19 Percent: 1941

Frozen. Cemented into the relentless Mother Gaia, there lay against the beach , a mermaid. It was late November in Northern Ontario and ice was building against the edges of the towns and country lakes. The bay of one of these lakes carried among the trees, a cottage of which had seen many magical people and treasures. However, the secrets left there stayed blind in front of the sight of skeptics and fakes. This enchanted place remained under the solitary care of Henry, who had long since lived his best days, loved with all his heart, spoken his wisest words, and pursued the path that was the most true to his soul.

He woke one day to a fog that swept over the black water and what looked like a small woman beached along his shore. The days and nights were almost winter and the sun was absent of warmth so Henry thought this woman would be most assuredly close to death if not already. He grabbed his coat and scarf in a hurry and made his way through the glass doors of his bedroom and onto the porch. He was withered and already tired before reaching the bottom of the staircase that ended close to the edge of the water. He shivered through a tapestry of mist towards her iridescent black hair that reflected light outward as though it was glowing from within. Despite his used up age, he was perfectly able to make out the purple aura dancing around her and so he knew there life left to be found here. As hastily as ones own legs could manage, he wobbled towards what increasingly looked like a ghost; translucent and alien. Her luminosity grew until he was next to her. He shielded his eyes but after a short second the light withdrew into a small focal point on her back until it disappeared all together. Henry had only a small inclination into what this creature was but he withdrew from the expansive library of his own life experience, the understanding that he was meant to find her, to help her out of this frozen state, and to peak deeper into the magical world that he had long known and been apart of.

It felt more impossible for him to carry this frail creature up the several sets of stairs than it was for him to comprehend her voice speaking only though his own thoughts as she began to encourage him. He was not alarmed at this clairaudience but more at the speed of which the information was given to him. The words and emotions all appeared instantaneously as though they manifested from his own mind rather than from communication with another soul. He heard the feminine voice reassure him that she could feel no pain as the webbing between her fingers tore like paper once he began separating her from the chilled earth. The scales that pulled away from her body as he continued to lift her, cracked like porcelain against ice and he flinched every time. The pieces of webbing and skin feathered away from her body with the increasing wind that seemed to speak with the omnipotent reassurance of The Gods. This mermaid, more like a butterfly, carried with her great metamorphosis despite that most of these changes Henry would never live to see.

They both fell several times up the stairs and again only seconds after Henry reached the top. His breath hitched from the expanding pain in his knees but the mermaid made not one sound. She reached out her hand, placing each finger carefully on his cheek until her palm was flat against his skin. The warmth in her smile reached inside his will and helped him to find his feet. Using the railing for balance and her smile for strength, he picked them up and led them inside.

Intuition told him to run a bath but logic made him linger on her face hoping for instruction. He looked to her tiny fingers where he could see fakes of skin dusting away in the still air, again with telepathic reassurance that there was no pain. Henry ran the bath anyways. She laid patiently and calmly on a burgundy bath mat with a red and green plaid blanket thickly draped around her. Henry sat on a wiry stool, hands clasped in front of him, trying to avoid staring at the fleshy scales along her legs but the light emitting from a small circular window created many tiny rainbows that reflected off of each scale and danced along the patterns of the bathroom's golden wallpaper. Wildly foreign, she had gills horizontally ripped across the front of her chest, webbed spikes that lengthened at the elbow, hair that looked coarse and wet although it was mostly dry, and her eyes, unlike that of a fish, were sunken and slim.

With the water warm and the bath just over 80% full, Henry turned the tap off and exhaled mightily, allowing his lungs to fill back up with the strength it would take to lift her again. His back prayed for peace and his knuckles were swollen but his manner was fixed on being helpful. Again he summoned the use of sleepy muscles and hoisted her, still wrapped in flannel, into the clear water. When he dropped her it wasn't on account of his weakening age, it was out of alarm; for as soon as her scales touched the water it became alive with a glow of jade and opal. The splash of her tiny frame barely made the water move an inch even when her legs shot out into a tail with a fin that curled like ribbon under the tension of a blade. Henry, a hand over his heart, backed into the chair shocked and dazzled. A joy, with the vibration of theta waves, bellowed out from her mouth and she spoke for the first time.

"There are eight things I'm here to help you do before you die."

Henry couldn't move his hand from his heart, fearful to leave his pulse. She smiled with a nod and continued to speak against his shock.

"After having completed these arrangements you will be able to ascend without pain or pleasure. The exiting of a world can be frightening to those who do not know home but you have and what awaits you will be a remarkable prize for your earthly efforts," without pause she added, "Would you make us a fire?"

Henry had not spoken, nor contested to her speech. He saw to it that a fire was hot inside the woodstove of the cottage before returning to the ethereal creature in his bathtub. Building a fire had never taken him so long as he couldn't contain his impulse to look back towards the bathrooms open door and rainbow glowing from within, nor could he rid the knowing that what she said was true and happening. The nostalgia of potent magic that was performed from his mother and father beat up against him. Watching their dreams and achievements light up their lives would have made skepticism a pointless effort. This type of happening wasn't outside of his wheel house of experience. Witches were human, faery were invisible among the foliage, even the likes of dragons resulted in catastrophic winds, but the wielding of water had not been particularly informed to Henry as the will of mermaids. Yet piece by piece he understood how little one could truly know while still tied to the third dimensional breast of Gaia.

He took his time walking back towards the mermaid in the tub. Despite the anxious desire to learn more about this magical creature and the fate she brought with her, his knees were crumbling and his lungs were still recovering from his efforts. When she came back into sight he saw her relaxed and casual, the fin of her tail curling and uncurling like it was also submerged underwater and Henry felt bad that his bath tub was too small.

He walked over to the small wiry chair and pulled it closer to the end of the bath where her tail was exposed. Her eyes were interested and narrow. He lifted the bath shower arm off the top of the faucet and paid particular notice to how pale and grey his skin looked. Turning the tap on took effort and he waited, anxiety still in his throat, for the water to warm. The mermaid didn't communicate a word or feeling, she sat still as stone, her fin too. Once the water was adequate, he flipped the switch and then moved the shower arm across her long, exposed and seemingly dry, iridescent tail.

A laugh erupted from her like a scream and Henry dropped the shower arm, the pressure in the hose sent it flying drenching Henry's fine grey beard and wool sweater. Startled and soaked, Henry started straight into her overwhelming grin, which continued to belt out a wild array of laughs. Contagious, a smile perked up behind his wet mustache that covered his thin lips entirely. Her laughter didn't stop and soon his chest rose with a heavy chuckle until they were matched in loudness and depth.

"This will make me itch," Henry pulled at the collar of his wool cardigan and stood up only after their laughter quieted. "I must change."

"While you're in your room, would you grab the first item we need?" This time she allowed him a moment to register her direction before continuing.

He nodded with a small alert.

"The book of poems in your nightstand, please bring it back with you."

For whatever reason, this absolute knowing alarmed him more than the presence of an otherworldly creature taking a bath in his home. He nodded again, this time with a bow and exited into his room.

He unbuttoned his sweater in front of his bureau and caught the eye of a beautiful man with eyes so dark they felt like they understood your light and absorbed all your pain, and in life this was true, in death it was not. Regardless of how much time passed, or the weathering quality of the photo, his eyes now resembled the dark moment before the end credits of a motion picture, knowing you will have to resume life without a story to which you now felt particularly bound. A tear formed in Henry's eye but he continued taking off his soaked undershirt and changed into a dry, knit pull over. By his nightstand he lifted out the book of poetry and studied the red cover before turning back towards the bathroom, the tear by his eye slowly absorbing.

He sat down and placed the book on his lap, hands delicately holding it still. "Will I die today?"

She smiled without threat or sadness. "You will."

The feeling of farewell moved through him when he heard this confirmed. Of course we all die, and Henry had plenty of lonely nights, cold and tired, feeling neglected by purpose and half hoping, half regretting, he would pass in his sleep. But to near upon the sight of death is not something one can prepare to feel and it is large and fleeting and only felt once. Henry rubbed the back of his hand, thankful he was able to use them till the end.

"Alright, I'm ready."

She nodded and shook hands with his absolution. "Let us start by completing the first. Please remove the book mark from where it sits and place it upon the in-between of pages 6 and 7."

Henry did so and took note of the poem entitled The Brook by Alfred Tennyson, a favourite of his, and rubbed his fingers against the mortality expressed in it's words, then closed it softly.

"Where should I rest this?"

"You're free to place it anywhere you'd like on the coffee table."

When Henry stood again and walked over to the door, the mermaid reached out for his wrist. Her touch was damp and unexpected but it didn't startle him. Their eyes met and she translated a gift to him; a knowing, that beyond all doubt there would be no pain, no suffering, only an abundant love waiting to receive him once he left this earth. He could feel the warm embrace of a timeless existence peak into his awareness. It began like bath water that is a fraction too hot until slowly your body welcomes it and you could just tilt your head back and float. Henry was wise enough to know there was not enough time left in his last day to pick apart and learn all of that which he had questions for, but he did know that there was no need to be impatient; that even in death he would have life enough to understand.

The mermaid released his wrist and bowed her head and let herself sink lower beneath the water. Henry made for the coffee table and placed the narrow book between a half burnt candle and his old pocket knife. He thought to himself to put the knife on top of the book although he didn't know why. After a moment of contemplation he decided to dismiss logic like a curt friend and instead, did as his soul directed him. The fire was still blazing but he churned the logs to make room for another, if this were to be his last day, he thought, he would like it to feel like summer.

Back in the bathroom the mermaid was resting her chin on the rim of the tub with a large smile, her tail just barely touching the floor. He thought perhaps she looked smaller.

"What is next?" A new spirit in his voice.

She moved her arms and rested her face on top of them as she spoke. "There is a gold tube of red lipstick in the top drawer of the bathroom and it now belongs inside the pocket of the jean jacket hanging on the coat tree."

"There are 6 more tasks after this one, correct?" He was looking to the circular window and watching the grey sky deepen.

"Yes."

Henry left the room at a moment and returned impressively quick. Pulling the chair closer to her, he unfolded a notebook and pressed a pencil onto the page. "I'd like to write them all down, if you please."

There was an unmistakable curiosity inside her dark eyes. Henry couldn't tell whether this was a courtesy to the confidentiality of his mind because she knew everything or because this was the one thing she did not.

Regardless, she nodded and began to list, "After the red lipstick," She waited for him to finish writing each new task before continuing, "Pack the yellow rope in the shed and your compass into the center compartment of your boat. Then lock all the doors of the house except for the cellar doors. Put together the house and shed keys and leave them on the hook beside the front door. Then you may come and take some of this bath water and give your plants a drink."

At this, Henry looked up from his page and glanced from the water than sparkled, to her face that glowed. It hadn't yet occurred to him that his plants would die without his care. A bit of grief dropped his shoulders but she winked and continued, "Write a note and place it into your favourite book. Then come to me and I will direct you with the last."

"To whom should I write the note to?"

"It should be whatever you'd like to leave behind here. I will not direct you further."

Throughout the course of our lives we experience many days that don't resemble each other. Henry could recall a day in June that he went fishing, when the air was sweet with the fullness of summer and it seemed the sun would never leave the sky. Alive with potential; the fish were plenty and generous, his stomach was still content from breakfast, and his sweetheart would be back at the cottage by the time he turned the boat around. He recalled, as he placed the rope and compass in the boat, that that day seemed to last longer for his enjoyment alone. He looked to the opaque grey sky and could hardly tell where the sun was, but he knew it was a little after mid day and that this day would not last long enough. It would never be summer again, nor would it be sunrise. For the rest of his life, it would be grey except for the tiny rainbows that splashed along his bathroom wall.

Henry checked in with the mermaid after the completion of every task and every time she would place her hand upon his and gift him a beautiful note of consciousness. By the time he sat down to write the letter he no longer felt the anxiety of fear, only the sadness of never again and a humble love for the life that showed up for him. He withdrew a pen from his desk and touched it to the paper but he could not find any direction and the black ink pooled into the page. He could not decide if the weight of ones last words should be for the individual or for the person receiving it. Should it be about lessons or laughter? Should it be about what was true or what should be true? Henry put the pen down and walked into the bathroom.

"I think I'm going on a walk." He said with matter-of-fact form.

She bowed her head.

"Would you like for me to warm the bath up for you?"

She delivered reassurance inside his thoughts and then Henry took leave, but on his way out noted that again, she was indeed growing smaller, her tail now completely submerged and disappeared beneath the gorgeous, murky bath water.

He stepped outside without grabbing his coat. He noted the rain had just began because he could still see dry bits of wood along the porch. He only hesitated for a moment before continuing down the steps. Today he wanted to feel the rain. Out along the beach he noticed the scales that had let go of the mermaids body when he helped her up. The wind was warmer now and the scales were freed from their icy prison in the sand. He grabbed all that he saw and walked out onto the boat dock. At the very edge he stopped and looked at the beautiful water that had been his companion so many times, for so many years. His eyes grazed over the neighbouring land across the lake and thought to a time when the castle that lived there was bright and still standing. He wondered if anyone would look across the lake and think of the time when the man who lived in the little blue cottage was bright and standing too. He wondered if he would be missed or remembered. At the end to die alone, who would know? There would be no broad cast message that fills the air or relatives of his who were still alive to worry. Just an empty castle with memories no body knew of. The rain caught up to his tears and he tossed the scales into the water.

It was a long climb back up the narrow staircase but Henry had a letter to write. And he did after locking the door behind him. He didn't bother changing, or checking in with the mermaid, he grabbed the pen and wrote a letter about the forgotten castle in hopes that one day, someone might return to it and breathe life into it's forgotten spaces. And maybe, just perhaps one might read that letter and wonder about the man who wrote it. He figured that their interest, their questions, would bring him back to life as well. For as long as there were questions, there would be someone alive trying to think of the answers and that was peaceful enough.

As instructed, he tucked the very long letter into his favourite book, and reinserted it onto the shelf. The sky was darker now and he took a deep breath. Once inside the bathroom he looked towards the mermaid who was now small enough to be mistaken for a child. She smiled with every happiness and excitement as thought there were never any death so permanent one should fear its coming.

"The final thing is very simple. Soon I will disappear from this time and space and go back home. It is a beautiful place were love is flesh and the air tastes like water against a desert's tongue. It is a place for souls to ascend and breath in the fruits of all that they planted here on earth. It is what comes next for you Henry. All you must do is step into the water once I am gone." Her eyes began to glow with the light he had seen in her hair on the beach.

"So, I am meant to drown?"

"No, you will not drown. You're body will not resist transformation if you do not resist leaving." She reached out and grabbed his hand with both of hers.

Henry felt the confusion inside him stir into faith. He knew she was in his mind again and this would be her last gift. It was faith unlike all others. It didn't answer questions, it just held him with warmth and filled his heart with courage.

"Will I see you there?" He smiled at her.

"You will see all that you wish there."

A tear left his eye and he nodded. He didn't want to take the time to find another feeling, he wanted to take advantage of this last gift. Deciding he was ready all except for one last thing, he walked into his bedroom and grabbed the photograph of his favourite person off the bureau and returned to the bathroom. Frozen. He stood looking at an empty tub, the water still dancing with a million rainbows.

He looked down at his darling, still smiling from behind a wooden frame, and placed him on top of the wiry chair. He turned and looked past the bathroom door into his cottage. The plants and books and spiders that made it home seemed like they were receding further away as they no longer belonged to him. Henry nodded several times then thanked them with a bow. He turned to his beloved, "I'll see you soon my love."

He put his weight on his hands before climbing into the water, which was still as warm as it was when he first filled it up. With faith he stepped into the tub but it no longer had a bottom. His entire body fell into the endless water and had only just caught himself on the edge of the bath with his arm. Holding his head up and kicking his feet, a drop of fear moved through him until it left the corner of his eye.

Henry didn't let go because he didn't want to live. He let go because he knew there was nothing left for him to do here. He had already lived his best days, loved with all his heart, left behind his final words whether they were wise or not. He let go because he wanted to go forward, into the unknown, into whatever comes after a life well lived.