The Naked Bull

The film reel ran out, chasing free of the lens as the sepia-tone dream faded. Vashon was awakened by the sound of men’s voices, and of oars plying saltwater. They were quite near his craft; their wake lightly rolled the small dory. Vashon sat up quickly, blinking his eyes in the harsh black and white morning. Just off the starboard bow, a whaleboat from Mukilteo was approaching, the fishermen pointing, jabbering amongst themselves. Their encounter, he knew, would be anything but bed and breakfast.

Frayed pier hemp and aged whitewash: Redmond, the schoolyard bully, stood the helm, a corroded hood ornament. There seemed some urgency to get to Vashon, almost as if it were he they sought. The rest of his crew, perhaps eight in all, squabbled with clinched voices and angry hands. He looked down at the dark water, cold and unyielding, thinking about the girl.

And the girl.

Would he plead her case? Would he beg these animals for mercy? She was one of them. There was no hope, though he knew he had to mouth the words.

Their bow plowed into the side of Vashon’s skiff, causing him to lose his balance, and he grabbed at the side and stabled. This brought hearty laughter from the crew, all but Redmond, who never laughed, unless, of course, another was suffering.

“Is that not our craft? Are you now a boat thief as well?” he spat. Vashon had no time for this sorry excuse for manhood. Not at all. After the long, cold night, he was in no mood for niceties or the nonsense of this motley crew. But if there were any chance at all…

“The girl went missing last night. She’s somewhere in these waters. You have seen her?”

The men just looked at him with evil intent. Redmond was unmoved.

“Girl? What girl?” he said.

“Ana,” said Vashon, “Anacortes. Whidbey’s girl.”

There was some infantile cackling amongst the men and whispers beneath their beards.

“What would that heathen wench be doing in the water?”

Vashon thought the question unworthy of reply and so gave none, allowing time instead for Redmond’s dullard brain to work it out for itself. Finally, tired of watching the cogs turn, he spoke again.

“Have you seen her?” he asked the idle wind again.

Redmond grew ever indignant.

“That cunt was worthless behind the bar. If she spent the night in these waters, she’s twice as worthless now.”

Vashon knew his plea was hopeless, dropping the hopefull tone for a more sarcastic flair.

“You are a true humanitarian, Redmond,” he said.

“What’s that you say? Mermaid hunter, is it?”

More laughter as Vashon’s words fell upon deaf ears.

“If you are any kind of seaman, you know damn well there are no mermaids. Here or anywhere else.”

Jeers and catcalls until Redmond raised his hand.

“Well it just so happens, oh great mermaid hunter, that I shoved my barb up one’s ass just now,” he said to cheers from the others.

Vashon looked at the man.

“Yeah? Let’s have a look” he said.

“Fuck off you!” the bastard croaked. “Bitch broke my line and got away. But she won’t last long. We’ll find her floating or washed up on the beach. Either way, she’s mine, you hear? So if you come across her, you’d best hand her over right quick. Hear me, water dog? Or you’ll have a barb up your ass. Get my meaning?”

“There are no mermaids,” repeated Vashon.

Redmond’s face contorted as his hands became fists. His voice rose in volume and pitch.

“Then for fuck sake’s I harpooned a five-foot ling cod with tits god damn you! She’s mine! You savvy?” his eyes were bulging.

“Yeah, I savvy. I come across any mermaids I will surely come and find you.”

The conversation over, Redmond pushed off with his boot, causing Vashon to lose his balance again. More laughter. They rowed off to the north, but Redmond never took his eyes off Vashon, who returned the glare until he was sickened of looking at the simpleton. Insane, he thought. Everyone in this fucking place is another version of a lunatic fringe.

He looked around, three hundred and sixty degrees: nothing but saltwater, islands, a perilous altar, and Mukilteo.

And where is the girl? And why does no one give a shit about her, but he? And why did he give a shit? Vashon needed a drink. He needed to piss. He needed Elliott to come riding over the horizon with guns blazing, with a bottle of tequila.

Just then the dory lurched, shook as though gripped by the transom and shoved. He fell again for a third time, this time nearly overboard.

“What the hell?” he said out loud and turned to see two glistening arms dangling kelp, and a wet mop of hair draped over the stern.

“Shit!” he yelled.

He knew in an instant what it was as he stumbled to his feet, stepping to the back of the boat and dropping to one knee, grabbing both arms. There were tears in his eyes as he touched her head to tilt it back and see her face, her beautiful, alive face.

“Shit! You’re alive, goddamnit! Shit! You’re still alive!” Now laughing and crying at the same time, the tears were running freely, he didn’t stop to wipe them from his eyes

She looked up at Vashon, still holding the wall with one arm, raising the other toward his face.

“Ana,” he cried, “Come on, get up here out of the water, you beautiful stupid…”

But Anacortes was looking beyond him at something in the distance, something that frightened her. Her eyes grew wide, and she began to shake her head violently

“No! No no no no!!!” was all she could say.

“What is it girl, why won’t you let me help you?” he said and began to tug on her arm again. She fought him and finally twisted loose. Then she pointed while shaking her head

“No!” she said again.

Vashon turned to see Redmond still watching him not a hundred yards away.

“Ana,” he said, “That idiot won’t hurt you. I won’t let him. Now you have to get out of the water or you will die. I don’t know how you lasted this long but come on!” He grabbed her under both arms and was going to pull her out by force. His head was above her now, and he could clearly see her naked back when he noticed it. A wrought-iron shaft stuck out from her back, down below her ribs, the wound just under the water oozing stringy, viscous burgundy, a length of old frayed hemp broke off dangled at the far end. She looked at him with pleading eyes, and he was struck. Vashon realized what had happened, and he was instantly catapulted into a murderous rage. He clenched his teeth.

“Redmond” he growled, “I will kill you.”

But then a thought struck him. If those morons tried to kill her once, who’s to say they wouldn’t finish the job. And he in the bargain?

Anacortes lost her purchase on the wall and slipped down, gritting her ivory teeth in a pained grimace. Vashon held onto her cold skin as he tried to reason. Alright, so the bad guys thought they bagged a mermaid, but this was the one that got away. He held her. Her skin was smooth in the stiff morning air. If he pulled her into the boat, they would see her and be on them in an instant. Damn it all to hell! If Elliott were here at least, they’d have a chance. But he alone against all of them? With Ana wounded and unable to fly?

“Ana, listen,” he said, “We need to get back to shore without them seeing you, do you understand? I need you to stay low in the water for just a little while longer, do you hear me?”

Vashon could tell she was fading. The temperature of the water, the loss of blood. She would not be long for this world.

“Ana,” he said, reaching down with his hand under her chin and gently tilting her face upward toward his.

“Ana, can you hear me, girl?”

Suddenly she jerked back to life, reaching up with one arm and wrapped it around the back of his neck and with the other pushed hard against the transom. They stared into each other’s wide eyes as Vashon toppled over and fell on top of her and into the icy water. The violent, the sudden shock of fifty-degree saltwater, Vashon flailed about for the surface and air then tread water for a moment to get his bearings while blowing salt from every hole he could purge.

Wiping his wet face with a soaked sleeve, he found Anacortes where she had been holding onto the boat and then maneuvered like a wet dog until he got a grip on the gunwale. Working his way forward, he peered around the bow to see Redmond and his crew pointing and laughing hysterically at his antics. If there is a God, he thought, they will have guessed the lush stumbled overboard trying to piss. Edging aft hand over hand until he was side by side with Anacortes.

“Look, Ana,” he said, “I’ve got to cut the anchor line so we can move. But when I start pulling the boat, it will spin around, and they will see you. I want you to come forward with me so that doesn’t happen, understand?” Anacortes nodded. Vashon took her left arm and draped it around his shoulders and pulled her other hand free. She was now holding only he and they could move together as one. When they reached the front, Vashon pulled his knife from its sheath and cut the anchor line as far underwater as he could, leaving enough length to use as a tow rope. Then he began the slow swim with a sideways dog paddle toward shore. It was slow going, yet they were moving.

Vashon was beginning to shiver; the heat being sucked away by the icy water. All he could think of was the girl and, though he was grateful beyond words, she was still alive, how she could have survived all night out there. A seasoned diver knew all about hypothermia and how long a person should survive under these conditions. Enough, he thought, he had her, and that wasn’t going to happen again if he had anything to say about it. He was not far now from the shore; he would address all issues then. Get her to the beach, get her to Whidbey, get them both dry and warm.

The first solid step with the bottom after the short swim was most welcome. Vashon shivered as he bitched at the cold while dragging the boat and holding on to Anacortes the best he could without bothering the pernicious shaft that proved unavoidable.

Now he could use his legs as well until they got onshore. The great pier was just to the south of them, not twenty feet away. It was Vashon’s plan that once in shallow water, they would penetrate the behemoth dock and take what covering it might afford until he could decide what to do about the wounded girl. It was a maze of gargantuan pilings; two men could hide easily behind any one of them, the deck of the pier was fifty feet above at least, it would make a most worthy sanctuary. He remained in water deep enough to carry their weight.

When he was three or four rows in, he tied off the skiff and continued on a few more. Then, believing they were out of sight of the hunting party, he gripped Anacortes under both arms and walked her to the water’s edge, where he lay her on her side, ever so gently, and took stock of her condition. He never took his eyes off her face, her eyes, alert to any change that might suggest her demise.

The girl was still alive; she was breathing, though in obvious pain with each breath, yet she was alive. Maybe there is a God, after all, he thought, though he would never actually believe such, even if he were talking to a burning bush. He half knelt; half fell to his knees beside her laying a hand between her small breasts that were covered with long wavy black hair through which her nipples protruded. Her breathing was slow and steady, her young heart strong.

“Why in the hell did you go in the water,” he said aloud, to himself mostly, as she seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness, he expected no reply. His eyes continued down her body, wondering if she would be hairless or down tufted. But when he got to that area something…was…terribly wrong! For just below her navel, her smooth white skin began to turn into mother-of-pearl scales. Vashon believed it might be extravagant bikini bottoms but…no! Her hips and buttocks were coved in scales! Where her hips and thighs should be, where her knees and shins should be…a million abalone shell scales! Each reflecting a different rainbow color in the meager light. And then, no, it cannot be! Where her feet should be, painted toenails should have been. An anklet should be and a tattoo perhaps, yet not to be! There at the end of the myriad scales, still dangling in the water, a tail fin!

Vashon stood and began to slowly back away, then stopped, just staring, jaw dropped, unable to think, to speak. He glanced back at her face, then at her fish half, then back at her face, then finally.

“Ana! Anacortes!’ Wake up, girl, come to for Christ’s sake! You’ve gotta help me with this! What the hell are you?”

The girl opened her eyes and winced, struggling to focus on Vashon. She pushed herself up on her elbow, laying her hand flat on the sand to steady herself. Anacortes took two or three deep breaths and stretched her back. Bad idea. The pain shot through her and she yelped, her pretty face contorted in agony.

Then she looked around and, realizing just where she was, began to scream. Vashon threw a hand over her mouth

“Quiet girl!”

“Why did you bring me here? This place is evil.”

“Keep quiet, I say.”

“Vashon,” she said at length “where did you come from? I figured you and Elliott would be dead or long gone by now.”

Vashon didn’t hear a word.

“Ana, what…what the hell are you?” he said. Anacortes could barely speak.

“Well, what do I look like,” she said as if hurt by the question, and afraid of what he might be thinking of her

“You look like…like…” he shook his head, “but that’s impossible.”

“A mermaid. You can say it, go on, give it a go” she said.

Vashon surrendered, grudgingly, “Mermaid. Fuck me running. You’re a god damn mermaid!”

Anacortes produced a sympathetic smile. Vashon’s face kept moving side to side.

“In the flesh,” she said. Vashon was still unconvinced though he could not take his eyes of the fish part of her. He tried to rationalize.

“Ana, girl” he stammered “I’ve seen your legs. We walked together.”

“Yeah, I remember. Some neat trick, huh?”

Coming somewhat to his senses Vashon turned and scanned the water beyond the dock for the hunters. They were still there alright, and from the looks of it getting closer. They must have finally come to the conclusion that the huge pier would be a perfect place for a wounded animal to hide. He thought, still shivering. He needed to get her covered up, at least the fish part.

“Ana, I need to cover you. Those friends of yours are coming, and if they see you like this, we’re both dead” he said. She gave no reply as she went into another spasm of pain. Vashon began taking off his wet clothes and draping them over her fish half. It took every bit of clothing he wore and then stood, naked.

Anacortes opened her eyes and stared at Vashon’s member. Then she pointed at it.

“What’s that?” she said. Vashon looked down.

“What’s it look like?” he said.

The mermaid thought, producing a squint followed by a frown. She cocked her head

“Kind’a like…the last egg in an Easter basket, don’t you think?” she said. Vashon looked down again.

“It’s the cold water. Shrinks everything, I mean, look, forget all that, Ana, listen, don’t you have a wish or something you can use to fix yourself, I mean, if you truly are a mermaid then you have wishes, right?” Vashon stammered, not having the slightest idea what he was saying. Anacortes seemed confused.

“Who sold you that bullshit?” she said.

“I don’t know, picked it up somewhere. Sorta like witches having teeth in their cunts, right?” He said.

“They do?” she said, “Have you ever seen one?”

“What, a witch?” He asked.

“No, a witches cunt,” She said.

“Not that I was aware of at the time,” he said and searched the area for Redmond’s boat. They were under the pier now. He could hear them talking and pushing off the muscle encrusted pilings with their oars. Vashon was getting anxious. Whatever was going to happen next was not going to go well

“Ana,” he said, then “you know this area, these people, what should we do?” he said and waited for a reply that never came. He looked back down at her, unconscious again. Then he heard it, footsteps on rocks and sand and quite near. He turned to see the shadow of a large man silhouetted against the light from outside. The shadow spoke.

“Vashon” came a man’s trembling voice “What is this? What has happened?” Vashon knew in an instant who it was and struggled valiantly for any words.

“Whidbey!” Vashon stumbled to his feet, muttering bits and pieces of nothing. He stood naked, cold, looking from the girl on the ground to the man who waited to hear words that would surely do harm. Yet he knew he must say something, anything, even if it made no sense.

“Whidbey, she’s hurt…bad,” was what finally emerged. He waited, remembering Elliott’s admonishment, ‘Just don’t piss off Whidbey,’ he had said. But this wasn’t that.

It was not that.

“Ana?” the man said, “Me Ana?” more fear than anger, his voice trembling. He took a step forward. Vashon moved into his path, slowing his momentum with a shaking hand on the old man’s heaving chest.

“Whidbey,” he started, then lost his way, only to start again “Whidbey, there is something you should know” and gave the man a sober eye. There was no easy way to say it. Whidbey looked hard at him; there was a space of time. Then, realizing Vashon’s unfortunate situation, sighed long.

“What, ay? That me Ana is a mermaid?”