Sea mermaid

⏱ ~5 min reading

At the bottom of the warm blue sea, where corals grow like flowers in a garden, there lived a little mermaid. Her name was Pearl. She had silver hair that curled in waves like the sea itself, and a tail the color of the morning sky—light blue with a pink tint. Pearl loved everything. She loved it when her mother combed her hair with a comb made of seashells. She loved it when her father brought home luminous fish and launched them around the kitchen like little lanterns. She loved it when her dolphin friends called her to play hide-and-seek among the corals.

But Perlinka had one quiet secret.

She dreamed of seeing land.

Every morning, Pearl would float to the surface—to where the water became very thin, and there was nothing above her except air. She would stick her head out. She would look at the shore. There were white houses with red roofs. Stone paths wound around. Cars drove by, their glass gleaming in the sun. Children ran by with striped towels. Their mothers would shout, «Nazar, don’t swim far!» It smelled of something warm, unfamiliar—probably bread and flowers. Swings were swinging in the park. Boys rode bicycles, ringing bells.

Pearl watched for hours. Her shoulders ached from the scorching sun. Her tail was numb. But she couldn't look away.

"It must be interesting," she whispered. "It must be beautiful.".

When she returned home, her mother asked:

— Have you emerged again, my sun?

"I was going to," Perlynka confessed. "Mom, can I go to the beach sometime? Even for an hour?"

Mom sighed and stroked her head.

"No, little one. We can't live on dry land. Our tail is for the water. Our gills are for the salty depths. That's just the way it is.".

Perlinka nodded. But in the evenings, lying in her shell bed, she would secretly rub her eyes.

One day, a mermaid grandmother came to visit them. She lived far away, in the deep part of the sea, where it was dark and cool, and rarely came out into the light. The grandmother was wise, with white hair, and wore a necklace of small pink pearls around her neck.

"What about my granddaughter?" she asked, looking closely at Pearl. "You're sad for some reason.".

"I dream of land, grandma," Perlinka confessed. "But mom says it's not allowed.".

Grandma smiled. She pulled a small pink shell from the pocket of her seaweed dress. The shell was the size of her palm, with delicate patterns and a smooth pearly edge.

"I brought you something," said the grandmother. "This shell is special. Put it to your eye and you'll see.".

Pearl carefully took the shell, swam to a corner where it was quiet, and put it to her right eye. And she froze.

She saw the park. The same park she had seen from the water, only up close. The swings creaked. A little girl with pigtails was eating ice cream, and the ice cream dripped onto her knee. Dad and the boy were flying a kite—and the kite flew high, high, like a fish in the sky. Near the cafe were tables under striped umbrellas. A woman in a white dress was drinking something from a cup and laughing. Red poppies were growing in the flowerbed, swaying in the wind.

Pearl turned the shell in the other direction. Now she saw a narrow street. The cat was sleeping on the stairs. Grandma was hanging up a sheet, and the sheet was inflating like a sail. A canary was singing on the balcony. Two boys were running along the sidewalk, pushing each other, and laughing.

Pearl couldn't look away. She looked and looked. Grandma sat next to her and waited.

"Grandmother," the little mermaid finally said, "it's magical. I can see everything. Everything, everything.".

"You see," the grandmother nodded. "And you can hear it too. Put it to your ear.".

Perlinka put it on. She heard the rustling of leaves in the park. The ringing of bicycle bells. Someone playing the flute outside the window. Children laughing on the beach, and someone's ball splashing in the water.

The hours flew by. Pearl watched and listened. And then she quietly lowered the shell to her knees and thought.

"You know what's interesting, grandma?"

— What, my dear?

— I thought it was better there than here. And now I see it’s just different there. Cars drive fast. Someone shouts. Someone is in a hurry. It’s quieter in our corals. Dolphins never fight. Butterfly fish never whistle. Everything here is so… calm.

The grandmother smiled and fixed a lock of her granddaughter's hair.

— Every place has its own. On land, there is movement and noise. At sea, there is depth and silence. You don't have to choose which is better. You can love both.

— And when I want to see, do I just take a shell?

— Just take the shell.

Pearl hugged her grandmother and held the shell to her heart.

"You know, Grandma," she said quietly, "I understand. The greatest journeys are in the head. If you have imagination, you are already a traveler. You don't have to swim to see. You don't have to run to find out.".

Grandma nodded. Her eyes sparkled like two little pearls.

"So you've grown up, my granddaughter.".

From that day on, Pearl was no longer sad. She lived in the sea — played with dolphins, wove wreaths from seaweed, helped her mother decorate the house with shells. And in the evening, when it got dark and the fish went to sleep in the coral crevices, Pearl took out her pink shell. She put it to her eye. And she traveled. She saw parks. Bazaars. Mountains. Fields of wheat. Snow-covered cities where children sculpted snow women. Carnivals with drums and pink balls.

And then she would put the shell by her pillow, close her eyes, and think, "How good. I have a home. I have the sea. And I have the whole world — at the distance of a glance.".

And fell asleep with a smile.