Th Mermaid of Amarvin Island

By Eric G. Müller

Swannie's life is changed forever when she saves a beached dolphin. In gratitude, Matmaka, the thankful dolphin, drops hints about her unique heritage. How does he know? Swannie is holding out hope that her father who went missing during a raging storm might still be alive. Could the dolphin be helpful in locating her father? Before returning to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alkion Press
• Release date: May 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736682951

Eric G. Müller

Eric G. Müller lives in upstate New York, writing, teaching, and playing music. He has published novels, memoirs, and poetry books. His children's books include "The Invisible Boat," its sequel, "The Invisible Boat and the Molten Dragon," and "Tiny Tin Elf." Born in Durban, South Africa, he studied literature and history at the University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. Fulfilling years as a primary and high school teacher laid the foundation for his storytelling abilities. The imaginative array of characters in his books face danger with courage and resolute decisiveness. His deep love of nature and of children is once again made abundantly clear in "The Mermaid of Amarvin Island."

Book preview

1. Chepi’s Grotto

Swannie opened her bedroom window, looked across the ocean, and thought of her father, as she did most mornings. One year ago, to the day, he had disappeared at sea during a raging storm. A few days earlier he’d given her a cherrywood box filled with colorful glass beads. Today she would use the beads to make a necklace.

Bye Mom, I’m going to Chepi’s Grotto, Swannie shouted through the open window to her mother who was kneeling next to the split-rail fence, cutting pink peonies in the backyard. Swannie smiled, knowing that Mom would place the flowers on the mantelpiece above the hearth beside the wood-framed photo of her father.

Have some breakfast first? The table is already set.

Not today. It’s Dad’s day.

Of course. Swannie had vowed to go down early to the beach to remember and honor her father, especially since they both believed he might still be alive. Take an apple, some cheese, and a fresh scone from the basket on the kitchen table. You’ll get hungry.

Will do, Mom.

It’s a perfect beach day. Spring has finally arrived.

Why don’t you come with me?

No, I’ve got too much to do around here. Sarika Wynstan always made some excuse of why she could not go down to the beach, though Swannie knew perfectly well that her mother loved the ocean, just by the way she sighed while staring out to sea, which she did often. And don’t sit in the hot sun for too long. Too much too soon isn’t good for your sensitive skin.

I know.

And if you do, sunscreen yourself beforehand. There’s some lavender oil on the kitchen counter you can take along. It’ll protect you. Mrs. Wynstan adjusted her wide-brimmed sunhat, got up, and moved over to another clump of yellow and white peonies. Oh, and you’ll need something to drink. Got to keep yourself hydrated. There’s a bottle of homemade elderberry juice in the fridge. Swannie smiled at her mother’s nonstop concerns. And you’ve got your swimsuit and a towel, yes?

Yep, I’m wearing it under my skirt and blouse, and the towel’s in my bag. See you later. Swannie shut the window and skipped into the kitchen, which smelled of freshly baked scones. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, picked a warm scone from the breadbasket, and snatched a square chunk of cheese from the purring fridge. Swannie tossed them into the blue cloth bag next to the wooden box of beads and ran out into the cool morning, quite forgetting about the elderberry juice.

Their small cottage stood apart from the village, perched on top of a rocky, windswept headland. She loved living close to the beach where she could play, stroll, and swim throughout the year—even on the coldest of days. This morning she hurried along the narrow road that led to the lighthouse, flanked by hedgerows of wild roses, until she reached the stairs at the steep edge of the outcrop.

She paused a moment to gaze over the calm ocean that glittered in the morning sun, enjoying the breeze, wishing she could simply leap from the cliff to swoop and soar like the seagulls in the wafts of wind, then dive into the ocean and swim with the ease of a fish. Instead, she zigzagged down the steep and partly stepped rocky path to the beach below, immediately slipping out of her sandals to relish the feel of her feet sinking into the cool soft sand, still shaded by the cliffs. It was a short walk to the inlet of Finn’s Cove.

Water from Chepi’s Grotto, halfway up the cliff, gushed into a smooth funnel of rock and rushed along the natural slide into a large rockpool below, from where it spilled over the edges and flowed in veined rivulets through the sandy beach into the ocean. Sliding back into her sandals, Swannie climbed nimbly over the rocks and boulders up to her favorite secluded ledge near the gaping mouth of Chepi’s Grotto, slightly sheltered from the noise and rush of the water. She sat down and leaned back against the smooth rock of the shady niche, panting slightly. During the long summer days, she often sat within this well-protected alcove. From this lair she had a clear view across the sheer sandstone cliffs and down to the strip of beach below that stretched and widened all the way to Nammig, the village in the distance where she attended school. Swannie could see the comings and goings of the fishing boats and trawlers, imagining her father’s life before he got lost at sea. Not many people came to this part of the beach because it was too narrow during high tide. Most preferred the expansive beach on the far side of the village. Swannie, shy of crowds, favored her quiet and partly rocky beach, especially since the sand was smoother and receded into the ocean at a gentle slant during low tide.

Today, though, she barely glanced along the slightly curved coast. Instead, she quickly removed the three black hair ties that kept her lavish hair bound tightly together, letting it cascade about her shoulders and down her back to the waist. She rarely let anybody see her hair undone—not since that first day of school almost five years ago when the other kids had teased her relentlessly for its unique colors and texture. Curiously, her raven black hair grew lighter and lighter, changing color along its length—violet, indigo, red, orange—ending as pure blonde with a touch of white. Moreover, her natural hair was straight at the roots, getting increasingly wavy until the last blonde locks had turned into thick strands of glossy and frizzy curls. People still occasionally mocked her, calling her weirdo or the girl with the rainbow hair, while pressing her to untie her hair so they could gawk at her and make hurtful comments. By now she’d perfected the art of pulling and tying her hair back in such a way that it looked mostly black, as good as hiding all the other shades of color beneath.

She ran her fingers through her rare, thick hair and threw some straggling strands back over her shoulders and out of her face. Next, she opened the blue cloth bag and removed the cherrywood box, reverently holding it in the palms of her hands. On the lid her father had carved a replica of his fishing boat, The Swannie, named after her. She smiled and opened the box. The multicolored beads glistened in the morning sun. This will make a fine necklace, she thought.

2. Tumbling Beads and Mischievous Boys

At that moment the sound of shouting and laughter disturbed her cherished peace. Usually, she had Chepi’s Grotto and Finn’s Cove below to herself, but sometimes, on weekends or hot days, people liked to come to the freshwater rockpool or sheltered beach to swim. She had not expected anybody to show up that early in the morning. The three boys ran up to Chepi’s Pool, threw down their towels on top of Finn Rock, the large protruding rock that looked like the bow of a boat, and climbed up, immediately diving into the pond with whoops and hollers. They were at least a year older and she recognized them from school. Their boisterous behavior bothered her. After diving off Finn Rock a few times, one of the more daring boys climbed up to the grotto and slid down the winding chute, hooting all the way down. The others took courage and followed suit. Swannie pressed tightly against the shadowy back wall of the niche to escape their notice. Though annoyed at their intrusion, part of her wished she could join in on their fun, but she was too shy.

When the boys had tired of sliding down the chute, Swannie felt more at ease. She ignored the boys’ nonstop hollering and placed the box of beads beside her on the ledge. She pulled out a roll of sturdy cotton quilting thread from the left patch pocket of her pink floral skirt. She tied a double knot on the one end and began stringing the beads of different shapes and colors into a pattern. The moment the morning sun appeared from behind the ridge’s overhang, a seagull swooped low over her head, attracted by the shiny beads glistening in the sun. As Swannie ducked she accidentally bumped the box with her knuckles and it toppled over the edge. In her wild attempt to grab and save the box of beads she let go of the beaded thread and it too rolled and dropped over the edge. To her dismay she saw the colorful beads bounce over boulders to the rocks and pond below. My beads, my beads, she shouted, which immediately caught the boys’ attention. They saw what was happening, but instead of helping her they laughed and ran around grabbing as many of them as they could find. Please give them back to me, Swannie pleaded.

Finders keepers, one of the boys shouted back. At once the others chimed in, chanting: Finders keepers, losers weepers! Finders keepers, losers weepers!

They belonged to my father . . . I wanted to . . . She didn’t bother to finish the sentence. She watched helplessly as the boys scrambled around to gather as many beads as they could, even from the bottom of the pool.

See you later, little girl, the tall dark one with the black curls shouted as they snatched their towels and ran off.

She’d lost most of the beads but found enough to at least make a beaded bracelet, though the moment had been spoiled. To her relief, however, she discovered the wooden box in a crevice, lying unharmed on a cushion of washed-up seaweed. Swannie put the remainder of the beads back into the cherrywood box and walked down to the beach near the water’s edge.

She sat in the sand, buried her head in her hands and sobbed. She’d wanted to make a beautiful necklace not only to honor her father but as a gift for her mother who missed him as much as she did. As she sat, head between her hunched up legs, she didn’t heed or notice how the sun burned down on her head, neck, and back. She forgot all about her mother’s warning of being out in the sun too long. At that moment she didn’t care that her skin might suffer, which it easily did, changing color with the weather and exposure to the sun more rapidly than anybody she knew. Furthermore, her sensitive skin had the tendency to dry out quickly, cracking and even leaving blisters that could become inflamed. Like her hair, her skin also had a peculiarity: instead of burning red all over, her skin darkened at the slightest exposure. In the long hot days of summer her skin tanned deep brown, and in the short cold days of winter it became increasingly pale, almost transparent. As with her hair, she had to endure much teasing about the vagaries of her skin from the classmates at school. Another reason why she preferred to be alone.

Between her sobs she heard the squeals of seagulls. But between the squeals she heard something else: squeaks and whistles she didn’t recognize, though they sounded faintly familiar. She stopped crying and looked up. The gulls had moved on, yet the short, sharp whistles continued, which puzzled her. Between the whistles she thought she heard someone talking to her in a high-pitched voice. Is it those boys again, playing a mean trick on me? She glanced around but saw nobody. Between the weakening whistles she distinctly heard the words, Help me please, will you? Swannie got up, trying to determine the direction of the voice. Over here, the voice urged.

3. A New Friend

She lifted her hand above her eyes, shielded her face from the bright sunshine, and peered to the left and right across the entire width of Finn’s Cove. Here, here, she heard the thin, high-pitched voice again. That’s when she saw something flapping in the sand near the water’s edge farther down from her. She ran toward it and saw to her dismay a stranded dolphin, blinking silver in the sun. She bent over the large creature. The dolphin smiled weakly and said, It’s my own fault. I should not have swum so close to the shore. A big wave pushed me up and now I can’t return.

I’ll pull you back into the ocean, and she was about to grab his dorsal fin.

Don’t do that. It hurts and I’m far too heavy. Please just throw some water over me. It is so hot and I am drying out fast. Soon the high tide will come in and I can swim back out. Swannie looked around and spotted a discarded old yellow beach bucket half buried in the sand. She quickly dug it out, rushed into the shallow waves and filled it with water. Though cracked down the side, it would do. Back and forth, she ran again and again, pouring the cool water over the beached dolphin. Ah, that feels good, the dolphin sang, and a ripple of content ran along the length of his body. Swannie noticed that the poor dolphin already had a few blisters down the side of his body, though not too severe. She’d arrived just in time. By now Swannie’s skirt and blouse had become soaked. She took them off and covered the dolphin with them as best she could, below the dorsal fin. Next, with towel in hand she jumped back into the water, submerged herself fully in the cool waters before running back, gently spreading the towel over the rest of the dolphin’s back. Then she sat down, leaned against the dolphin and spread her long wet hair like a shawl across the rest of the exposed skin, making sure not to cover the blowhole.

Thank you, the dolphin said. I already feel much better.

Glad to help, and she stroked the dolphin’s silky flipper. Suddenly, she lifted her head slightly and asked, How come you can speak? It’s strange… a talking animal?

What is stranger is that you can understand me and my language. Most humans have forgotten how to listen to animals. I am just as surprised as you… but happy.

Hm, I guess that’s strange too. But it feels so normal.

One day it will be normal for humans to talk with animals, the way you are now. But it will take time. It’s already happening in a few places with some people. Most humans talk to animals in their own way, especially their pets, and the animals reply with their eyes, tails, ears, or any other movement of their bodies. It’s only a small step away from having real conversations.

Ah, I wonder when that will happen.

As soon as more people love all animals. Really love them and care for them, like you are caring for me now. I know of at least one place like that in the world.

I’d love to go to a place like that, and Swannie rearranged her moist, long, multicolored hair over the dolphin and leaned her head against the dolphin’s side once more.

Heart-steeped wishes come true, the dolphin gurgled softly.

Swannie closed her eyes and nodded. You know, my father went missing exactly a year ago today… went fishing, got caught in a storm, and never returned. She kept her eyes shut. "I came down here to honor him. I wanted to make a necklace from the beads he gave

me . . . to give to my mother as a memento. But now most of them are lost; I spilled them by accident."

I sensed a sadness around you. I might be able to help you.

Help me, how? She opened her eyes

I live in the water and the oceans deliver secrets. You say that you are surprised that I can talk. Well, there are many more surprises in store for you. I sense that too. The world is ready to open up some of its secrets so that you may discover some secrets about yourself. Nothing important happens without a reason. What happened to your father will be revealed to you . . . if you are willing to find out.

I am, but I don’t understand. How do you know all this?

I can sense it by the touch of your body against mine. There is more to you than you can imagine.

Again, they lapsed into silence. Swannie did not know what to make of the dolphin’s words. A wave trickled against her feet, then another. The tide would soon be arriving in full force. I’m going to miss you, Swannie said. I don’t talk much to anybody, except to my mother.

Look up into the sky above the cliff, left of the lighthouse. What do you see?

Swannie looked up, squinted her eyes. Oh, it’s the moon.

The children’s moon, as people like to say. In the first few days before the full moon, you can see the waxing moon in the afternoons. Let it serve as a reminder.

A reminder for what?

To meet me at full moon, in one month from now. Come down to this very spot in the evening. I’ll be waiting for you. Call out my name, and I’ll come swimming to see you again.

So, I will see you again, Swannie shouted excitedly as another wave covered the long nose and mouth of the dolphin and her feet. But what is your name?

Ah, my name. Knowing my name will be key to knowing more about yourself, your father, and your mother. Listen carefully, for I will say it only once. Are you listening?

More than ever. Swannie turned and knelt down close to his head, shaded by the curtain of her thick rainbow hair, her knees sinking into the sand, with water eddying around them.

Matmaka is my name. Call out: Matmaka, I am ready to ride on the back of your knowledge! Matmaka, I am ready to swim through the unknown! Matmaka, I am ready to discover the truth! The dolphin’s voice weakened and Swannie knew that the dolphin needed to get back into the water as soon as possible. Though she had tried her best, the poor creature had nevertheless dehydrated and weakened considerably.

After those weighty words, the high tide came whooshing in, the waves thumping against his body, the water rising all around him. Swannie got back up, removed the skirt and blouse, and put them back on. She left the towel on his back a while longer until he would be ready and able to swim back out. One more thing, Matmaka said, and this is important as well as it is necessary. His voice began to gain in strength with each incoming wave.

Go to the big rock that juts into the pool. Near the bottom of the rock you will see a triangular hole that disappears into the earth. Bend down close and shout, Wake up and show me the Golden Secret. Got that? At that moment a huge sneaker wave broke over the dolphin and threw Swannie off her feet. She got caught in the rip current, but after rolling over a few times, she found her footing and escaped its pull. She jumped up, laughed, and flung her billowing rainbow hair over her shoulders. Her skirt and blouse got soaked again, but she didn’t care. She looked over to where the dolphin had lain, but he was gone. Out in the white crested ocean she saw him roll, dive, and leap before he disappeared through the surf.

Remembering the dolphin’s pressing words, Swannie went up to Finn Rock and looked for the hole. Sure enough, left of center she saw a triangular burrow. She bent low and peered into it but