False Mermaid

The Irish peasant, hungry albeit he may be, is very particular as regards the description of animal food in which he allows himself to indulge. For instance, I have heard a fisherman object to skate as having a “wild taste,” and have endeavoured without success to convince them that whale’s flesh is an excellent substitute for beef…

I found it far more easy to sympathize with their prejudice against eating the flesh of seals. They have a superstition, a poetical one in my opinion, that the souls of the hapless beings who were drowned in the deluge, entered into the bodies of seals and dwelt there. The plaintive expression which in the eyes of these amphibious creatures is noticeable, lends itself to this fanciful idea…

They are evidently fond of music, and will follow a boat for long distances when the whistle or song of one of the crew attracts their attention. I was once the unfortunate witness of a successful shot which killed a nursing mother as its child, a tiny creature, lay placidly on the parent’s damp and comfortless-looking back. The piteous look of the bereaved one, as it floated past me, was more than human in the intensity of its reproachful despair.

—“Net Fishing in the Killary Bay,” by M. C. Houstoun, from London Society: A Monthly Magazine of Light and Amusing Literature for the Hours of Relaxation

, Vol. LVIII, July to December 1890

1

While Nora was showering after their dip in the sea, Elizabeth crept downstairs to the kitchen, glad to have all that itchy salt off her skin. In her left hand was the seal doll she had stolen from the cottage, tucked under her shirt when Nora wasn’t looking. The black button eye stared back at her, unblinking. She wasn’t even sure why she’d taken it, except that the poor thing seemed to need looking after. She pushed the springy wool back into the open seam at the side of its head, feeling a little uneasy about her conversation with Nora at the cottage. Should she have said all those things about her mother? Her dad said it wasn’t a good idea to talk about the naps mama used to take. He said talking about it could get them all into trouble.

Cormac came in through the back door with a heavy box of provisions. Elizabeth drew back into a corner of the kitchen, dropping whatever it was she’d been holding. He stooped to pick it up—and recognized the seal poppet from the selkie cottage. He studied the creature for a minute before handing it back. “Is everything all right, Elizabeth? Where’s Nora?”

“Upstairs—taking a shower.”

“I’ve got a surprise,” Cormac said, hoping to put her at ease. “Something I hope you’ll find interesting.” Fishing in his box of groceries, he pulled out a flat brown paper bag. “Here’s the first thing we need,” he said. “And here’s the second.” Ducking into his father’s room, he brought out the fiddle case he’d found there earlier. He lifted the instrument from the case and set it on the table. “Can you see our trouble?”

Elizabeth looked closer. “No strings.”

“And that’s what we’re going to remedy, right now.” Elizabeth sat at the table, keeping the seal hidden on her lap as he took out his flute case as well.

“Did you and Nora get up to anything interesting while I was out?”

“We went to a beach. It had all these round stones—”

“Ah—I know the place you mean. It’s called Port na Rón. Rón is the Irish word for seal—like your friend there. ‘Port na Rón’ means ‘Seal Harbor.’ People say it used to be a great spot for smugglers and pirates.”

“Pirates?”