Learning to Swim by Annie Cosby Read Free Book Online

expounding on the heat? The woman wasn’t all right. I went to a bookshelf to make shuffling noises, as I’d grown accustomed to doing. I ran my finger down the spines of a couple ancient-looking books ( Confessions of a Sea Maiden and Fairies ), waited a few moments for effect, and went back outside.
    “I don’t see it,” I said.
    “Yes, thank you for looking,” the old woman replied, just like every time before.
    “Are you cold?” I asked.
    As always, the old woman shook her head and implored me to sit back down.
    “You have quite a collection of books,” I said, resuming my seat. “Have you read all those books?”
    “Oh, I can’t read,” she said matter-of-factly.
    “You—but your house is full of books!” I exclaimed. Floor-to-ceiling shelves of books!
    “Yes …” the old woman mumbled.
    “Were they your husband’s?” I prodded, wondering why a non-reader would have quite so many tomes.
    “What?” she appeared confused. “The-the … yes. I don’t read.”
    I was now equally as uncomfortable as the little old woman appeared to be.
    “Do you know about the Merrow, dearie?” she said, as if to change the subject.
    “I don’t think so,” I said.
    She nodded and seemed to deliberate whether to go on. I knew she would. She always did. “The Irish told each other stories about a sea creature much like the mermaid. Only she’s called the Merrow.” She readjusted the scarf on her head as she nodded knowingly. “They’re sweet, sweet creatures. Capable of real love. Well, human love—if that can be said to be real love.”
    “Do you believe in them?” I asked skeptically.
    The old woman’s eyes remained fixed on a spot on the horizon. I followed her gaze. There was nothing but boats and seagulls, the normal fare of the ocean. She finally seemed to find herself and her eyes continued to rove.
    “They say that love cannot overcome nature,” she finally said. “Supposedly the nature of the Merrow always overcomes whatever love they held for their human man. She will always go back to her people under the sea.”
    Sounded to me like a cruel comment on female nature made by a bitter man.
    “And the merman, oh, there are stories of mermen. Terrible stories. The mermen have cages at the bottom of the ocean in which they keep the souls of our drowned sailors and fishermen.”
    A chill ran through me despite my unwillingness to become involved in the story. The pale, bloated body at the pier drifted to the forefront of my mind. Souls, chained to the bottom of the ocean, fighting uselessly, perpetually against their chains, appeared in my imagination. The soul had long been gone from that bloated body when I found it.
    I only then became aware of the old woman looking at me. Her eyes were narrowed and she looked at me with an intensity that I had previously only seen her use on the ocean. I felt my cheeks redden.
    “They play music, too,” she said. “Do you ever hear music under the water?”
    I’ve never been under the water . I shook my head.
    The old woman sighed. “I suppose one must listen for it, then. I haven’t listened in a very long time. A very, very … very long time.”
    As I walked home that day, I remembered the metal recorder tucked away in my bag. That morning, I had stashed the strange instrument among my things on the off-chance that the old woman could identify it. But her stories had engrossed more than I would have liked, and I had completely forgotten to bring it up.
     

     
    As it happened Owen Carlton decided to fulfill my mom’s wildest dreams and invited me out with his friends one windy night. I had been sitting on my balcony, watching waves crash over my pier in the distance and recounting the Merrow story in my head (though I would never admit that to anyone). It was annoyingly windy, but it was the only vantage point at the Pink Palace from which I could see my pier. And then Owen had shown up at the back door. I could hear the voices below me but