THE OLD MERMAIDS left the disappearing Old Sea and stepped onto the New Desert where they exchanged their finware for skinware. With barely a backward glance, the mysterious and mystical Old Mermaids began building their sanctuary from earth, water, straw, and their own breath.
THESE STANDALONE TALES, many excerpts from the novels Church of the Old Mermaids and An Old Mermaid Sanctuary, remind us of the beauty all around us, even on those days when we wonder how we’ll survive, let alone thrive. Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid brews a magical storytelling soup to bring peace. A mysterious stranger brings the Old Mermaids an elixir which is supposed to heal all. And then there’s the Tea Shell where the Old Mermaids serve the most marvelous teas, and Sister Sophia Mermaid dispenses bits of wisdom like, “Never try to stop a wave,” “A watched pot eventually boils,” and “This is not the end of the world, it just feels like it.” Despite having lost their home and community, the Old Mermaids support one another, love their new world, and build community with all their new human and nonhuman neighbors. You can be assured when you stop by the Tea Shell for a cup of Essence of Coyote Laughter Tea that no coyotes were harmed in the making of your brew.
The First Book of Old Mermaids Tales
Kim Antieau
Published by Green Snake Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright (c) 2011 by Kim Antieau
Cover image by Kim Antieau
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
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For
Joanna and Cate
Contents
Grand Mother Yemaya Mermaid and the Thirteen Quilts
From the Old Mermaids Journal: Rattleday
Sister Sophia Mermaid, the Drifter, and the Tea Shell
From the Old Mermaids Journal: No Coyotes Harmed
Sister Lyra Mermaid and the Recipe
From the Old Mermaids Journal: Morsels
Sister Ruby Rosarita Mermaid and the Storytelling Soup
From the Old Mermaids Journal: Siren Song
Sister Ursula Divine Mermaid and the Old Sycamore
From the Old Mermaids Journal: Beelief
Sister Bea Wilder Mermaid and the Carved Bird
Sister Faye Mermaid and the Sleeping Beauties
I HAVE MERMAIDS all over my house. They swim in and out of every room. Most of them were gifts. I think the only mermaids I actually bought are the two wooden mermaids I got at the Flea in Santa Fe, one of which graces the covers of Church of the Old Mermaids and An Old Mermaid Journal.
I wasn’t a mermaid kind of kid. I lived in the Midwest in a small town with lots of lakes. I don’t remember even thinking about mermaids. Whenever I saw depictions of mermaids, they seemed like sexual objects more than anything else, with perky breasts and long flowing hair. They didn’t correspond with my idea of a powerful female image. (When I was a girl, I had an entire imaginary world where the girls and women had magical powers and the boys and men did not. The men were respected and held in high esteem because they were the homemakers, but they had no actual power. So even as a girl, I understood iconic images.)
My ideas of mermaids changed as I began studying goddess lore some years ago. The first goddesses were (most likely) primal sea goddesses, often depicted with fish tails. The ancient oracular mermaid goddess Atargatis slipped into our world via a heavenly egg. Atargatis may have been related to Aphrodite (mythologically speaking). I liked imagining Aphrodite rising up from the sea as a powerful life and death goddess with a fish tail. I preferred this to the image of her on a seashell trying to cover up her naked body.
When I first saw an artist’s depiction of the great Yoruba goddess Yemaya rising out of the ocean with two tails, I finally understood the power of the mermaid. She was no “little” mermaid, looking for a man. She was an ancient sea goddess, potent and powerful. She had not been diminished through time; she had not been stripped of her power or stories.
Even as I learned more about mermaids, I didn’t write about them. When I was in my thirties, a friend showed me the painting “Village of the Mermaids” by the surrealist artist Paul Delvaux. I was captivated by it. Eight Victorian women are depicted on a village street, sitting in chairs outside a row of houses on either side of the road. The women are completely covered except for their heads and hands. They each have long hair, and they stare straight ahead, without emotion. A man is walking away from them, toward the ocean. Beyond them and their village, in the distance, we can see the beach and the ocean where eight mermaids swim and sunbathe.
I felt haunted by this painting for years. I wrote a story called “Village of the Mermaids.” I can’t remember anything about it except that it wasn’t very good. I had a poster of the painting on my wall for years, but I finally threw it out. All I could see when I looked at it were the depressed women in the village. I wasn’t able to see—truly—the mermaids beyond them, heading out to the Old Sea and freedom.
Years later, in 2006, my husband Mario and I were at a writing retreat in Tucson, AZ, beginning a novel. (Many of you who have read Church of the Old Mermaids and my blog have heard this story before.) I had just read The Old Man and the Sea again, and I wanted to write a female version of that story: a simple tale, showing a woman’s power and relationship with the world. I sat in this tiny 8 x 10 room in the Sonoran desert, trying to think of an idea for The Woman and the Old Sea.
I could hear the sounds of the desert beyond the open door, could see the blue sky, feel the dry air against my skin. I imagined a woman walking in a wash (much like the wash running through the property where I was retreating), picking up garbage. I knew right away she would sell the interesting trash she found.
In years past, we had sometimes seen a man selling what looked like found items on 21st street in Portland. In my memory, he put these objects on a table and called this table “The Church of Elvis.” I could have gotten this wrong because there is actually a museum/gallery called the Church of Elvis in Portland; according to his wiki entry, he never sold trinkets on 21st street in Portland. The reality of it doesn’t matter. I thought of the Church of Elvis as I sat in the desert, and I wondered what my character, Myla Alvarez, would call her “church” table. Almost immediately the Old Mermaids started coming to me. It was as if they walked out of the wash and began telling me their stories. In my memory, that is exactly what happened.
Church of the Old Mermaids was born.
Thirteen Old Mermaids walked out of the Old Sea and into the New Desert and had to create new lives and community.
And I got to tell their stories.
I was at the writing retreat for a month and I finished the novel before we left. That spring I had two surgeries, and I felt like the Old Mermaids came with me and protected me during this time. I have written stories since I was five years old. I have loved and admired most of my characters. This was the first time that characters in one of my stories became guides or helpers in my life. I feel like I now have thirteen fairy goddessmothers.
Yet when I look back at my life, I wonder if they have always been a part of it. When I was nineteen, I was depressed and tried to kill myself. Afterward, I went to live in a tiny attic apartment by myself. I don’t remember saying a word for nearly a year. I’m sure I did because I had a job and I was going to school. But I don’t remember having a conversation with anyone. During this time, I occasionally wondered if I was ever going to feel better—or feel anything at all. Then one night I dreamed that a watery being came to me.
In the dream I thought of her as a water dryad—a water nymph. She was beautiful. She had huge soulful eyes. Water and seaweed ran up and down her whole body and through her hair. We made love all night long. When I woke up the next morning, I knew I would be all right. And I was. I slowly but markedly began to come out of my depression.
Later I realized she must have been a naiad, a kind of river mermaid.
So perhaps the Old Mermaids have been with me for a long while.
In any case, I’m happy they’re with me now. I feel as though knowing them and telling their stories has enriched and saved my life. I’m happy to be able to share these stories of the Old Mermaids with the world. They are all healing tales, I believe. For me, they are a balm when I’m feeling inflamed by the world.
This first volume of Old Mermaids Tales has excerpts from my novels Church of the Old Mermaids and An Old Mermaid Sanctuary, stand-alone stories about the Old Mermaids, and some other goodies from the Old Mermaid Sanctuary.
I hope you enjoy.
Blessed sea!
—Kim Antieau