad put his head back and laughed. Sounded more like a howl, actually. A coyote howl. I think Billy Bad has finally revealed himself to be what we always suspected he was. Our beloved trickster.

Tulip danced around the Tea Shell. Around Billy Bad, actually. He stood still in the middle of the floor holding Tulip's hand as she danced. Kind of seemed like he was dancing with her. Like the desert was suddenly incarnate in him. And Tulip was...Tulip was Tulip.

She's calling to me now. I better go. Be back soon.

See you in Tulip's dreams.

And maybe my own.

In love and gratitude,

Poppy

Tea Shell Offerings

2008-04-27T22:58:00.000-07:00

Old Mermaids Tea Shell Offerings
*Coyote Whispers Tea w/ Loco Honey
*Mermaid Queens Bean Soup
*Mountain Cinnamon Love BonBons

(Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid thought it would be fun to start recording our Tea Shell specials here. All sounds delicious, doesn't it? Myself, I'm looking forward to bonbons. Won't that be goodgoods?

from Sister Sophia Mermaid, at the Old Mermaids Tea Shell

Rattleday

2008-04-26T15:32:00.000-07:00

It is so quiet. I hear the wind lifting the dry palm leaves and shaking them. It sounds a bit like the rattle Sissy Maggie Mermaid made out of a dried gourd one year. Only bigger. It was a storm rattle. Sissy Maggie stood outside with that rattle and danced for a long while, until a Storm did come to see what all the noise was about. The desert breathed moist that night.

I know the Old Owl is hidden up in the green leaves of the palm, but I cannot see him from where I sit.

I wonder where the others are. For a moment. Then I continue to relish the silence. A tiny whirring bird dips her long beak into one of the pink flowers near the palm tree. Annie, the Woman Who Loves Birds, calls them hummingbirds. I have never heard them hum, only whir.

They are fierce birds. Flecks of the moon, sun, and stars make their feathers iridescent. One of the whirring birds is the color of the mountains. I believe he must know the Old Man and Old Woman of the Mountain, but I have been unable to confirm that.

Annie is the one who gave us this journal to record our daily lives at the Old Mermaids Sanctuary. This does not come natural to most of the Old Mermaids. We don't need a record of the ongoing conversations we have with ourselves and the world. We've kneaded these conversations into our home, our friendships, the land, our community.

Oh look. This whirring bird one has a throat the color of the night sky in summer. I wonder how he convinced the Old Sky to part with those pieces of night. Probably with the same determination that the others used to get pieces of the sun, moon, and stars. Ah, but who would not want to be a decoration at the throat of such a being?

The cover of the journal is made of red-cloth with white and pink stitching. I am not much for words, although the others often seek my advice. I believe the world is always whispering an enchantment to us—to all that exists. Too many useless words might interfere with this magic and then who knows what might unravel?

We must choose our words, our songs, our enchantments carefully so that we are not generating a cacophony but instead toning with the universe, singing a kind of creation lullaby.

Now the mourning birds have come for their daily drink and bath. I had not realized it was so late in this day. I will sit here and watch them. Perhaps I will tell this journal about it another day.

Ahhh, listen to the palm rattle. Someone is dancing up a storm somewhere.

from Mother Star Stupendous Mermaid at the Old Mermaids Sanctuary.