Mermaids in Paradise - Lydia Millet (phonics story books txt) 📗

that the resort had murdered her in order to profit off the mermaids; in that case we didn’t need to be paranoid, possibly, because although the resort’s parent company, if that was true, had been repulsively quick to leap into a niche—had leapt into that niche unethically, cynically, and with the most craven of motives—it wasn’t per se criminal, necessarily. Or it was more a form of white-collar crime or maybe just moral turpitude (a favorite phrase of Gina’s). So maybe the parent company didn’t care what we thought or even what we did.

But of course, we didn’t know which it was, theft or murder. We had to err on the paranoid side, ultimately. Should we operate covertly, sneaking around like spies, or in the wide-open spaces?

In the end I opted to start with wide-open spaces, figuring that our best insurance might be obviousness. Or it might not. It was a risk. Anyway we gathered, the seven of us, in the gazebo of a palm garden (Janeane was still in the Pearl Diver Cabana, building her confidence). There was Steve, Thompson, Rick, Ronnie, Miyoko, Chip, and me. That was all that remained of our catered excursion force, our motley crew of spearfishermen, dive pros, vacationers, and parrotfish experts—all that was left of the boatload that had, for the first time in human history, videotaped mermaids.

Around us the palms were planted in a geometric pattern around the colorful tiled patio, creating a sense that we were on the grounds of some raja’s palace and might at any moment see a line of elephants lumber into sight, caparisoned in finery and bearing howdahs for some Indian royals. Of course we saw no elephants, only the golf carts, loaded with tourists like ourselves. There were also human-size statues of knights, kings, queens, and pawns, arrayed along opposite edges of the patio beside our gazebo. A couple lay on their sides, fallen. The patio was a giant chessboard.

“I guess my question is,” Chip said, when we were all sitting, “what’s our first priority? Justice for Nancy? Or helping the mermaids?”

“We gotta go where we can get shit done,” said the old salt Thompson, with his usual gruffness.

“Nancy would want us to help the mer-people,” put in Rick, the independent film guy.

“That’s right, she would,” agreed Ronnie, his boyfriend the designer. “That’s what Nancy would want. Definitely.”

Miyoko gave the slightest of nods.

“Makes sense to me,” said Steve.

“So the next question,” said Thompson, twiddling the knobs on his elaborate wristwatch, “is how far are we willing to go? To save these critters? Where do we draw the line?”

“Nonviolent protest?” offered Ronnie.

Thompson barked out a laugh.

“No, seriously though,” he said, turning to Chip. “One thing. I’ve got experience with explosives. Another thing. I’ve got explosives.”

“Jesus,” said Rick.

“What kind of explosives?” asked Chip curiously.

“Need-to-know basis. Just saying.”

“A middle ground, maybe,” said Steve. “Between the sign-waving and the bombing?”

“What’s the specific goal, Chip?” I asked. “If we’re trying to stop this hotel chain from destroying the mermaids, OK, but what’s the deliverable? What’s the actual outcome that we’d like to see?”

“It’s Terriault-Smith, right?” mused Rick. “The parent company? They also have a pharmaceutical arm, I think. And maybe frozen foods.”

“I know what Nancy really wanted,” said Chip. “She wanted, like, a mermaid park. That was her vision, a national park in the ocean, but for mermaids. Like with the Channel Islands, remember that trip, Deb? It’s set aside for nature, and then you’re not allowed to fish for them.”

“So how do we do that?” asked Thompson. “That’s a political deal. Got nothing to do with us.”

“A petition!” said Ronnie.

“Feh,” said Thompson, shaking his head, and started to roll a cigarette, pinching tobacco from a leather pouch.

“Well, we’re in a British territory,” said Rick. “So yeah, no. It’s kind of out of our hands. You live here, don’t you, Thompson—would you happen to be a British citizen?”

“Yeah right,” said Thompson.

Finally we decided the first step was to stop the parent company from dropping its long nets. The mermaids (none of us ever called them “mers,” no matter what Nancy had said) didn’t deserve to be imprisoned, we decided, whether we could do anything else for them or not. There was no call for imprisonment—it just didn’t seem fair. The nets might catch and hurt them; there could be sharp hooks on those things. I pictured them struggling in those nets like dolphins, asphyxiating, possibly. I saw their half-human blood dispersing cloudlike in the sea. It would be our fault: we would have brought those hooks to them. Not on purpose, but still.

We all agreed we didn’t like the idea.

“Time to monkey-wrench,” said Thompson. “The hour of sabotage is here.”

“We can’t stop the boats from sailing,” objected Rick. “Some are already out there.”

“The nets?” said Thompson. “Blast holes in them? Cover of night?”

“With terrorism going on, and that, we probably shouldn’t blow stuff up. I say we talk to the folks in charge, you know?” said Chip earnestly. “Just set up a meeting with whoever’s in charge and plead our case—plead on the mermaids’ behalf. Maybe we’re underrating them, maybe they’ll listen to reason.”

“A poodle pissin’ on a wildfire,” said Thompson. “Come on, Chip. And you too, what’s your name, the smaller homosexual—Lonnie?”

“Uh, Ronnie.”

“Boys, put some lead in your peckers. Sit-ins, writing letters, corporate-office chitchat, it’s for wussbags. Poltroons and pantywaists.”

The rest of us were momentarily silenced by this. Then, for the very first time since we’d gathered, Miyoko spoke. English wasn’t her first language; I hadn’t been sure how fluent she was, up till then. Her voice was small but firm.

“TV.”

IT TURNED OUT Miyoko was some kind of personality on Japanese television. She wasn’t a reporter, exactly—more of a VJ type. She talked to teenage girls about fashion crazes and middle-aged office ladies about weird fetishes; she interviewed pop stars and other brainless celebrities.

Millions of people watched her show, she said. She stated the figure offhandedly. She’d come here on vacation, she had no broadcasting equipment with