Anansi Boys

“Because my father thought it would do me good to find out about them, when I was a kid.”

“Oh.”

They waded out into the water, making for a boulder, one that could only be seen at low tide. After a while, Charlie picked the boy up and let him ride on his shoulders.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Marcus.”

“P’choona says you’re famous.”

“And who’s Petunia?”

“At playgroup. She says her mom has all your CDs. She says she loves your singing.”

“Ah.”

“Are you famous?”

“Not really. A little bit.” He put Marcus down on the top of the boulder, then he clambered up it himself. “Okay. Ready to sing?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want to sing?”

“My favorite song.”

“I don’t know if she’ll like that one.”

“She will.” Marcus had the certainty of walls, of mountains.

“Okay. One, two, three…”

They sang “Yellow Bird” together, which was Marcus’s favorite song that week, and then they sang “Zombie Jamboree,” which was his second favorite, and “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain,” which was his third favorite. Marcus, whose eyes were better than Charlie’s, spotted her as they were finishing “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain” and he began to wave.

“There she is, Daddy.”

“Are you sure?”

The morning haze blurred the sea and sky together into a pale whiteness, and Charlie squinted at the horizon. “I don’t see anything.”

“She’s gone under the water. She’ll be here soon.”

There was a splash, and she surfaced immediately below them; with a reach and a flip and a wiggle she was sitting on the rock beside them, her silvery tail dangling down into the Atlantic, flicking beads of water up onto her scales. She had long, orange-red hair.

They all sang together now, the man and the boy and the mermaid. They sang “The Lady Is a Tramp” and “Yellow Submarine” and then Marcus taught the mermaid the words to the Flintstones theme song.

“He reminds me of you,” she said to Charlie, “when you were a little boy.”

“You knew me then?”

She smiled. “You and your father used to walk down the beach, back then. Your father,” she said. “He was quite some gentleman.” She sighed. Mermaids sigh better than anyone. Then she said, “You should go back now. The tide’s coming in.” She pushed her long hair back and jackknifed into the ocean. She raised her head above the waves, touched her fingertips to her lips, and blew Marcus a kiss before vanishing under the water.

Charlie put his son onto his shoulders, and he waded through the sea, back to the beach, where his son slipped down from his shoulders onto the sand. He took off his old fedora hat and placed it on his son’s head. It was much too big for the boy, but it still made him smile.

“Hey,” said Charlie, “You want to see something?”

“Okay. But I want breakfast. I want pancakes. No, I want oatmeal. No, I want pancakes.”