The Mermaid
Slawomira had lived in the Vistula river her whole life. It bored her. The current flowed always in the same direction, and the fish were always the same. Pikes, zanders, perches, occasionally some salmon floating idly past. Those salmon would be a whole spectacle. Her sisters would call her to watch the salmon, but salmon are salmon - they’re just another fish.
Deep in the forest, or sometimes nearer human settlements, if it was night, she and her sisters would pass the days away singing and talking with nymphs and other water spirits. The topielce - drowned ones - were her favourites. They were spirits of people who had died in the river, and they would tell her all about the lives of humans on land.
Her father told her to always keep far away from the human villages, and stay under the water when she saw boats. She knew he was right. The drowned ones had told her many times about how wicked humans could be to that which they did not understand. But still, she would sneak away at night to look at one of the villages on the shore.
There were boats lined up along the bank, and sometimes she could see people walking out from the inn, drunk, loud and often unable to stand. Sometimes she could see lovers kissing in the brush. Sometimes she couldn’t see anyone at all.
She got bolder. At first, she would follow fishing boats from deep underwater. Then, she would sometimes get to the village in the evening to watch the fishermen from a safe distance. Soon, she would come closer to the boats, or sing to them from afar. She grew to like the fishermen; she knew each one by face and some by name. She liked their honest way of speaking, rough and honest, and the way they cheered when they pulled in a big fish. Sometimes, she would even help them, chasing a salmon or two into the nets when they happened to pass by.
One day, she sang from afar to a boat filled with the fishermen.
‘Do you hear that?’ Said one.
‘Hear what? Shut up and pull the net in.’ Said another.
‘I swear someone’s singing,’ the first insisted.
‘It’s the evening, people sing. You’ve never heard singing before? This is how you do it: la, la, la. Maciej always sings when he’s drunk, and he’s probably been at the inn since the morning. Pull.’
‘It’s not Maciej, it’s a woman.’ But he pulled the net in, writhing with fish.
‘Women sing at anything. They sing when they cook, they sing when they clean, they sing when they eat, my mother even sings when she sleeps. Soon the angels will be singing to you, if you don’t shut up about that goddamn singing.’
‘Look!’ He pointed right at her.
The other one turned and looked at her, and Slawomira dipped down under. Her tail made a splashing sound as she dove down.
She knew she shouldn’t come back, but the next night, she thought she could follow the boat from underneath. She heard familiar shouts from above, about casting down nets and hurrying up, and did not realise that they were fishing for her until it was too late- the nets surrounded her from all sides. She tried to dive underneath the last one as it was falling down, but her tail got tangled. As she tried to free it, she felt herself getting pulled up and up into their boat.
She couldn’t help but cry. She knew these men, or so she thought. They seemed kind, and honest. But they ignored her pleas to be let go, and their faces twisted from men into monsters as they tossed her into a shed behind one of the fishermen’s homes. First she shouted, then she sobbed, and then, when strength had left her, she hummed a melody to soothe herself, as tears rolled silently down her face.
The door to the shed creaked open, and she was ready to scream, but the fisherman motioned for her to be quiet. It was the man who had noticed her song.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘The other men don’t know what to do when they find something beautiful, so they try to capture it and keep it in a cage. But I love your beauty, and I love the songs you sing. I know you will not sing for us here. I will take you back to the river.’ And then he cut the net open. Slawomira stayed silent.
‘I will carry you now,’ he told her, and though she did not speak, she put her arms around his neck as he bent down, and let him walk with her.
Just as the shore came into view, she heard angry shouts behind them. He picked up the pace as the fishermen began to chase after them. At the bank, he stopped and put her down into the water, gently, and as the other men crowded around, he jumped in behind her. He could not keep up with her, but she slowed down and poked her head back above the water.
‘I sang for you because I loved you!’ She shouted. ‘But you have broken my trust! I will never return! If I do, it will be with a sword and shield to defend you, for though you have hurt me, I still love you.’
Neither her nor the fisherman were seen again. Perhaps they are still waiting in the Vistula river, for the day when she is needed by Warsaw’s people once more.