The Mermaid of the Concrete Ocean: This wistful vignette beautifully conveys the intrigue and longing inherent in allowing oneself to immerse in fantasy. The narrator, a freelance art journalist, has sought out to interview the model who posed for a series of mermaid paintings from an artist now long dead. The wheelchair-bound, now a 94-year-old woman has retreated into her 12th story Manhattanefficiency for a long time. It serves as a capsule for a bygone era. Above the chaise is the previously unknown final painting from the mermaid series: a half-submerged [assumed] mermaid looks longingly back toward the land and a lighthouse.

The elderly woman refuses to speculate on the artist’s choice of her, a life-long paraplegic as the model. But she does relate a 70-year-old secret in the form of a tale told to her by the artist. Allegedly, a couple of years before their collaboration, in the summer of 1937, the artist found the upper torso of a woman washed up on the Atlantic City boardwalk by the high tide . . .

And it occurs to me then that possibly none of what I’m hearing is the truth, that she’s spinning a fanciful yarn so I won’t be disappointed, lying for my benefit, or because her days are so filled with monotony and she is determined this unusual guest will be entertained. I push the thoughts away.

The careful parallelisms between the characters and skirting of fantasy make this a beautiful piece, wrapped in mystery.

I welcome you back to yet another tale in the company of Mermaids, with me your hostess Ana Karennina: