Mermaid's Poem (IV)

He did not know why he was crying, perhaps because of loneliness, perhaps because of loss, or any other reason, in any case, on this stormy night, he could not restrain himself from shedding tears. The mermaid braced against the edge of the pool, curiously watching the crystal water droplets slide across the poet's cheeks, falling into the pool, melting silently. Then she came closer and sucked the teardrops from his face with a kiss. The poet took a few startled steps back, and then in the next second was even more startled to see that there were also tears spilling down the sides of the mermaid's turquoise blue eyes. This confused the poet: "Why are you crying? The silent mermaid could not answer, but only looked towards the small window on the roof, outside the window was the heavy pounding of raindrops, and from farther away came the sea breeze, the waves. The poet understood at once. The pool was filled with fresh water without salt, and the tears had the taste of the sea, perhaps reminding her of her homeland far away in the depths of the ocean. What a wonderful coincidence, on this cold night besieged by the wind and rain, when the poet cried because of the sadness in his heart, a mermaid trapped on the shore, also in the same tears of longing. The poet leaned down and wiped the tears from the mermaid's face, and a long-lost comfort came to his heart. "Although our pain is not the same ......," sighed the poet, who had been alone for a long time. "But at least tonight, I have you willing to shed tears with me." *** The morning after the storm stopped, the landlord of the semi-basement appeared by the small fence beyond the entrance, calling the poet out in a shrill voice, hiding her contempt for the rent with a wry laugh. The poet was not worried that the old woman, covered in trimmings, would be willing to step down the mud-stained steps in her brand-new lambskin shoes and discover the shocking secret of a mermaid hidden in the half-basement. But the months of rent he owes is now a considerable sum and a real problem for him. A poet can create the ultimate beauty in a poem, and this beauty does not include such a banal and trivial matter as rent. The landlord was easily dismissed, and the poet returned to the semi-basement with a frown on his face, thinking about how to cope with the past this time. Recently, the injuries on the mermaid's body tend to heal, and the scales on the fishtail are falling off less and less every day, so it is very difficult to maintain the daily needs of life just by collecting fish scales, not to mention the rent is such a large expense. The poet sat dismally on the edge of the pool, full of weariness, the mermaid took the initiative to come close to not much attention. He just stared at the mermaid's tail, looking at the top neatly lined with countless fish scales, gorgeous. The cold mermaid soon noticed the poet's sight, as a creature used to live in the deep sea, hearing is extremely sharp, she also heard the unpleasant conversation between the poet and the landlord. Now she already knows that mortals will always encounter problems different from those in the sea, and these problems need to be solved by the exchange of mermaid scales, a contract that exists only in the land world, a ritual. Seeing the poet's face getting gloomier and gloomier as if the cumulus clouds gradually piling up over the sea, the mermaid revealed a flat smile. She raised her fingertips and made a strong cut on the side of the fish's tail. There was a flurry of silver-blue scales falling into the water, and each fish scale was surrounded by scattered blood, like red velvet wrapped in gems. And with this situation, the mermaid squeezed the edge of the pool, face white, translucent webbing even between the fingers trembling slightly. She should be very painful, otherwise would not be while holding those still blood-stained blue scales to the poet, and could not help but squeeze out a broken hoarse inhalation in the throat. But that's about it. Whether it is pain or pleasure, she is always a quiet mermaid. A row of fish scales in exchange for the poet and the mermaid to continue to live here, but the poet's mood is not so relieved, especially when he saw the mermaid's tail on the conspicuous scratch. Without the jewel-like scales covering the fish, the pale scar revealed reminded him of a dead fish discarded at a fish market stall. "You don't need this." The poet said as he applied the freshly purchased ointment to the mermaid. "I don't want to see you hurt again." But was the complete healing of the mermaid what he wanted to see? No, his heart resisted it as well, because it meant that she was about to return to the sea, never to return. Of course, these hidden thoughts poet will only be hidden in the heart, will not say, and the mermaid probably can not read the complex thoughts of mortals, just a gentle smile, dropping the eyelids. The black hair in the water waves, like the reckless growth of water plants, will gently tease the edge of the swimmer's ankles.