It is a melancholy truth that as we get older, we find it harder to imagine a world that doesn’t have us in it.
For 60 years, we bought pens, ordered taxis, peeled the stickers off bananas, and crushed the heels of our shoes rather than untie the laces.
And now we won’t exist? These things won’t get done?
Inconceivable!
So we ponder immortality. Few of us get to be vampires, fewer still taste the peaches of long life in the court of the Jade Emperor, and only one person found the flower of eternal youth at the end of the world, although they lost it soon after. These are not reasonable options for the average retiree. For most of us, our path to immortality is - children! Grandchildren! Great grandchildren!
But with rising housing prices, dwindling employment opportunities, and tense political uncertainty, it’s not enough to have children. Too often, children fail to yield the promised grandchild, beset as they are by the troubles of the world.
So desperate parents may consider sacrifices to secure that grandchild. Not as far as giving up negative gearing, of course. Or franking credits. Or the four bedroom house. But still, desperate parents may make reasonable sacrifices!
So it was that Albert spoke to his father.
“Dad.”
“Oh, hi, son. How’s the new wife? Getting along swimmingly, hey?”
“Yeah, Iris is doing great. The bathroom renno is done. She has a whole room to take a dip in now.”
“Making a splash, hey?”
“Dad.”
“Yes son?”
“You don’t have to comment on Iris’ heritage every time we talk about her.”
“Oh, but it’s pretty unusual, isn’t it? A mermaid in the family?”
“It’s not common, exactly, but that’s not Iris’ only feature. She's more than just a mermaid. You know she makes dreamcatchers? Sells them at the farmer’s market.”
“Are they made out of seaweed?”
“OK, fair point.”
“Mer-this or mer-that, it doesn’t matter to me. Just as long as I get that grandchild, hey?”
“Oh, we plan to, but… We’ve hit a bit of a sandbank.”
“Your tackle box working as it should? There’s pills for that now.”
“That’s all fine, the fish part is… And my… unit… they’re compatible. And we’re both keen to start a family. That’s not the issue.”
“Well, what’s the hold up? I’m not getting any younger you know!”
“When I married Iris, I didn’t realise how it was for mermaids, if they want to get pregnant. It’s not just… fertilisation. That’s only mechanics. There’s a hormone thing, she tells me. There’s a particular thing that needs to happen, before she can have a baby. There’s an extra step.”
“I’m happy to stump up if it’s a medical procedure. I’ll even foot the bill if she needs to travel to special waters to… uh, spawn.”
“Well, you know how Iris is vegan, and that’s great, it’s really healthy, but historically, before human-mermaid relations improved, all that time ago, you know how they would… This is back then, not anymore… How they would use their allure on men, drown them, and… eat them?”
“Eat them? Or she can’t have a baby? She’s got to eat someone? ”
“Me, in fact. As the father. Hormones.”
“Oh! Well. That’s a tough one.”
“Tell me about it! I mean, a child needs a father, right?”
“Of course.”
“And it’s hard on a single mom, trying to raise a kid by themselves.”
“That’s what I always say.”
“And it’s expensive to raise a child, these days you need that two-parent income for food, school, deposit on a house, maybe bail if they test boundaries as a teen…”
“Tell me about it!”
“But Iris says there could be another option.”
“Oh?”
“Well, first up, I’m not suggesting we do this. It’s just another option. I’m only repeating what I’ve heard. Not endorsing it. It doesn’t have to be me, just as long as it’s another male of the bloodline.”
“Not your cousin Ernie? Just between us, I don’t think he likes girls, but I don’t know if that applies to mermaids…”
“No, dad, I’m actually thinking of… you.”
“Me!?”
“Well, like you said, you’re not young anymore, and there’s never a good time to go out with the tide.”
“But I’m not ready! I haven’t finished my DVD box set of Miami Vice yet!”
“When you think of the cruelties of old age - not being able to enjoy your favourite foods, constant worries about falls, passing your final days in a nursing home, losing your memory…”
“Getting old is no picnic!”
“And you know, it’s been a long time since mum died, and Iris is a beautiful woman, I’m sure you’ve thought about getting close to her… Wouldn’t that be better than years in a nursing home, one final great experience in the soothing caress of a mermaid?”
“I guess it would be the talk of the RSL…”
“They’ll probably display your photo in the foyer, people will wonder at it for years to come, decades…”
“Generations…”
“And you’ll have grandchildren, and even though you won’t meet them, they’ll know how much you gave up for them, little nippers with your eyes and hair…”
“Oh, heck, you’ve sold me! Just make sure you tell them about their grandfather, son!”
“I will dad! I will! If it’s a boy, I’ll give them your name - Ernie!”
Well - we promise things at 1pm, and our resolve wavers at 2pm. So it was for Ernie, but in time his need for a grandchild washed away his doubts. A date was set on, and a location - Bondi beach at dusk, after the lifeguards had gone home with their float tubes.
Iris would wait in the water, and Ernie would wade out to her. A dignified end. The setting sun, family present, the bewitching notes of a mermaid’s funeral song.
As it so happened, when the time came, Ernie also invited his mates. Kev, his school friend with the bung elbow. Potter, his yacht buddy. And Lou - not that Lou, the other one. You know, the one who did the thing with the frog.
They held a wake that day, celebrating Ernie’s life, so when they arrived, the party was three sails to the wind. This wasn’t quite the private family event Albert expected, but he reminded himself that this was his father’s moment, and it wasn’t his place to judge, not when his father was taking one for the crew.
Ernie stumbled into the water on noodle legs, clad only in budgie smugglers, his friends hooting things like “Rah Ernie!” and “Legend!” and “Sick mate!”
And Ernie fell into Iris’ arms.
She smiled, a mermaid’s beautiful smile, lips red as lobster. And she opened her mouth, to show a mermaid’s sharp teeth - neat little rows of them, reaching down the throat, like a shark.
Of course, Ernie screamed. And when Iris bit into his shoulder, he screamed even louder. Not a dignified, manly bellow - the shrill panic of a trapped mouse.
As we all know, a mermaid’s bite is a powerful paralytic, so the screaming did not last long. Ernie’s friends were so quiet you could hear waves slap the shore. Mostly, there was blood, enough to spread a blanket on the water. And the occasional bone, picked clean of flesh, tossed aside in the ecstasy of a mermaid’s feast. Finally there was only darkness, and an empty expanse of cold sand.
Things didn’t work out between Albert and Iris after that. That’s the problem with marriage - when you see all of someone’s hidden parts, the romance often wilts. But before she left, in one last regretful tryst, they did make a child together.
Albert knows, because he hears it sometimes, on the shores and cliffs of Bondi - a beautiful voice out in the waves, calling to its father, inviting him to test the water.
And he wonders if he’s ready to be a grandfather.
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