Logbook

Logbook

I was once told that in Berlin, the broken city, one could find inebriated mermaids wandering through the alleys searching for sailors that had docked there for a couple of nights. And so it is. During my stay in the capital I met two of them. Two criatures with the eyes of the ocean and pearled skin. Masters in the art of seduction, they were on the other hand not very skilled when it comes to telling the difference between a sailor and a traveler. One of them, deeply interested in me, displayed an ancient dance of hers that had so often before helped her trick men into doing whatever it was that she wished. What a show! The breeze of the night broke against her hips in the same way that the sea breaks against the rocks. Meanwhile, I smiled as a child or as an elderly would do, lost in an innocent confusion. And thus, she finished her dance and prepared herself, as usual, to collect the prize obtained after her magnificent display of charms.

But then she looked at me. Then she discovered that some kind of gift that she unfortunately lacked was required to reach out to me. An internal tidal seized her. The anger of the years and the seas she never sailed took her disguise away. In a tormented language, her lips overflowed with sibilant words that were saved for someone else; not me.

Her partner, more experienced and hardened, tried to calm her down. Her original form would not allow her to survive much longer in our environment. It only took a whisper made of salt to calm down the mood that seized the heart of the youngest mermaid. As soon as she recovered herself, still a bit agitated, she took a puff of the air emanating from the sewers. Finally, she abruptly turned back to hide how embarrassed she was by our misunderstanding. And as she walked away I managed to hear her last words. "My beloved sailor is not far, I know he is not".