Sidereal Mermaid

The three of them came out of the trees, they gave the idea of ​​a family, they even had a dog.

But they were Permutants. We had not seen them for years, I recognized them for having studied them on the tables of comparative anatomy.

At the time I ran this tavern alone, I had too much to do to learn the languages ​​of places I didn’t care a damn about, so I had a hard time understanding them. But all refugees are the same and those three — father, mother and an ugly, curly child — needed a bed and food. They paid me in advance, although they had little money.

I assigned them a narrow and humid room. They accepted, without arguing, exhausted as they were. They only asked to be able to have meals in the room.

I brought them food at set times, but one evening, having a lot to do, I decided to get ahead of myself, and already at dusk I climbed the rickety staircase with the dinner tray.

Outside the door I paused, because, from below, a strange light filtered and murmurs of infinite tenderness could be heard. I put my eye to the keyhole.

I saw the two adults leaning over someone who, at first, I thought was the son.

When they moved away a little, I saw among them a young girl with mother-of-pearl skin and long white hair loosened over her shoulders.

She was beautiful. Her mouth just a cut in her face, her eyes so indefinite that you forget them as soon as you turn around, yet she seemed illuminated as if she had the moon inside.

I could not speak or look away as the two adults wiped away furtive tears, and the figure swayed, swayed, merged.

A moment, and it was gone.

Instead of her, the ugly child, with his head extended to welcome complacent but distracted caresses.

It took me a few moments to get myself back, and to realize that, for the first time, I had witnessed the mutation of a Permutant.

Over the next few days, the vision haunted me. I was burning with curiosity and the desire to see her again, I invented a thousand excuses to go upstairs. When the strange light filtered from under the door, I couldn’t resist and put my eye close to the keyhole, with my heart in turmoil.

Each time I appropriated a detail. The tapered hands, the silver dress, the transparent skin. Some evenings I didn’t see anything.

I dreamed of her at night, pale lunar siren. We sailed through the galaxies holding hands, her dress was the silver tail of a noble starfish.

The flame of my love grew, I wanted her and only her, without thinking of the ungainly disguise under which she was hiding. Because so much beauty, so much harmony, I told myself, in this so ugly world , was certainly hiding.

I had learned to grasp the moment when the child’s features passed and swayed like signs on the water, until they became fluid and recomposed in the final perfection. Eagerly, I watched the appearance of the beloved form, its condensation in the light. And I too shared in the love that others bestowed on her and that she emanated.

But looking wasn’t enough for me anymore. I wanted to approach her, talk to her, touch her.

One evening I couldn’t help myself and threw open the door.

The dog barked, the adults turned abruptly, surprised, embarrassed.

They came, they gestured, from the invaded lands. Of their beautiful city only a few columns of the temple remained standing. And it was in the temple that their eldest daughter had died, when the explosion had destroyed everything.

It was to keep alive the memory of his sister, that the little one lent himself to take on her features, as long as her beloved parents had the illusion of seeing her again, of hearing her voice again.

Even today, that he is no longer a child, today that his parents are both dead, and that I am old, from time to time, good-naturedly, he still indulges himself. He does it so that the good host, who brought his parents free food, can still dream of the priestess who came to offer him a little love.

And love, you know, in this world of ours, is now difficult to find.