November in Alkmaar

There are patches of silver scales on Maaike’s skin and grains of sand in her auburn hair. She pulls down the sleeves of her sweater to hide the scales, and shakes out the sand from her curls, the golden specks shimmering as they fall to the floor.  

             “The office smells stale, almost sulphury, like the sea,” says her co-worker Bram, sniffing the air curiously while he picks up his papers from the printing machine. 

            “And there was seaweed in the lady’s bathroom, isn’t that strange? Maaike, did you see the seaweed?” asks another co-worker, Eva, from her cubicle.  

            “No, I did not,” says Maaike, but she had found some in her soup at lunch time and did not tell anyone. It had been Thai coconut soup, and she figured it was not too odd to find a stray piece of seaweed floating in it. Besides, Maaike liked everything about the sea—sea creatures, sand, seaweed. She found it all comforting. 

            When she was younger her family would spend weekends in Scheveningen, a seaside town in The Hague. Away from the noisy esplanade where hundreds of Dutch and German vacationers sunbathed and swam, was a calm strip of shoreline with rolling dunes, green shrubs, and roaming Scottish Highland cattle. Maaike would collect seashells, build sandcastles, and if she were patient, spot among the sandy dunes foxes, roe deer, lizards, pond bats, and rare natterjack toads. In the cold waters of the North Sea she would surf and swim for hours until her toes and fingers became pruney, and her parents would call her back to the shore for dinner. She never tired of the sea and felt light and free suspended in its deep waves, her feet skimming the sandy floor.

            Her fondness for the water was so great that her family teasingly referred to her as a mermaid. Maaike did not mind. As a child she had heard many stories about mermaids and rather liked them. In some stories the mermaids were inquisitive about life on land. These mermaids traded their fins for legs, seeking a human soul or a young man’s affection. In the end, they would return to the sea by some twist of fate, heartbroken or disillusioned. It was better to stay in the sea, Maaike reckoned, and to sing beautiful songs without longing and loss. It had been a while since she had thought about mermaids, but now with the silver scales on her legs and arms that started appearing in the last few months, they were on her mind more often.

            “I have to leave early—doctor’s appointment,” Maaike tells her coworkers, before logging off her computer, grabbing her jacket and heading out the door. 

            Big drops of rain fall from the sky, dribbling down the sides of gabled houses. Maaike runs through the downpour, plunging through puddles, socks and sneakers getting drenched. She arrives at the doctor’s office and takes a seat in the waiting room until her name is called. 

            “Maaike, room five please,” says the receptionist, pointing her in the right direction.

            Dr. Bakker is sitting at her desk, Maaike’s patient report in her hand. 

            “How’re you doing today?” she asks, swivelling her chair around to face Maaike.

            “The same. I don’t think the medicine is working. Maybe I need something stronger.”

            “Are you taking the pills regularly around the same time each day?” 

            “Mhm, one capsule every morning before breakfast.”

            “Okay, I’ll look into what we can do about it. Sometimes we must up the dosage or try a different treatment plan. I also want to take some blood tests to make sure you don’t have any nutritional deficiencies,” says Dr. Bakker, writing a few notes in Maaike’s file. “Have you been seeing a therapist, like we discussed you would?”

            “Haha, yeah,” says Maaike dryly. 

            Dr. Bakker turns to Maaike and raises an eyebrow. 

            “It’s just, I don’t think the therapist understands what I’m going through,” she says. The therapist suggested taking time to grieve, practicing mindfulness, and learning to live with what happened, but none of these recommendations had helped so far. The advice of her friends and family was no better. There were only so many times she could listen to them tell her to eat healthy foods, exercise, get enough sleep, to not drink alcohol or smoke, and slowly things would sort themselves out. 

            “Sometimes it takes a while for therapists and clients to connect. Give yourself some time to open up, and if it still doesn’t feel like it’s working, we can always find another therapist for you.” 

            “How long does depression last?” asks Maaike.

            “It depends on the person. Many women feel some form of depression when they lose an infant. What you’re going through is normal. I know it’s difficult, especially what you went through, but you will come out of this strong and healthy.”

            Maaike nods, but Dr. Bakker’s consolations are not making her feel any better. She is not simply sad. Most of the time she feels like she cannot breathe, like a fish in an oxygen-starved sea, or like a mermaid trapped on land. There is a deep urge in her to shed the skin she is in, and with that her dark thoughts.   

            “My rash is getting worse,” says Maaike, pulling up her sleeves. 

            “Oh,” Dr. Bakker says, looking at it perplexed. “It’s identical to the one you have on your legs. But the allergy tests you took a few of weeks ago came back clear.” Snapping on latex gloves she examines the scales, prodding and poking. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m going to book you an appointment with the dermatologist. Did you go abroad recently? Skin infections are common for travellers.”

            “No, I’ve just been going to work and home. Sometimes I take the train to the beach, but I don’t go in the water.” She bites her lip nervously, thinking the only reason she does not go in the water is because she would never want to return to the shore.

            “Well, we’ll sort it all out. Let me call the nurse so we can do some blood work.”

            After a round of needles, Maaike takes her new prescription to the pharmacy. She leans against the counter exhausted and weak from losing so much blood, pays for the prescription, and takes a seat while they prepare it. 

            Half an hour later the pharmacist calls her over to the counter. “Your medication is ready. Did the doctor give you the instructions on how to use it?” 

            “I know what to do, thanks,” says Maaike, taking the package. “So, I guess this will make me feel calmer?” 

            “It’ll provide some relief. You should notice signs of improvement within a couple of weeks.”

            “It’s just, I’ve been experiencing these symptoms for several months, and I’m so tired of taking these pills and not seeing results. What else can I do to get rid of this sadness?”

            “Well, you can talk to your doctor. There might be other approaches to reduce your symptoms.”

            “I’ve tried, nothing helps. Did you know mermaids don’t have souls? They live contently in marble cities underneath the sea. Maybe if I were a mermaid, I wouldn’t feel this way.”

            “I don’t understand what you mean,” says the pharmacist, staring at her blankly. 

            “Sorry, never mind,” she mumbles slightly embarrassed, leaving the pharmacy with her package.

            It is dark outside now, and still raining. The sun sets early in autumn. The clouds are as thick as a woolly blanket, and she cannot see the moon or stars. Licking her lips, she notices the rainwater is slightly acidic, almost salty. The city is crying itself to sleep again. Bells ring from the tower of Sint-Laurenskerk, its turret hidden by mist. Seven chimes she counts. But time has long ceased to matter for Maaike; she swims through it without thinking. There are giant puddles the size of shallow ponds on the cobblestone path that circles around the church to the stores, restaurants, bank, and apartments. At a blue door she comes to a stop, steps into the orange glow of the lobby, then takes the elevator to the fifth floor. She walks through a corridor flanked by her neighbours’ plants until she reaches her apartment, goes inside, and unzips her jacket, hanging it on the coat rack to dry. Her husband Hein is already home, resting on a mauve couch. 

            “Hello,” he says, though his expression tells her he is lost in his own world, his gaze resting on the television even though it is off.

            “You’ve already eaten?” asks Maaike.

            “Yes, I wasn’t sure when you’d be home. I’m sorry, I left food for you on the stove.” 

            “It’s okay, my appointment took longer than expected.”  

            “What did the doctor say about your rash?”

            “The doctor never has any answers to my questions.”

            She throws her bag on the couch. Hein sighs and reaches for a novel on the table. He reads while Maaike heats up dinner in the microwave. They are both distracted from the present moment, processing their grief alone. It has been nine months since the death of their infant and neither has moved on from it. Instead they have settled into silence. The silence hangs so heavy in the room and it has been there for so long that Maaike wonders if she has lost her voice. The mermaid in Hans Christian Andersen’s folktale gave the Sea Witch her voice in exchange for a soul and a chance at true love. How little she could predict she would leave the sea only to drown in human voices. If Maaike were a mermaid, she would keep her tongue and beautiful voice and linger in the chambers of the sea forever.

            Chewing a mouthful of rice, Maaike eats her dinner while staring at the city through the rain-washed glass. Strong winds whip at the window shutters and through the branches of bare trees. The small boats in the canals that intertwine through the city bob up and down in the rough water. The grounds are muddied, and the riverbanks are reaching capacity. It has been raining for weeks. Sometimes Maaike thinks the rain will never end. The sun has gone missing and no one knows how to fool it into coming back. It will need a bit of convincing to stay in a place like this one. 

            The city she lives in, Alkmaar, lies on an ancient sandbank. Hundreds of years ago, its surroundings were reclaimed from great swathes of swampland. Just like the rest of the Netherlands, most of the land is below sea level. Dams, dikes, and windmills pump water from polders into the rivers and the sea. But even though crops are sown, farming prospers, and generations have born unto the soil, there is ever the fear of rising sea and river levels. Perhaps the water will seep through the dikes and flood the lower land. Maaike thinks that might happen, for the sea never forgets what once belonged to it and is always waiting to take it back.

            Sometimes when it rains, she can hear the roar of the ocean, as if her head were planted inside a spiral-shaped conch shell. The sound is everywhere. It haunts Hein too, and the neighbors, though no one talks about it. It echoes through the air, the low-lying land, and the rivers, reservoirs, and streams.

            “I think the water is watching us,” Maaike says to Hein but he does not listen to her, adjusting his glasses and carrying on with his reading. 

            Rinsing her plate, Maaike thinks she has never found happiness on the land. The more she listens to the sound of roaring waves in her head, the more the sea seems to find its way into her heart. Feeling small and alone, she boils water in the electric kettle. She pours a cup of tea that smells of seaweed, and then goes to the bathroom to fill the tub with hot water. The bathtub is the only place she has some peace of mind. Candles lit, she sprinkles two cups of Epsom salt in the water and adds a few drops of lavender oil. Carefully she lowers herself into the tub, acclimating to the temperature. Closing her eyes, she lets the steam and salt ease away her pain. The salty water tickles her skin, and it feels so good she almost dozes off, but Hein enters the bathroom. 

            “There are fish in the tub,” he says, interrupting her drowsy state.

            Indeed, there are tiny fish, darting around her body, their rainbow-tinged flippers flicking her skin.

            “Where’d they come from? Did you buy fish today?” he asks puzzled.

            “I didn’t get any. The water is rising in the canals, maybe the fish came through the pipes.”

            “No, that can’t be it. I’ll call the plumber tomorrow,” he says, shaking his head.

            He hands her a towel and she rises to her feet, getting out of the bath and pulling the plug. The water swirls down the drain, the fish with it. Maaike dries herself with the towel and puts on a nightgown. She slides into bed next to Hein and thinks about caressing him. It has been so long since they touched. But now touching reminds her of the dead baby, and those thoughts hurt. Before she decides what to do Hein says good night, switches off the light and rolls over onto his side.

            That night she dreams that the bed is a raft drifting beneath a tempestuous storm. The water levels are rising as the rain falls, drop by drop. The land is not stable or strong enough to hold its inhabitants. They have got to go. The sea is going to take over once again. Only the sea creatures will survive. If Maaike wants to survive, she must become a mermaid. 

            When the alarm clock rings in the morning, Maaike wakes up with a mouthful of sand. Gagging, she spits it out onto the duvet. Hein is beside her, patting her back while she coughs up the rest of the sand. Hein hands her a glass of water and she gargles with it, clearing her throat. The panic subsides, though her eyes are still watering from the discomfort. 

            “What happened? How’d you get sand in your mouth?” Hein asks.

            “I don’t know,” she says, wiping her eyes.

            “Weird things happen to you Maaike,” he says, getting out of bed and going to the kitchen to make breakfast.

            It is not yet light outside, or maybe that’s because it is still raining. Maaike doesn’t want to wake up, or get out of bed, or talk to anyone, or go to work. She runs her hands down her thighs, feeling the rough and prickly scales. Throwing off the blanket, she finds the shiny, silvery scales coating the entirety of her legs. They form a pattern, flashing like aluminum foil paper as she stretches. 

            The transformation is happening. There is nothing to say or understand, it just is. It has only ever been a matter of time. The first scales appeared the day she took the box to the sea. In the box were baby toys, a lock of hair, and a hospital bracelet. She washed them with seawater and set the objects in the sand to dry, but the tide carried them away. Now the sea is coming for her too. 

            Tentatively, she gets out of bed, clutching her chest. There is a tightness that makes it hard to breathe but she manages. Hein is in the kitchen with eggs and toast. They eat breakfast without speaking. He does not seem to notice the new scales on her legs, partly covered by her nightgown. After she eats and showers, she dresses in a sweater and jeans, but the jean fabric tugs on the scales uncomfortably. It will be hard to ignore the scales pinching through her clothes. She opts instead for a loose maxi dress that sweeps the floor. In this dress no one will be able to see the scales, but it is becoming harder to conceal them, and she is tired of hiding the transformation from everyone.   

            Reaching for her jacket and office bag, she heads to the bus stand. She joins a queue of commuters, some of them holding umbrellas, others embracing the rain as it falls. The scales are blossoming to the tips of her toes. Her feet are cramping. The rigid plates growing out of her skin press against the lining of her shoes. The scales need water, otherwise they will dry out like a fish left in the sun to rot. Ducking out of the queue, she makes her way to the train station instead. It is a ten-minute walk, winding through waterways with river boats on one side of the sidewalk and cyclists in the bike lane on the other.

            Arriving at the station, she checks the train times and decides which one she will take to leave the inland region. Searing pain shoots through her feet. Boarding the train, she grabs the railing to keep a steady balance, her hands slippery with moisture. She holds on with all her might. There is a seat near the door which she collapses on. When no one is looking, she yanks off her shoes. Her feet are thoroughly covered in scales, and her toes are webbed. Tucking her feet under the length of the dress, she looks around to see if anyone has noticed, but most people are too absorbed in their own activities like reading the newspaper, listening to music on their headphones, and scrolling through the web on their phones. 

            Her changes go unseen. The train skims through mist and rain for some time. Sand dunes in the distance form a smooth, unbroken protection for the people against water. But they do not offer Maaike protection anymore. She is on the wrong side of the sea wall. Life is disappointing and she longs for the sea. 

            When the train stops, Maaike scrambles to her feet, leaving her shoes on the ground. Her webbed feet pose a challenge, but she is still able to walk. She takes a connecting bus to one of the southern beaches where the air is salty and fresh. Combing her hands through her hair she picks out hard, glistening pearls. There are so many. She cups them in her hands. When the bus comes to a stop she lets go of the pearls, which tumble to the ground. Her office bag she leaves on the seat. There is no need for possessions where she is going.

            The beach is cold and empty. The sandy shores are soft and white, and the water is black under the gloomy clouds. Dropping to her knees, she undresses. Her hair, mixed with seaweed red and brown, tumbles down her naked back. Below her waist the scales from her midriff to her feet are knitting together to form a tail. With a deep breath, she looks seaward. There is a wild glimmer in her eyes as she uses the strength in her upper body to crawl toward the shoreline, the wind ruffling her hair. A spray of water greets her. Her heart is quiet. There is no looking back as she rides out to meet the waves. The only trace left of her is foam on the sea.