Susan
The Amazing Adventures
of Sara Corel
A novel by Toomey
The Mermaid's Tail
I
took a long breakfast break, followed by a drive in search of a music
store where I could get some CDs for the rest of the trip. I guess nobody
in Florida listens to music. I got almost all the way to St. Petersburg
without spotting anything — though I did pass three Scotties hardware
stores and a couple of Hooters restaurants. Everybody has their own
priorities, I guess.
I spotted a shopping mall, full
of Gothic teens, looking fashionably dark, aloof and outcast while buying
ice cream. Sure enough, there was a music store that had what I was
looking for. I needed an antidote to Katie's blastings and found a 10-CD
Classical collection in the bargain bin for about twenty bucks. When we
got in the car to go out for dinner that night, the one I had been
listening to started playing. Ed liked what he heard. He knew the opus
number (but got the composer wrong). Still, I was impressed. Didn't figure
him for a longhair. That boy's just full of surprises.
I decided on the itinerary for
the rest of my trip. It wasn't that far to Cape Canaveral (they re-renamed
the geographical feature back from 'Kennedy', but kept it for the facility),
and something told me I need to go there to get background for my story. I
hadn't planned for Sara to visit the cape, but she has a mind of her own
(I wonder if it's possible that authors' characters are similar to the
'virtual agents' I concocted for Sara — nearly independent artificial
intelligence programs that run mostly in the background. Interesting
analogy… Hmm — I see some of you jumping out of your chairs, yelling,
"Of course! That's It! Why didn't I think of that?").
One of Ed's assistants was
working that afternoon, a comely young lass — do I need permission to use
her name? Some of Ed's associates are a little squeamish about my visit
anyway, so maybe I should stick with anonymity. Witches might be excused
for being a little shy, considering certain incidents in their history.
We talked while she bagged some mysterious items.
Her other job was at Weeki
Watchi, a tourist attraction nearby. It's one of those waterparks built
around a natural spring. I remember going to one like it between San
Antonio and Austin when I was a kid. Aquarena Springs was famous for its
mermaid show. So is Weeki Watchi. And my companion for the afternoon was a
mermaid-in-training.
There's a lot of competition
for spots in the shows they did. This particular young lady was exotically
beautiful, with long dark hair. How she kept it so perfect — being
immersed in water half the day — is a mystery. I can still picture her on
a sunlit rock, tail swishing the water as she meticulously combs her luxuriant
tresses with a shell comb.
The training regimen is quite
long and arduous. The park has a significant investment in their
performers before they ever take the plunge before a live audience. The
details are fascinating, from water up the nose to care and handling of
your air hose. Swimming with a costume tail isn't exactly natural, and
there's lip synching to master. She explained how they converted bras to
be parts of their costumes, adding scales to match their tails. Fit is
important. There's a buoyancy problem with that part of their anatomy, you
know.
Ahem. Well, I just had to see
the show. I could wander around the park for a couple of hours and catch
the noon performance, then head out across the state with plenty of time
to see what I wanted in the late afternoon.
Nice park. Lots of watery
activity for the youngsters, with slides and rafts and paddle boats. The
place was crowded. I followed a bunch of old folks (with which Florida is
abundantly supplied) to a boat tour of the river that flows from the
spring. It was damned pleasant, clear water teeming with fish, lots of
birds kept well-fed by our guide, and various critters amongst the cypress
and towering riparian trees festooned with dangling Spanish Moss.
The amphitheater was below the
water level, fronted by large, thick panes of glass. I got a great seat in
the second row, surrounded by kids. The view of the deep, deep spring is
spectacular, and the prop castle and statues make it seem like some
enormous aquarium. The fish are part of the show, entering and exiting on
cue (with the help of a lot of fish snax). Lines of bubbles serve as
curtains.
This season's offering was a
charming adaptation of Hans Christian Andersson's classic story. I once
visited the bronze Little Mermaid in Copenhagen's harbor. She had seemed so small
and frail surrounded by great ships, lonely on her rocky perch, surrounded
by shutterbug tourists. The mermaids in the show were robust and perky,
more Disneyesque than classical. I was fascinated by their, er, buoyancy
problem.
My own mermaid greeted me at
the end of the show. She's just a hostess for now, but is near the end of
her training. Too bad I won't be able to see her perform. Maybe I'll be
back next year.
Next: The Edge of Space
© Patrick Hill, 2000 |