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The Mermaid of Black Conch

A novel

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WINNER OF THE COSTA BOOK OF THE YEAR AWARD

In 1976, David is fishing off the island of Black Conch when he comes upon a creature he doesn’t expect: a mermaid by the name of Aycayia. Once a beautiful young woman, she was cursed by jealous wives to live in this form for the rest of her days. But after the mermaid is caught by American tourists, David rescues and hides her away in his home, finding that, once out of the water, she begins to transform back into a woman.

Now David must work to win Aycayia’s trust while she relearns what it is to be human, navigating not only her new body but also her relationship with others on the island—a difficult task after centuries of loneliness. As David and Aycayia grow to love each other, they juggle both the joys and the dangers of life on shore. But a lingering question remains: Will the former mermaid be able to escape her curse? Taking on many points of view, this mythical adventure tells the story of one woman’s return to land, her healing and her survival.

“One can’t help admiring the boldness of Roffey’s vision. . . . Sentence by sensuous sentence, Roffey builds a verdant, complicated world that is a pleasure to live inside. . . . Aycayia is a magical creature, though rendered so physically you might start to believe in the existence of mermaids.” —Shruti Swamy, The New York Times

“Vivid imagery, discussion-worthy themes, Creole verbiage and a melding of history and magic make The Mermaid of Black Conch come to life. It’s a confluence of lore in which subtle details change depending on who is telling the story. Each has their own idea of what it is to be a man, a woman, the oppressor, the oppressed, or something in between worlds. . . . It seems Roffey has hit her stride.” —Donna Edwards, Associated Press

“A vivid phantasmagorical fairy tale. . . . With a lilting patois and rollicking prose, Roffey evokes the Antillean settings, characters, and culture. This makes for an entrancing siren song.” —Publishers Weekly

“Achingly evocative, the Black Conch mermaid’s story and the people she meets after her return from the sea powerfully capture the nature of longing and belonging.” —Bridget Thoreson, Booklist

“[Roffey is] changing the face of Caribbean literature. . . . [The Mermaid of Black Conch] joins an impressive wave of recent books by Trinidadian women writers . . . which are helping redefine a literature once dominated by noisy men.” —Anderson Tepper, Los Angeles Times

“Full of lean, elegant, evocative prose that never overstays its welcome or drifts too far from its narrative, this finely honed novel about belonging, alienation and the enduring power of stories moves with the breathtaking rush of an ocean wave. . . . Like her title character, Roffey’s prose is a shape-shifting, living thing, moving through emotional highs and lows with an almost mercurial grace. Roffey achieves this flow state with astonishing economy, which enables her to linger on existential questions. . . . A gripping dark fairy tale that any fan of contemporary fantasy will happily swim through.” —Matthew Jackson, BookPage

“Poetic, meticulous prose. . . . While this may seem like a tale often told, it is set apart by the rich materiality of the writing and of its Caribbean setting. . . . Roffey’s descriptions of Aycayia are strikingly different from the girlish, suspiciously well-groomed mermaids of popular culture and animated films. . . . Roffey takes the mermaid, makes her fleshy, textured, and real, and places her in the milieu of a rich cultural world. She gives us a love story between a fisherman and a mermaid that feels both fresh and timeless. In capturing every detail of the mermaid’s slow, messy transformation back to woman, Roffey speaks to longings that, as a reader, I did not know I had.” —Jalondra A. Davis, Los Angeles Review of Books

“A story that’s evocative and reminiscent of oral storytelling traditions. . . . Written partly in a beautiful rhythmic, lilting patois that creates a bold vision, it’s easy to find yourself deeply immersed in Roffey’s world, in a narrative that shows us how magic realism is oftentimes the best, most appropriate genre for post colonial fiction.” —Mahvesh Murad, Tor.com

“A searing blend of Caribbean magical realism and contemporary examination of misogyny and the reverberations of colonial oppression. . . . Roffey’s fable is a moving love story, full of messy, glorious eroticism, but she also shines a light on the dangers of toxic masculinity, racial inequity and the difficulty of understanding our true natures.” —Connie Ogle, Star Tribune

“A mesmerizing, fantastical tale that explores all-too-real Otherness. . . . The strange magic in The Mermaid of Black Conch is the best kind—wondrous, amazing to all who encounter it, but utterly real. . . . Roffey’s writing is a delight to swim in. It’s lyrical and lovely, and it flows clear and deep as the waters around Black Conch. Her landscape descriptions are rich, whether she is painting pictures of the lush forest shading Miss Rain’s house or of the ocean.” —Sally Shivnan, Washington Independent Review of Books

“Every sentence in Monique Roffey's extraordinary book is alive with fluming, amphibious intelligence and alert to the blessing, and the curse, of love in a life of flux. A new sea hymnal to challenge, and change, the old dark songs that humans know by heart.” —Karen Russell, author of Swamplandia! and Orange World and Other Stories
 
“I absolutely devoured The Mermaid of Black Conch. It’s wonderful, immersive, evocative. . . . A masterclass of world-building.” —Bridget Collins, author of The Binding
 
“Stunning. . . . A mesmerising read.” —Nathan Filer, author of The Shock of the Fall

“The novel is a unique Caribbean fable that takes the familiar story of a mermaid abruptly thrust onshore and brings it to a new place. It reads like the work of a novelist in command of her material and focused on using a mythic ‘then’ to speak to now.” —Malachi McIntosh, fiction chair, OCM Bocas Prize 2021

“Once I had started it. . . . I couldn’t stop. It was quite unlike anything I’d ever read. Such brilliant mythmaking; such powerful storytelling. The account of the mermaid’s capture was agonising to read—a feminist reframing of all those Great American Novels about men and the sea. Monique Roffey managed to say so much about society’s treatment of difference, enslavement, exploitation of the natural world, sexual politics, but without ever sermonising or compromising the storytelling.” —Clare Chambers, author of Small Pleasures
 
“[The Mermaid of Black Conch] is a daring, mesmerising novel that continually unseats expectation—I was deliciously unsure, throughout, what would happen next. With her fierce and shape-shifting mermaid, Roffey has created a modern myth about belonging and the bonds humans form with each other and with their land, single-handedly bringing magic realism up-to-date.” —Maggie O’Farrell, The Observer, “Summer Reads to Get Lost In”
 
“An extraordinary, beautifully written, captivating, visceral book—full of mythic energy and unforgettable characters, including some tremendously transgressive women. . . . It is utterly original—unlike anything we've ever read—and feels like a classic in the making from a writer at the height of her powers. It’s a book that will take you to the furthest reaches of your imagination—we found it completely compelling.” —Suzannah Lipscomb, chair of Costa Book Awards Judges, 2020
 
“A joy to read, brimming with memorable characters and vivid descriptions. . . . For me, this was a hugely entertaining and thought-provoking novel.” —Rebecca Jones, BBC News
 
“Not your standard mermaid. No comb and glass, no Lorelei hair. No catch and release.” —Margaret Atwood, author of The Testaments, via Twitter
 
“[Monique Roffey] is the most adventurous of writers and The Mermaid of Black Conch does not disappoint. . . . This is a strange, haunting, original and memorable novel about Aycayia, a mermaid from deep history who is entrapped and taken out of the sea. . . . This is a novel packed with layers of meaning around womanhood, alienation, masculinity, toxic attitudes towards women, and inter-female rivalry, as well as love, compassion and the search for home.” —Bernardine Evaristo, author of Girl, Woman, Other
 
“At last we have Monique Roffey to unhook woman from legend and bring tired myth into the realm of flesh and blood and sex. The Mermaid of Black Conch plunges fearlessly into the deeps of misogyny, colonial violence, friendship, jealousy, and erotic love in a reading experience as captivating as a tropical storm. Full-throated and mesmerizing.” —C Pam Zhang, author of How Much of These Hills Is Gold

“Wonderfully written, with both soul and intense drama—it glistens almost, like the mermaid!” —Diana Evans, author of Ordinary People

The Mermaid of Black Conch arrives bearing tragedy and beauty. Monique Roffey has created a new myth for an age of ruined oceans. She continues to be one of our most exciting new Caribbean voices.” —A.L. Kennedy, author of The Little Snake
 
“Monique Roffey is a writer of verve, vibrancy and compassion, and her work is always a joy to read.” —Sarah Hall, author of Burntcoat
 
The Mermaid of Black Conch is like a lost myth, found, and made fresh again for our times.” —Tessa McWatt, author of Shame on Me: An Anatomy of Race and Belonging

“[The Mermaid of Black Conch] is a strange and beautiful book. . . . Roffey’s writing is lyrical and filled with magic, but there is plenty of bittersweet realism to ground it.” —Sophie Dahl, Daily Mail (UK)
3

Back on Land 

David Baptiste’s journal, April 2015

Well, when I saw her hanging upside down, like reverse cruci-fied, my heart stop and my blood run cold cold cold. So, they ketch her. My worse fear. I kept up with their boat for an hour or so, but left before they hook her good. They were heading far out. I turn back; I already had a bad feeling in my gut that my boat engine might lure her to them. So I turn back, but too late. My damn fault they pull her out of the sea, bring she back half-dead. I figure she was dead when I saw her hanging so, upside down, mouth and hands tie up, just like a crab ready for the market. I feel shame, man, to see her like that, and I figured quick quick how to cut her down. I was fraid something bad go happen otherwise. Men could get on bad in these parts with too much alcohol, with a thing like this. Miss Rain wouldn’t like it at all. I knew that. She was very particular about women and how they get treated.

fetch a wheelbarrow from my neighbour’s yard and put it in the back of my pickup truck and drive down quiet and slow.

Ce-Ce’s parlour pack up with fellers liming and drinking and I drove past, recognising half of them. Was lucky that rain coming down. It kept them inside. I drove to the end of the jetty and see her there, hanging next to the big marlin. I think about all the times I saw her in the sea by the rocks off Murder Bay, watching me. All the times we stare each other down. All them times I wonder how God made her and why. The amount of times I say, “Come, dou dou, come, nuh.” I hurried fast down the jetty with the wheelbarrow and my cutlass.

Rain coming down even harder then. Her body look cold and dull under the jetty light. Her eyes were closed. But I see her chest rise and fall. I put the barrow under her and with two hard blows to the rope she fell down, half into the barrow. She slump heavy heavy, like a big snake. I knew I had only a few minutes to carry she away. I covered her with a tarp and wheel her to my truck. It was a struggle— taking all my strength to shoulder her fast into the tray.

When I reach home, I bring the hose inside the house and I empty the bathtub of what it have: old boat engine, boat parts, all kind of thing get pelt in there. At the time I would shower with a bucket out back. Same house I still live in now. I build it myself thirty years back, on land Miss Rain say I could buy from her over time. I build the place from wood and concrete that I beg and borrow— that kind of thing, bits and pieces left over from houses my cousins build. Back then, it already have two floors, and a place to cook on a small two-gas burner stove. It have one table, two chairs, one big bed upstairs. No electricity. I used hurricane lamps at night. The tub wasn’t even plumbed in. I found it in another person’s yard. I figure I could use it one day, and I was right. Of course, Rosamund came and blew most of the house away that year. Little by little, I build it back.

I full the tub to the brim. I emptied one whole box of Saxa salt into it. Only then I start to panic. When I freed the mer-maid from the jetty she was still alive. I only had one thing on my mind: to keep her alive overnight. Only God knew what them Yankee men would do with her, sell her to a museum, or worse, Sea World. I wanted to put her back in the sea. I knew I couldn’t get her into my boat that same night. I would need help. She was too heavy for me to carry alone from home and then to my boat. First things first. Cut her down. Then I planned to take her in my boat the next night, take her far far out and put her back; I would ask Nicer to help me. Carry she back to the sea, set her free again. I never figure she might stay. All of that was to come. When I first bring she back I ketch my ass just to get her from the tray of the truck into the tub. She was waking up too, in the rain, and I was frighten she might start to beat up.

I carry she like an old roll-up piece of carpet, over one shoul-der, and put her in the tub. Then she startled and realise what going on. Her mouth was still gagged and her hands tied up, too, behind her back, but her eyes flew open wide and she start to make loud squawking noises. I put my hand to her mouth and say, “Hush, dou dou. Hush, nuh. Is me, is me, you safe. Safe. Hush.”

But she frighten real bad. It took me the rest of the night and half the next day to settle her down in that tub and I didn’t untie her hands or mouth till well into the next afternoon, and only when I figured she knew who I was, the rasta man with the guitar who tempted her up from the waves, the one who sang the hymns to the universe.

Eventually, I untied her mouth and she didn’t squawk.

“Remember me?” I say.

But she made no sign she knew me at all. She just drink the water from the tub and lay down low as if she hiding sheself, even though her tail poke out.

She watched me the whole day. Like we’d never met. I was unsure of myself, but I knew I’d have to get her back in the sea. The next day, I untied her hands and still she just lay there flat, flat in the tub, watching me, and I wonder what the hell she was thinking about. Already, I see she tail drying up and she was looking smaller. I poured some rum on a deep wound from the gaff hook near the top of her tail, hoping it would heal up.
© Matilda Hill-Jenkins
MONIQUE ROFFEY is Professor of Contemporary Fiction at Manchester Metropolitan University. She is the author of eight books, five of which are set in Trinidad and the Caribbean region. The Mermaid of Black Conch, her previous novel, won the Costa Book of the Year award. She co-founded Writers Rebel inside Extinction Rebellion. She was born in Port of Spain, Trinidad, and lives in the East End of London. View titles by Monique Roffey

About

WINNER OF THE COSTA BOOK OF THE YEAR AWARD

In 1976, David is fishing off the island of Black Conch when he comes upon a creature he doesn’t expect: a mermaid by the name of Aycayia. Once a beautiful young woman, she was cursed by jealous wives to live in this form for the rest of her days. But after the mermaid is caught by American tourists, David rescues and hides her away in his home, finding that, once out of the water, she begins to transform back into a woman.

Now David must work to win Aycayia’s trust while she relearns what it is to be human, navigating not only her new body but also her relationship with others on the island—a difficult task after centuries of loneliness. As David and Aycayia grow to love each other, they juggle both the joys and the dangers of life on shore. But a lingering question remains: Will the former mermaid be able to escape her curse? Taking on many points of view, this mythical adventure tells the story of one woman’s return to land, her healing and her survival.

“One can’t help admiring the boldness of Roffey’s vision. . . . Sentence by sensuous sentence, Roffey builds a verdant, complicated world that is a pleasure to live inside. . . . Aycayia is a magical creature, though rendered so physically you might start to believe in the existence of mermaids.” —Shruti Swamy, The New York Times

“Vivid imagery, discussion-worthy themes, Creole verbiage and a melding of history and magic make The Mermaid of Black Conch come to life. It’s a confluence of lore in which subtle details change depending on who is telling the story. Each has their own idea of what it is to be a man, a woman, the oppressor, the oppressed, or something in between worlds. . . . It seems Roffey has hit her stride.” —Donna Edwards, Associated Press

“A vivid phantasmagorical fairy tale. . . . With a lilting patois and rollicking prose, Roffey evokes the Antillean settings, characters, and culture. This makes for an entrancing siren song.” —Publishers Weekly

“Achingly evocative, the Black Conch mermaid’s story and the people she meets after her return from the sea powerfully capture the nature of longing and belonging.” —Bridget Thoreson, Booklist

“[Roffey is] changing the face of Caribbean literature. . . . [The Mermaid of Black Conch] joins an impressive wave of recent books by Trinidadian women writers . . . which are helping redefine a literature once dominated by noisy men.” —Anderson Tepper, Los Angeles Times

“Full of lean, elegant, evocative prose that never overstays its welcome or drifts too far from its narrative, this finely honed novel about belonging, alienation and the enduring power of stories moves with the breathtaking rush of an ocean wave. . . . Like her title character, Roffey’s prose is a shape-shifting, living thing, moving through emotional highs and lows with an almost mercurial grace. Roffey achieves this flow state with astonishing economy, which enables her to linger on existential questions. . . . A gripping dark fairy tale that any fan of contemporary fantasy will happily swim through.” —Matthew Jackson, BookPage

“Poetic, meticulous prose. . . . While this may seem like a tale often told, it is set apart by the rich materiality of the writing and of its Caribbean setting. . . . Roffey’s descriptions of Aycayia are strikingly different from the girlish, suspiciously well-groomed mermaids of popular culture and animated films. . . . Roffey takes the mermaid, makes her fleshy, textured, and real, and places her in the milieu of a rich cultural world. She gives us a love story between a fisherman and a mermaid that feels both fresh and timeless. In capturing every detail of the mermaid’s slow, messy transformation back to woman, Roffey speaks to longings that, as a reader, I did not know I had.” —Jalondra A. Davis, Los Angeles Review of Books

“A story that’s evocative and reminiscent of oral storytelling traditions. . . . Written partly in a beautiful rhythmic, lilting patois that creates a bold vision, it’s easy to find yourself deeply immersed in Roffey’s world, in a narrative that shows us how magic realism is oftentimes the best, most appropriate genre for post colonial fiction.” —Mahvesh Murad, Tor.com

“A searing blend of Caribbean magical realism and contemporary examination of misogyny and the reverberations of colonial oppression. . . . Roffey’s fable is a moving love story, full of messy, glorious eroticism, but she also shines a light on the dangers of toxic masculinity, racial inequity and the difficulty of understanding our true natures.” —Connie Ogle, Star Tribune

“A mesmerizing, fantastical tale that explores all-too-real Otherness. . . . The strange magic in The Mermaid of Black Conch is the best kind—wondrous, amazing to all who encounter it, but utterly real. . . . Roffey’s writing is a delight to swim in. It’s lyrical and lovely, and it flows clear and deep as the waters around Black Conch. Her landscape descriptions are rich, whether she is painting pictures of the lush forest shading Miss Rain’s house or of the ocean.” —Sally Shivnan, Washington Independent Review of Books

“Every sentence in Monique Roffey's extraordinary book is alive with fluming, amphibious intelligence and alert to the blessing, and the curse, of love in a life of flux. A new sea hymnal to challenge, and change, the old dark songs that humans know by heart.” —Karen Russell, author of Swamplandia! and Orange World and Other Stories
 
“I absolutely devoured The Mermaid of Black Conch. It’s wonderful, immersive, evocative. . . . A masterclass of world-building.” —Bridget Collins, author of The Binding
 
“Stunning. . . . A mesmerising read.” —Nathan Filer, author of The Shock of the Fall

“The novel is a unique Caribbean fable that takes the familiar story of a mermaid abruptly thrust onshore and brings it to a new place. It reads like the work of a novelist in command of her material and focused on using a mythic ‘then’ to speak to now.” —Malachi McIntosh, fiction chair, OCM Bocas Prize 2021

“Once I had started it. . . . I couldn’t stop. It was quite unlike anything I’d ever read. Such brilliant mythmaking; such powerful storytelling. The account of the mermaid’s capture was agonising to read—a feminist reframing of all those Great American Novels about men and the sea. Monique Roffey managed to say so much about society’s treatment of difference, enslavement, exploitation of the natural world, sexual politics, but without ever sermonising or compromising the storytelling.” —Clare Chambers, author of Small Pleasures
 
“[The Mermaid of Black Conch] is a daring, mesmerising novel that continually unseats expectation—I was deliciously unsure, throughout, what would happen next. With her fierce and shape-shifting mermaid, Roffey has created a modern myth about belonging and the bonds humans form with each other and with their land, single-handedly bringing magic realism up-to-date.” —Maggie O’Farrell, The Observer, “Summer Reads to Get Lost In”
 
“An extraordinary, beautifully written, captivating, visceral book—full of mythic energy and unforgettable characters, including some tremendously transgressive women. . . . It is utterly original—unlike anything we've ever read—and feels like a classic in the making from a writer at the height of her powers. It’s a book that will take you to the furthest reaches of your imagination—we found it completely compelling.” —Suzannah Lipscomb, chair of Costa Book Awards Judges, 2020
 
“A joy to read, brimming with memorable characters and vivid descriptions. . . . For me, this was a hugely entertaining and thought-provoking novel.” —Rebecca Jones, BBC News
 
“Not your standard mermaid. No comb and glass, no Lorelei hair. No catch and release.” —Margaret Atwood, author of The Testaments, via Twitter
 
“[Monique Roffey] is the most adventurous of writers and The Mermaid of Black Conch does not disappoint. . . . This is a strange, haunting, original and memorable novel about Aycayia, a mermaid from deep history who is entrapped and taken out of the sea. . . . This is a novel packed with layers of meaning around womanhood, alienation, masculinity, toxic attitudes towards women, and inter-female rivalry, as well as love, compassion and the search for home.” —Bernardine Evaristo, author of Girl, Woman, Other
 
“At last we have Monique Roffey to unhook woman from legend and bring tired myth into the realm of flesh and blood and sex. The Mermaid of Black Conch plunges fearlessly into the deeps of misogyny, colonial violence, friendship, jealousy, and erotic love in a reading experience as captivating as a tropical storm. Full-throated and mesmerizing.” —C Pam Zhang, author of How Much of These Hills Is Gold

“Wonderfully written, with both soul and intense drama—it glistens almost, like the mermaid!” —Diana Evans, author of Ordinary People

The Mermaid of Black Conch arrives bearing tragedy and beauty. Monique Roffey has created a new myth for an age of ruined oceans. She continues to be one of our most exciting new Caribbean voices.” —A.L. Kennedy, author of The Little Snake
 
“Monique Roffey is a writer of verve, vibrancy and compassion, and her work is always a joy to read.” —Sarah Hall, author of Burntcoat
 
The Mermaid of Black Conch is like a lost myth, found, and made fresh again for our times.” —Tessa McWatt, author of Shame on Me: An Anatomy of Race and Belonging

“[The Mermaid of Black Conch] is a strange and beautiful book. . . . Roffey’s writing is lyrical and filled with magic, but there is plenty of bittersweet realism to ground it.” —Sophie Dahl, Daily Mail (UK)

Excerpt

3

Back on Land 

David Baptiste’s journal, April 2015

Well, when I saw her hanging upside down, like reverse cruci-fied, my heart stop and my blood run cold cold cold. So, they ketch her. My worse fear. I kept up with their boat for an hour or so, but left before they hook her good. They were heading far out. I turn back; I already had a bad feeling in my gut that my boat engine might lure her to them. So I turn back, but too late. My damn fault they pull her out of the sea, bring she back half-dead. I figure she was dead when I saw her hanging so, upside down, mouth and hands tie up, just like a crab ready for the market. I feel shame, man, to see her like that, and I figured quick quick how to cut her down. I was fraid something bad go happen otherwise. Men could get on bad in these parts with too much alcohol, with a thing like this. Miss Rain wouldn’t like it at all. I knew that. She was very particular about women and how they get treated.

fetch a wheelbarrow from my neighbour’s yard and put it in the back of my pickup truck and drive down quiet and slow.

Ce-Ce’s parlour pack up with fellers liming and drinking and I drove past, recognising half of them. Was lucky that rain coming down. It kept them inside. I drove to the end of the jetty and see her there, hanging next to the big marlin. I think about all the times I saw her in the sea by the rocks off Murder Bay, watching me. All the times we stare each other down. All them times I wonder how God made her and why. The amount of times I say, “Come, dou dou, come, nuh.” I hurried fast down the jetty with the wheelbarrow and my cutlass.

Rain coming down even harder then. Her body look cold and dull under the jetty light. Her eyes were closed. But I see her chest rise and fall. I put the barrow under her and with two hard blows to the rope she fell down, half into the barrow. She slump heavy heavy, like a big snake. I knew I had only a few minutes to carry she away. I covered her with a tarp and wheel her to my truck. It was a struggle— taking all my strength to shoulder her fast into the tray.

When I reach home, I bring the hose inside the house and I empty the bathtub of what it have: old boat engine, boat parts, all kind of thing get pelt in there. At the time I would shower with a bucket out back. Same house I still live in now. I build it myself thirty years back, on land Miss Rain say I could buy from her over time. I build the place from wood and concrete that I beg and borrow— that kind of thing, bits and pieces left over from houses my cousins build. Back then, it already have two floors, and a place to cook on a small two-gas burner stove. It have one table, two chairs, one big bed upstairs. No electricity. I used hurricane lamps at night. The tub wasn’t even plumbed in. I found it in another person’s yard. I figure I could use it one day, and I was right. Of course, Rosamund came and blew most of the house away that year. Little by little, I build it back.

I full the tub to the brim. I emptied one whole box of Saxa salt into it. Only then I start to panic. When I freed the mer-maid from the jetty she was still alive. I only had one thing on my mind: to keep her alive overnight. Only God knew what them Yankee men would do with her, sell her to a museum, or worse, Sea World. I wanted to put her back in the sea. I knew I couldn’t get her into my boat that same night. I would need help. She was too heavy for me to carry alone from home and then to my boat. First things first. Cut her down. Then I planned to take her in my boat the next night, take her far far out and put her back; I would ask Nicer to help me. Carry she back to the sea, set her free again. I never figure she might stay. All of that was to come. When I first bring she back I ketch my ass just to get her from the tray of the truck into the tub. She was waking up too, in the rain, and I was frighten she might start to beat up.

I carry she like an old roll-up piece of carpet, over one shoul-der, and put her in the tub. Then she startled and realise what going on. Her mouth was still gagged and her hands tied up, too, behind her back, but her eyes flew open wide and she start to make loud squawking noises. I put my hand to her mouth and say, “Hush, dou dou. Hush, nuh. Is me, is me, you safe. Safe. Hush.”

But she frighten real bad. It took me the rest of the night and half the next day to settle her down in that tub and I didn’t untie her hands or mouth till well into the next afternoon, and only when I figured she knew who I was, the rasta man with the guitar who tempted her up from the waves, the one who sang the hymns to the universe.

Eventually, I untied her mouth and she didn’t squawk.

“Remember me?” I say.

But she made no sign she knew me at all. She just drink the water from the tub and lay down low as if she hiding sheself, even though her tail poke out.

She watched me the whole day. Like we’d never met. I was unsure of myself, but I knew I’d have to get her back in the sea. The next day, I untied her hands and still she just lay there flat, flat in the tub, watching me, and I wonder what the hell she was thinking about. Already, I see she tail drying up and she was looking smaller. I poured some rum on a deep wound from the gaff hook near the top of her tail, hoping it would heal up.

Author

© Matilda Hill-Jenkins
MONIQUE ROFFEY is Professor of Contemporary Fiction at Manchester Metropolitan University. She is the author of eight books, five of which are set in Trinidad and the Caribbean region. The Mermaid of Black Conch, her previous novel, won the Costa Book of the Year award. She co-founded Writers Rebel inside Extinction Rebellion. She was born in Port of Spain, Trinidad, and lives in the East End of London. View titles by Monique Roffey

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