Aqua~Maria

First Chapter

In his youth Baxter had been in the Merchant Marine, in and out of ports around the globe, living a life of romance and adventure - but he was older now and times of romance and adventure were behind him; a wise silver fox, and he contented himself with a simple happy life in North Beach, driving a taxicab. He knew the majestic hills and zigzag sunset streets of the city like his own backyard, and enjoyed his job and all the beautiful people and their complicated lives, all in a rush, escorting them to where they needed to go. Wherever it may be he would surely get them there, Ol’ Cap Bax at the wheel in a fisherman’s wool cap and a silvered beard with a weathered anchor on the temple of his brow like a stamp on a letter. Always the charming chauffeur entertaining all his fares, day or night rain or shine with a twinkle in his eye and a roaring hearty laugh.

🌙

After a bustling busy night Baxter parked his cab along the dark Embarcadero, off-duty, and walked across the ghost street in his seagull white tennis shoes, whistling a tune he’d long forgotten the words to. He stopped in for a nightcap at Nick’s Bar in North Beach, which he liked to call Jolly St. Nick’s especially over the holidays, for he thought of it as the best place in the world for a good coffee on those silent winter nights in the Beach when even the palms seemed cold as shivering pines. A jingle bell above the door announced his arrival. It was a down low dive bar, crowded boothes of jean jacket Bob Dylan’s and happy hour hens, and running the show was Nick in a Hawaiin shirt and Santa hat serving up cocktails at the speed of light and with sage advice.

“And here comes Santa Claus!” Nick hollered from across the bar spotting his bearded amigo.

Patrons of the bar raised their glasses and drunken cheers as he passed. Baxter waved them off and found a stool at the bar.

“A coffee black.”

Nick got him a coffee, steaming hot and black as the devils heart, and took a spiced navy rum from behind the bar and poured him out a generous shot.

“And some holiday cheer. On the house.”

Baxter poured the shotta rum into the coffee and raised his cup to Nick, mucho gracias, and took a life-reviving sip of the good stuff. Down the hatch.

“Long night, captain?”

“No longer than any other. But it was good as always. Met a funny woman who said all she had in this life were her pet parrots, and she loved them like her children.”

“Parrots huh? It’s usually cats.”

“Yes, but for her it was parrots. Maybe she was a pirate of the Barbary Coast.”

Nick laughed entertaining the idea.

“Maybe so.”

“And another poor fellow who was tryna find the perfect wine for a lady friend hadn’t seen in ages.”

“Can’t go wrong with a deep purple merlot, take it from a bartender.”

“Ok! If our paths are ever to cross again I’ll be sure to tell him. And how goes the show here?”

“Some joker ran off without paying his tab.”

“Sorry to hear that!”

“Ah well, shitluck. The karma police will surely catch up with him.”

Baxter admired his friends optimism and smiled at the thought of this obscure and morally staunch task force, upholding some kinda karma justice.

“Surely they will.”

Baxter took another sip from his cup, as an amen to that.

“How ya spending the holidays, captain?”

“Looking after a friends place while they’re away, here in the Beach.”

“Well the neighborhood burns brighter with ya in it.”

“They’ve got a small dog too, a schnauzer I think it is.”

“Good luck with that.”

Baxter finished his coffee, unwinding from a long shift, melting into the stool with the warmth of the rum in his stomach, just digging the night and the bar (bars being nocturnal things like bats and possums, most alive after dark). He got up to make his peace and left a big bill on the counter.

“No ya can’t,” Nick refused, “I said it’s on the house.”

“To cover the joker who ran off and put ya out.”

“God bless ya then, Baxter. And merry Christmas!”

Baxter walked out the door, setting the bell above a’jingle and a’stir, stepping onto the street and into the lonely night.

🌙

He pulled a Marlboro outta the pocket of his red plaid, making his way down to the Fisherman's Wharf, like an old seabird puffin smoke. He noticed up in the sky the moon was out, a perfect crescent, like a honeydew scimitar or a hammock for a celestial fisher to cast his rod. He leaned on the wooden rail of the pier, trailing smoke into the phantom night, gazing out over the mist and maw of the bay. The kelpy waft of fish, buoyant twang of bouys and boat riggings, and the occasional bark and whelps from a sea lion awoke from sleep. The wharf at night, especially on a dead night like this with the moon being such a spectacle, was a magical place, and letting his cigarette burn slow Baxter fell in love with it anew. Studying the moon, he wondered where the little fisherman would cast his rod among the stars and what kinda meteor fish would he catch? Cosmic trout and intergalactic carps, like fiery dragons. Maybe even mermaids.

🌙

Then it started to rain, slowly at first in spurts and bursts, then more steady, enough to wet out Baxter’s cigarette. Before he knew it was pouring rain, mighty rain, as if from the blowhole of a whale, and he was soaked in minutes. He hurried back to the shelter of his cab, running against the torrents, coming upon something bizarre, beaten by the weather and washed up on the boardwalk like a survivor from a shipwreck, stopping him in his tracks. Covered in kelp and seaweed rags, some sea bottom beggar. A sorry sight. But Baxter was not one to turn aside someone in need, having heart for all homeless mutts and strays, for he thought them only to be god in humble disguise. At a closer look it was not even human, but some kind of sea creature, female maybe, some kinda mutant washed up from the Mother Sea, maybe not even of this world. Some kinda gilled amphibious creature with webbed frog feet like scuba flippers, glowing like a moon-infused mood ring, alight and alive with vibrant colours: pink fuschia, magenta, aquamarine, vermilion, lapis lazuli blue, and the deep purple of jealous hearts, like coral fire or jellyfish flower. For a moment Baxter stood frozen in shock. A big pelican with a ten-gallon bill watched silently from atop a post, balancing like a kung fu master in the sea breeze. Some kind of omen to the scene, benevolent or ominous, Baxter couldn’t decide. Before he could make head or tails of it the sentinel lifted its powerful wings and was gone into the night like the wind. The marine mutant, aglow like a moon rock, was breathing laboriously, whimpering like a kitten in the rain. It gasped for air. Baxter almost expected some kinda ugly bullfrog croak, but instead a sing song kinda music.

“Help me!” The poor creature cried.

Being a good neighbour Baxter could not deny this plea, and picked the creature gently off the rain washed boardwalk.

“Easy now.” He said, putting it over his shoulder in fireman rescue style.

He made his way back to the cab as quick as he could, huddled under the rain and his burden. He laid the creature in the back of the cab, and with an emergency blanket he had in his trunk, an old rainbow serape, he wrapped it like a baby in the warmth of the blessed colours, warding off the evils of wet chills.

“Ya gonna die of cold.” He muttered.

Baxter got into the driver's seat, beating the whippers against the relentless rain. From his rear-view hung a sacred pendant of the Stella Maris, and he could see the poor creature shaking and shivering, breathing hard in the back. He didn’t know what to do, and thought bout dropping the creature off somewhere off his hands, not his problem, maybe a holy mission up in the hills far from the public where it could be in the hospice of good-hearted nuns, or maybe at an aquarium to find some kinda home in the company of seals and otters, but no, not on a night like this. There was nothing like that. He would have to keep it safe for the night and figure something out in the morning. He put the cab in gear and motored off with the radio tuned to the Beach Boys, bopping happily making it all seem light and alright. The city seemed otherworldly in the rain, and the streetlights flashing red and green, port and starboard, were like the Christmas lights on a Yuletide tree. The night seemed favoured and he caught all green lights on the way back, racing to his temporary pad in North Beach.

🌙

The Smiths were good friends of Baxter’s, and while they were away for the holidays in Mexico exploring the ruins in the tequila sun he was babysitting their apartment and their lil schnauzer Sea Admiral. They lived above a bookstore, blue as a peacock and there since the beginning of time, a hotspot for revolutionary minds. The windows of the shop were dark with poetry and science fiction. Baxter parked out on the street and carried the creature wrapped in the serape up the narrow steps and into the warm light of the apartment. As soon as the door opened he was met by a very suspicious schnauzer, like a moustached gentleman in grey tweed, always aloof and barking out orders.

“Quiet you Nazi! We come in peace.” Baxter said, playing goalie with his feet tryna stop the frantic dog from running out the door. The Smiths’ were old hippies always traveling together somewhere and their house was like a queer lil museum of their travels. Decorated with cool rugs and masks from faraway lands, a garden of exotic plants. Baxter made his way into the bathroom with the Admiral chasing at his heels, floral walls of aqua blue with a painting of sailboats askew, and a big lion clawfoot tub. He ran a warm bath for the strange aquatic creature, letting it rest in the water, and he closed the door with a nightlight on leaving the bathroom like a lamp lit lagoon, the queer ambience of the moon dancing in through the skylight. He then retired to the sofa with a Wonderful Life playing on the tv, intending to keep some kinda night watch, but ended up falling asleep with Admiral the schnauzer on his chest, like a general posted on a hill. He slept like a log until morning, his sleep filled with an ocean of strange blue dreams.

Next Chapter

Baxter had been in the middle of a dream with a seaside church, white walls against a turquoise sea, and a maddening bell ringing out of its tower, only to wake up to the telephone ringing itself off the hook. He rolled off the couch, like a groggy walrus. It was the Smiths calling collect from another time zone. They asked how things were going, hearing Admiral barking in the background at the bathroom door.

“Fine! Things are going great.” Baxter lied, telling them Admiral was only yelling at a bird on the fire escape.

They thanked him for holding down the ship and said they would bring him back true mezcal with a worm in the bottle. He said they were too kind.

Then he hung up and worried bout what kinda mess he was in. Admiral kept barking at the bathroom door, bouncing off his paws in a hot fuss. Baxter waded into the bathroom expecting the strange creature from the night before, a stormy weather sea myth, but instead a beautiful woman was in the tub, bathing like a tiger in a sunlit stream. The morning sun pouring in and painting her gold like one of Helios’ house cats.

“Why hello!” He said shocked and baffled.

“I’m Baxter.”

“And i'm Maria.”

Her voice like the waves, or glass bottles hung from a tree rustled by the wind.

“Maria?!” He repeated what he heard, making no sense of it.

He wondered if he was still dreaming or if he had been drunk. None of it made any sense. He could have sworn he left a creature in the tub before and now there was this woman who called herself Maria, like a trick outta a magicians hat.

Sheepishly he offered Maria a towel to dry herself and then raided the wardrobe and gave her clothes to dress in, hand-me-downs from Mrs Smith, Levi’s and a Berkeley sweater. Even in normal scrubs she was stunningly beautiful and wonderful: an ageless beauty with hair purple black as deepest urchins that cling to the ghost hulls of sunken ships and blue-green eyes like sea jewels.

🌙

“Is there food here?” She asked, “I’m starving.”

“Of course!” Baxter said, “I’ll make breakfast.”

He led her into the kitchen nook, schnauzer at their heels like a snapping turtle. Bed and breakfast was the hospitable thing to do. Even bedouins in humble tents offered their guests tea and dates. Baxter got to work making a big smorgasbord in the sunshine morning kitchen: a leaning tower of French toast, crispy slabs of bacon and rich dark coffee. The birds singing their hymns and the succulents sucking in the sunlight on the window sill. They sat down to eat. Admiral with saucer puppy eyes begging alms for the poor, enjoying table scraps. Maria wolfed it all down with surprising appetite, like a hungry shark.

“You weren’t joking! You really were hungry.”

They finished it all up, plates licked clean, the dog in a food coma on the floor.

“Thank you.” Maria said, finally full and content.

“Don’t mention it.” Baxter said, “it’s all part of the package.”

“What package.”

“Lodging and a good breakfast. Now you’re free to go as ya please.”

“Go where?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere ya like.”

Baxter looked out the window at the bright sun and the new day dawning.

“Looks like the storm has blown over. Ya can go anywhere ya like.”

“What if I’d like to stay here?”

“You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Because this isn’t my house!”

“But you’re here.”

“Yes, I’m only looking after things while my friends are away. You see, this is their house, their dog, I’m only looking after it and they’ll be back soon.”

“Then I’ll only stay here as long as you’re here, and then I shall leave.”

There was a long pause weighed with decision.

“If you’re to stay with me you’ve got some things to explain.” Baxter said, “And we’re gonna need more coffee.”

🌙

Baxter topped up their mugs with a fresh round of Sumatran black. The deep aromatic smell of coffee bean flavoured their conversation.

“Ones like me have always been named Maria.”

“What do ya mean, ones like you?”

“Mermaids, of course.”

“Aren’t ya supposed to have fins?”

“No, how silly! If anything we’re closer to marine iguanas than fish.”

“Really? That’s incredible! Like from the Galapagos?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you arrive here? It’s so far away.”

“With the tides. We might not have fins, but mermaids make the best swimmers.”

“And that trick in the tub, changing shape?”

“I was only shedding my skin.”

“Like a snake?”

“Not exactly.”

🌙

She explained the strange history of the Marias, how they were blessed with eternal youth, but being mermaids their life was dictated by the shifty whims of the moon. On the crescent moon she would appear as a mermaid, in her natural state, coughed up by the sea to be found by some fortunate soul. A great storm always followed the meeting of a mermaid, being some old curse that followed them around. While the moon went through its mellow-yellow stages, waxing full she was blessed to walk the earth freely as a woman, feet on dry land, but when the moon was a ripe melon finally full she must return to the salt water of the sea, called home alas, or surely die, a rose withered to dust and blown away by the wind.

🌙

Baxter took a long sip, sponging in this new information, turning it over in his brain.

“That’s a wild story, truly!”

“Yes,” Maria said unphased, “And that’s why I want you to show me around. For I don’t have much time.”

“Around? Like show you the sights of the city?”

“I want you to show me what it is to be human, to taste the joys.”

“Being human is not always so joyful. And who am I to show you? I’m but a cab driver.”

“Yet even still a cab driver must know something? Even the least of the mermaids knows what it is to be a mermaid. Show me what it is to be human, Baxter, if only for a few days, a grand tour! I shall be a tortoise.”

“A tortoise?”

“You have a word for it yes? One who comes to a new place and sees things.”

“A tourist?”

“Yes! I shall be a tourist.”

Baxter couldn’t help bursting out laughing and finally conceded.

“Ok then. You shall be the tortoise and I will show you around.”

Maria smiled bright as the sun at its first rising.

“And in return I will grant you a wish.”

Baxter started to laugh again, but saw she was serious.

“Like a genie?” He said.

“No, they are nasty things. More like a shooting star. Mermaids have the power to make favourable things happen to the good folks on land who help them. It’s a way of giving back.”

Baxter thought for a moment, weighing his haves and have-nots.

“I don’t know what I’d ever ask for. My life is a simple one, but I have all I need and am content.”

“Maybe some dream you’ve had since a boy. Some place you wish to see, a person of which you long to be reunited. It will come to you. But now, what will you show me first?”

Baxter got up, clearing away the empty cups.

“Now I must go to work. As I said, you can go as you please. If you decide to stick around I’ll do my best to show you something later.”

“I shall stick around then.”

Baxter called to Admiral, flopped lazily on the floor, his ears perking up at his name.

“I’m leaving you in charge. Look after her would ya? You know the rules.”

Then he fetched his keys, jingle jangle, and jogged down the stairs and out the door into the day, bright and new as a peach.

🌙

All day driving his bright yellow cab through the sunshine city Baxter thought about what Maria had asked of him. What was it to be human after all? What were the best and most important things? What was good and sweet to him in this life? What was the nectar and the honey? What made things go round? He circled and reapproached these eternal questions block after block. He picked up a priest at one of the old whitewashed churches who chain smoked cigarettes the whole drive.

Was it pious faith?

He gave a surfer named Durban a lift, dark as an almond speaking his own suntanned lingo.

Was it adrenaline sport?

Then a merry band of musicians hopped into his cab outside a bar with a martini sign, loading all their suitcase instruments into the trunk.

They were happy with bright faces, talking loudly about their gig, excited, their talk a joyful music. On the way to a studio in the hills a good song came on the radio (Can’t Buy Me Love) and they all sang along turning the cab into a harmonious jukebox. Baxter couldn’t help tapping the wheel to the beat smiling all the way. After all, he had at least one thing to show: the carefree, bounce in your spirit, joy of music. There was a world of good songs, lightning a fire in the human heart since caveman had fires to sing around. He drove home with the windows down singing at the top of his lungs to the Beatles.

🌙

He got back late at night, feeling jovial drunk with his discovery. He found the apartment usually loud with barking oddly quiet and found Maria and the Admiral, once sworn enemies now tight knit friends in good company. Maria had some charm over animals, wild beasts and domestic schnauzers too. Baxter apologized for being so late and Maria said it was no worry and that her and Sea Admiral had been having a rather nice time. Then they all marched a troop into the kitchen and Baxter cooked up steamy noodles over a gas flame, and Admiral chewed a bone at peace and him and Maria talked about music. Lil fervent chats under the moon in a midnight kitchen painted mint like Moroccan tea, all the while Frank Sinatra on the radio, belting out his lungs about flying away and beating the birds to Acapulco Bay. The Smiths were big music fans and their apartment was full of records and an Audio-Technica stereo with hi-fi speakers. Baxter dusted off a couple records like old wine bottles and played some of his favourite jams. Maria jumped up. She was taken by the music, spinning like a daffodil, dancing and laughing while the moon up above looked down on the lil apartment in an enchanted way, waxing a quarter full.

Another Chapter

Baxter woke to the sound of a mermaid singing in the shower, memorized lyrics from the night before. It was a fair lady voice loveliest of the seven seas, filled with a million years of maritime magic, steaming up the mirrors with dreamy desire. Maria came out of the shower in a gust of steam, hair tied and dried in a towel turban.

“Off to work again?” She said.

“No.” Baxter said, “I think today I’ll take the day off! I’ll show you around. What better way to see life than to go out and be among the people?”

🌙

They trekked out into the day with Admiral tugging on his leash. A bright new world with all the sights and sounds. Out among the wildlife, into the crazy life circus with Baxter pointing everything out like the curator to the great infinite human zoo. All shapes and sizes, here a lion man with his crazy hair, a hippopotamus, elephants with their jazz trumpets, a giraffe lady with those endless legs, a group of peacocks in their flashy clothes. All the vendors were out, yelling their bargain, their stalls showcasing their goods and wares like gold in the sun: books and fresh fruit and junk treasure trinkets. Maria got herself a bracelet made of shells and charms, while Baxter haggled a deal on the price. They made their way down to the Fisherman’s Wharf, where things had all began looking very different on this sunny cheerful day with all the artists and street performers out to play. Bright colour paintings and acrobatic dancers; and the sea lions on their own lil island. They snacked on french fries and watched the sea lions laze in the sun, wrestling and splashing in the water. Their aarfs and barks and yelps like foghorns in the bay. Admiral the Great got caught in a standoff with the biggest of seal gods, barking their barks, two alpha males flexing their guns.

“Have I told you the story of Christopher Columbus and the manatees?” Baxter said.

“Christopher Columbus?”

“Yes. He was an explorer. He claimed to have seen mermaids once, off the coast in the Caribbean. He said they weren’t at all beautiful tho and had rather ugly faces. It wasn’t mermaids he had seen, but a bunch of manatees!”

Maria looked at the sea lions with their funny peculiar faces, not at all beautiful mermaids, and laughed hard spilling her fries. They continued to explore the city until their legs turned to jelly and it got dark and the streets lights came on. They took a streetcar home, gliding magic on its sparking track, Admiral asleep on Maria’s lap.

🌙

The next day Baxter went to visit his old time friend, Monkey Simpson, being the smartest guy he knew, a scientist of sorts. Monkey lived over the bridge out in Berkeley in a palm breeze cottage with a rose garden in the back. Baxter made the tour in his yellow chariot and found Monkey out in his palm-fenced yard sitting among the prickly roses, budded red as Christ’s blood. A lean bean wiry Woody Allen looking man, nerdy, scientific, hairbrained with Buddy Holly glasses and simian features. Barefoot in the grass, one with the earth, like a lotus pose monk, peacefully toking his green tea, coming upon new and genius ideas. Baxter stepped into the yard breaking him out of an almost zen trance.

“Hey Monkey.”

“Ahoy, sailor!”

Monkey rises to his feet like a praying mantis, offering his pipe.

“A puff of the magic dragon?”

“No thanks.”

Baxter fishes a cigarette from his pocket and sparks it up, puffing a cloud of smoke.

“Ya have anything to drink?”

“Enough vodka to drown a whale.”

🌙

Monkey made up some vodka and orange juice in highball glasses, and they drank under an umbrella in the lawn furniture sparking up conversation, flowing easy among old chums.

“Ya know what I was just thinking?” Monkey said.

“What’s that?”

“That the white sand beaches of Hawaii are really shit!”

“What do ya mean?”

“Parrotfish shit to be exact.”

“Pardon me.”

“The parrotfish. It feeds on coral and poops out sand. Estimated that more than 80 percent of all sand around tropical reefs is yes, in fact, parrotfish crap!”

“What?”

“Makes ya think twice about sunbathing doesn’t it?”

They washed down this weird information with a hard swallow of vitamin C vodka.

“What do you think, Bax?”

“I think I’ve got a problem.”

“You’ve been sunbathing in the sand?”

“No.”

“Well that’s fortunate! Women problems then?”

“Sort of.”

🌙

Baxter told monkey his problem, having a mermaid as a house guest, and of the peculiar pinch he was in. He went into detail explaining the crescent moon transformation and of the full moon deadline. Monkey was fascinated.

“A mermaid you say?”

“I swear to god. Can you believe it?”

“Doesn’t matter if I believe it or not. It’s what happened. Mermaids happen all the time in mythology.”

“Yes, in mythology. But this is real life.”

“Maybe she’s Atlantean?”

“What do I do now?”

“Treasure the time ya have left. And make sure she’s back in the water before the full moon. I can help with that, I’ve got a boat.”

“Thanks.”

“This is really something else! I’d like to meet her before she goes. I’ve never seen a mermaid before.”

“Neither had I.” Baxter admitted.

🌙

The night after Monkey was in North Beach, riding his bicycle, skyrocket blue in dockside loafers and a Chinatown straw sun hat. He came over to the apartment to meet Maria the mermaid. He brought flowers, a hand picked bouquet of exuberant mums, and presented them when he was introduced.

“I’m Mordechai Simpson. But you can call me Monkey.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Maria Audio-Technica.”

Maria had been spending her days listening to the Smiths’ entire record collection, like a bookworm devouring a library, and Baxter had referred to her as Princess Audio-Technica and she had taken it as her honorable surname.

“Of course you are!” Monkey said, “And what a great pleasure.”

🌙

Baxter wanted to show Maria the human joy of good food and good company, so they all made a trip to Chinatown, a merry gang with a schnauzer mascot, and got takeout in lil red boxes with fortune cookies from a sweet and sour joint by the Dragon Gate, where thousand year old men like foo dogs played mahjong in the back. They walked back with the lights and dongs and lanterns of lil China at night being an endless festival. They showed Maria the joy of good Chow Mein and the nimble art of chopsticks, and they played Chinese checkers long into the night completing the vibe. Cracking into fortune cookies like robins’ eggs: You will experience a new culture, Maria’s read; You will soon say goodbye to a friend, Baxter’s read. His face dropped a little, feeling sad about the small sliver of time left with the mermaid.

“Maybe it only means it is my time to go.” Monkey said on a lighter note.

He said his thanks a million times for the Chow Mein and the game of checkers and the incredible pleasure of meeting a mermaid such as Maria. He unlocked his bike tethered to a parking meter and waved farewell and goodnight by flashing the V sign, holding up index and middle finger.

“Peace.” He said.

“Peace” Maria repeated, mimicking the sign and holding up two fingers.

Haha Monkey laughed.

“That’s right! Peace.”

And then he biked off into the night with stars peeping out like winking amethysts and the moon aglow, a big pitcher of lemonade, now more than half full.

🌙

Later on close to Christmas time Maria and Baxter found themselves out on the fire escape, two owls in a tree perched above the humdrum of the droning city. A great honk toot bark clambering tambourine music. Their time together was now short and the moon confessed it true, a three quarter pie hanging low. Baxter had a cigarette nonchalant in the cool of the night air, smoking out dancing ghosts.

“I’m afraid it’s almost my time to go home.” Maria said.

“Back to the sea?”

“Yes.”

“And to all your loved ones down there?”

“Yes. I enjoyed my time here greatly and thankful for all of it. Everything you showed me, music and food and friends!”

“Yet I feel there is so much more I could have shown you. Humans have their own kinda magic, like love. But how could one ever teach something like that?”

“Love?” Maria pondered upon the moon, “You rescued me when I was in the rain. Is that not magic love?”

“That is only the Golden Rule.”

“Which rule?”

“Being a good neighbour, you see.”

“Isn’t that love?”

“I guess it is.”

Baxter took a drag off his cigarette, and pinched the last of it off the railing in sparks.

“Have ya decided what ya would like to wish for?” Maria said.

“Yes I think I have!”

Baxter went to say it aloud.

“Don’t say it aloud,” Maria said, “or it won’t come true. Just think it in your head”

Baxter closed his eyes and thought it in his head. As he made his wish there was a comet, and opening his eyes again he glimpsed the last of it racing gunpowder across the sky. He felt good deep inside. A mermaid's wish granted.

Last Chapter

During the final bewitching stages of the moon, between three quarters and full Monty, Maria started to shed her human facade. She was changing colour like autumn trees, not those golden apple hues, but again the brilliant blues and greens and vibrant pinks and purples of her true mermaid self. She could no longer venture into public without being spotted as something peculiar, freakishly different and suspiciously inhuman. The act was just about up. It was time to send her back to the wild salty brine, back to the neighborhood of fish and other floundering and finned things. Baxter disguised her best he could in layers of clothes, wraps of cloth, a Lawrence of Arabia dune desert wanderer hiding from the sun, the Invisible Woman covering her monstrous nakedness. Baxter and the mermaid in disguise left the apartment, leaving the superintendent schnauzer in the care of the old Russian downstairs who ran the hip blue bookstore. He didn’t mind dogs and he paid no mind either to Baxter’s friend in strange garbs, only grunting his approval and hacking on his cigarette, nothing new under the sun for this old bat. Off they went to Berkeley, seeking the aid of Monkey and his boat, time nipping at their heels.

🌙

They rolled into Monkey’s driveway with the two big palms, like moppy head giants with bad posture. In his sea-cave of a garage was an old white Mercedes amid a greasy jungle of empty beer bottles and milk crates stacked high to heaven with National Geographic.

“Isn’t she a beaut!” Monkey said.

He was already dressed for the adventurous occasion, in bucket hat and Bermuda shorts.

“I call her the Swan Lake Coupe.”

They all piled into the Swan, plush tan leather, and Monkey turned over the ignition starting her up, coughing smoke out the tailpipe like an asthmatic geezer. But she ran fine enough for an old girl, and Monkey back in the saddle gave her juice and they were riding like the wind smooth sailing in a luxury yacht.

“Where are we headed?” Baxter said.

“To Monterey.” Monkey said confident at the wheel.

“What’s in Monterey?”

“A motorboat, of course!”

🌙

Maria grooved to the radio as the Mercedes-Benz boat blasted along the highway, all setting sun and coast. A big sexy sky and the Pacific a ripe low-hanging passion fruit. They stopped for a last supper at a roadside diner, Maria having to cover up with shades and scarf like someone suffering from a sensitive skin condition or acute sunstroke. The poor soul! Burgers and fries for the brave crusaders, and bottomless coffee and banana cream pie to top it off. Then back on the road, roaring down the coast and into the sardine can of Monterey, the ocean with the raucous of birds and the humble fleets of fishing boats named after lovers. They ditched the Mercedes at the marina like a hot getaway car, trading it for the motorboat Monkey had in the dock, a lil teal seaworthy number named the Minnow after the one on Gilligan’s Island. A motorboat with a name, the whole shebang even christened with a bottle of bubbly. Monkey had spent more on the fizzy fancy champagne than the boat! They jumped aboard, as Baxter freed the lasso ropes from the mooring posts. Monkey fired up the motor, churning and bubbling the water like a stew.

“And we’re off!” He yelled into the air, feeling very much a pirate now.

Monkey captained the boat out into open water and finding a perfect spot Maria stood up at the bow, a beautiful figure head, and stripped off her disguise, showing radiantly all her colour and true mermaid nature, glorious in the last of the setting sun, like a gem catching the light, a sunfish a million shades of golden wonderful. In that moment she was something eternal, truly belonging to the sea, out of the grasp of human hands. Then with a courageous smile, a parting glance saying everything and forever, Maria dove off the boat and into the water. She was gone into the blue, but only for a second of held breath, then resurfaced like a playful otter, treading water and saying a last goodbye signing peace like Monkey had taught her. A piscine creature treading water pristine and blue throwing up the peace sign like a flowerchild. Monkey, being a man prone to emotions, started to cry, a sad baboon in his bucket hat. Baxter went into the onboard cooler and cracked a couple cold ones, handing his teary-eyed friend a beer, and they clinked glass salut as Maria free at last speared through the waves back from whence she came, being the end of a strange and wonderful story.

Finito!

Postscript

Christmas came and went. The Smiths were back from Mexico bearing gifts of mezcal and stuffed mariachi toads. Into the New Year and Baxter was back to work and normal life. No more mermaids, just his bright yellow cab and the hilly streets of San Fran. One night on Sunset Blvd, his last fare before nightly drinks at Nicks, a stranger got in the back for a lift and something in the voice and in the eyes of that stranger was familiar, long lost but familiar and beloved. The impossible face. Magic love. Baxter said hello! And they recognized and said Oh! Hello back, and he was reminded of a mermaid’s wish upon a shooting star on a Frisco night fire escape. The rest was history.

Seriously now that’s the end