Cold Water

Lately Knauss has had a hard time believing how quiet his evenings used to be because lately he feels as if he’s not had a quiet moment in weeks.

Every evening Bain arrives and speaks to him. Sometimes it’s about things that don’t interest him at all. Things like Cal and the happenings of the house that aren’t actually all that exciting, idle gossip between pod-mates that never really kept Knauss’ attention even when he lived with a colony he actually cared about.

But other times, however, Bain would speak of things that did interest him. Especially tonight when Knauss noticed he had brought something with him. A round, white object that had something sitting atop it. It looked strange, brown and square and obviously not plastic. It looks like the human food he would see replicated on the television sometimes, but only kind-of. The food on the television always looked more ornate.

“What is that?” he asks, instantly interested. Bain doesn’t look his way.

“It’s just a ham sandwich dude,” Bain replies, blase as he makes his way up the stairs to the second floor, “You care if I go up top tonight? I wanna read.”

Knauss doesn’t bother answering that. Of course he cares, but it won’t stop the human and he’s long since grown accustomed to this.

“Is it edible?” Knauss says from his den, waiting for the sounds of Bain getting comfortable in his chair.

“It’s hard to hear you, did you ask if I can eat this?” Bain replies, louder. Knauss peeks out of his den to look up. From this angle he can’t tell if Bain is looking or not and he debates between going out or speaking louder. He resigns himself to the possibility of a sore throat and speaks up.

“Yes.” Upstairs, Bain laughs.

“Yeah, I can eat it. It’s a sandwich. You know: bread, meat, lettuce, mayo,” Bain lists ingredients that Knauss is only peripherally aware of.

Knauss pauses, considering, “I want to try it.”

“Uh, okay. How do you want to- ? It won’t taste good if it gets soggy. Wet bread is nasty,” Bain stumbles over his words the way he does when he gets surprised. He’s more preoccupied with the idea of trying the foreign, human cuisine than he’s worried about the human’s feelings.

“Alright, I got an idea. I’m gonna rip a piece off and put it here,” there’s the sound of footsteps on hardwood, “and I’ll just turn around.”

Knauss waits for the sound of Bain resettling on the chair before hesitantly dipping out of the den and swimming up. When he breaks the surface he can see Bain firmly turned around and on the deck there is a crudely torn piece of sandwich. He grabs it, mindful not to take it underwater.

The bread is soft and white. It’s very bouncy, and where his wet fingers touch it becomes slightly mushy. It’s so strange he finds himself turning it over in his hand to get a better look at it.

“So?” Bain prompts, tearing Knauss’ attention back to the human. Without preamble he shoves the sandwich into his mouth. Knauss blinks.

The flavors are very different. The fatty salmon they’ve been feeding him reminds him of home, but this is a whole new thing. The ham is cold and the lettuce is crunchy, there’s something else that is creamy and smooth spread on the bread. He doesn’t recognize it, but it’s texture is very nice and the flavor is not disagreeable. Though it might be because all he’s ever had in his life was fish, now that he’s tried a combination of different foods all he can thing to have is -

“More?” he asks. Bain scoffs.

“Dude, come on, I didn’t have dinner,” he complains. Knauss flicks his tail, leaning against the decking to stay above water. They wait in silence while he gathers his thoughts.

“It is different,” he says finally, “I like it.”

“I figured when you asked for more. I mean, I can like, bring you shit to try if you’re interested? We got a full kitchen, I just usually eat before I come up here. You know how late it is?” Knauss doesn’t know how late it is. He also only has a vague idea of what a kitchen is, there are lots of different interpretations of them on the television. The only thing he’s sure of is that it’s where humans store their food.

“Yes,” Knauss says.

“Yes you know how late it is, or yes you want food?”

“I want food,” Knauss clarifies.

“Okay. You’re gonna get fat, though. Human food makes you fat,” Bain snickers, moving in his chair to get comfortable while he eats. Knauss doesn’t understand why that would be a bad thing. A fat mer is a well-fed mer, and the extra padding against the frigid waters of the north is to be envied. Had he not been captured in the warm summer months he would have been larger, and as it was he now has no reason to preserve the extra warmth it provides. Not when his tank is already hot enough.

“I will not get fat,” Knauss assures. His metabolism is too high to retain fat with no need, despite the increasingly sedentary life he lives trapped here. The water’s temperature is too consistent.

“We’ll see, I guess,” Bain hums, flipping a page in his book. Knauss lingers at the surface for a moment before diving back in to begin his nightly routine.

*

“Sometimes you make noises,” Bain says one evening, very late. Knauss freezes, confused.

“I don’t mind, it’s just like, I dunno. Really quiet. You chirp and hum and shit. Are you talking? Is that mermaid shit?” Bain continues. Knauss had never even realized he’d been speaking, even now when he reviews his memories he doesn’t recall.

“It ain’t no big deal. Figured you were just bored or some shit. You gotta be bored,” Bain hums, flipping a page in his book, sitting unmoving on the couch as he spoke.

Knauss had grown complacent in the human’s apparent willingness not to turn and look at him on a whim and had taken to swimming out in the open even when Bain got up to move around the room, never looking his way. Apparently his acceptance of the human’s presence was deeper than he had initially thought.

That evening he spends the whole night diligently keeping his mouth shut. Some languages weren’t meant for human ears but a traitorous thought in his head appears; maybe it doesn’t matter if it was this human. The scrawny, loud thing.

Knauss swims faster. He needs to keep a closer eye on himself.

*

For a week Bain brings him different things to try every night. He leaves them on the deck and goes to sit while Knauss tries the different human confections such as pizza and more sandwiches, and something that was crunchy and red called an apple which was especially delicious, though he did have a bit of trouble trying to eat it at first.

Apparently human food wasn’t made for sharp teeth, but he makes it work.

He was also fed some sort of sweet poison called chocolate that when he put it in his mouth the sugary flavor was so intense he gagged loud enough for Bain to hear. Which he subsequently laughed about and Knauss swam unhappy circles.

Other than the chocolate incident, though, everything has tasted good. While he still prefers salmon he can accept humans did do at least one thing correctly.

He spends his time in mostly contented silence filled with Bain’s rambling and he grows comfortable. Probably too comfortable, because one evening when Bain doesn’t return Knauss doesn’t know what to do.

For the post part he keeps himself occupied with rocks and chasing fish, but even that doesn't keep him distracted for that long anymore. He can’t wait till tomorrow when Bain returns.

Except Bain doesn’t return.

He never noticed how often he came around until he stopped. Knauss has gotten so bored that he will spend full evenings laying out on the sand, feeling not unlike a small bull waiting for his mother to return from hunting.

He blows bubble circles and counts the seconds until they break the surface, watches the salmon slowly drift by, sometimes he’ll throw a pebble at them just to rile them up. His evenings are so quiet that he's resorted to humming so he can fill the space. He’s not sure how much longer he can just sit around like this before he starts pulling out his hair.

In hindsight, the evening it happens it's quite early and that should have been a red flag. Like a school of fish scattering for a predator, he should have known something was wrong but instead of paying attention, he was just excited.

Perhaps Bain brought him more food, or maybe they’ll just talk? Anything but the sound of his own lonely humming would be welcome and honestly Knauss kind of expects an explanation for the long absence. The moment he hears shuffling by the couch he swims out, mouth open to greet his human when he realizes.

That isn't Bain.

Instead of the sandy haired human he’d been expecting, there's someone else. A woman who is currently standing over the coffee table, a rag in hand that she promptly drops. Her wide eyes are staring at right him, shocked.

He darts back into his den, but the damage is done. Word must spread quickly because the next evening more people arrive late at night, trying to catch him out.

He doesn’t fall for it again.

They try and speak and it makes him sick all over again. It feels like when he’d first arrived, except now he understands what they're saying. It doesn't help. They speak to him like he's an animal they need to coax out, like a frightened infant. As if he'd ever want a human to stare at him with their terrible eyes. He'd rather starve.

So he doesn't go out for the rest of the week. Every time the door opens he cringes and stuffs himself deeper into his den. Even when he hears the door open and there's silence he expects it to be some of the house staff. He jerks a little when a familiar voice speaks up.

“Hey man, it's me,” Bain says hesitantly, sounding out of his depth, “I, uh, heard about Jen seeing you. You cool?”

Of course he's not cool. He's never cool enough. Knauss hates when he asks that. Suddenly he’s so angry it’s all he can think about. So angry that when he speaks up his voice is harsh and firm.

“No. I am hot. It is always hot,” Knauss snaps.

“That's not what I meant. I can turn up the AC more if you'd said something sooner but I mean, you sound kinda pissy,” Bain sounds surprised and a little upset.

“I do not know what that is,” his tone is still waspish. If he hadn’t been expecting Bain that day then he never would have swam out. If he hadn’t grown so comfortable with a human that doesn’t try to stare at him whenever they please he wouldn’t be in this mess now. Trapped in his den for days, hungry. Outside Bain scoffs.

“Look man, I don't know what to say. I don't get why you're weird about people looking at you anyway. You're overreacting,” Bain says and anger bursts in Knauss’ stomach hotter than an undersea vent, frothing like boiling water. Overreacting.

“I hate it. Humans are filthy.”

Bain sputters indignantly, “What!? Oh, I get it. You think you're better than us humans, is that it?” His voice is loud now.

“My kind does not kidnap yours,” Knauss hisses, refusing to match his tone. He will not shout.

“Yeah you just drown us, is that right?” Bain snarls, something jostles as the human moves around outside. Knauss is too angry to be curious. He’s done with this conversation.

Bain waits him to defend himself, “What you got nothing to say about that, huh?”

Knauss still doesn't reply. He's too tired. He’s too hot. He doesn’t want to be here, he just wants to go home. If he never sees another human in his life it will be too soon. Every day he prays to the Mother that she will sink their ships, cursing them with stormy seas. Knauss thinks that if he were ever to return home he would never want to see the surface again.

“You know what, fuck you. If you wanna sit in silence then I won't fucking bother you with my filthy human presence.” At that Knauss hears him stomping around and eventually the sound of the doors being opened and shut forcefully.

Good riddance. Knauss tucks himself further into his cave, glaring out at the white sand and the slow moving salmon.