The Old Man and the Nibiinabe
by Alicia Peterson
The frigid early-summer water of Lake Superior nips at Samuel’s body like an ornery horse. He accepts that as a welcome—he’s seen much worse from the beast in his 85 years.
He wades in and swims south, following the shoreline. Alone. This is foolish, but it’s time. Today marks the end of his quest, one way or another.
He was twenty the first time he ventured too far and met his Friend. The creature sat, calm and impossible, on a rock offshore. At first, Samuel assumed it was another swimmer, but they didn’t wave back. He looked closer, and the breath caught in his throat.
Wonderstruck.
Rising waves forced him to turn for shore, but too late. He would have drowned if his Friend hadn’t followed and buoyed him up.
That summer and the next, he swam the shoreline every week. His Friend never reappeared. But not once did Samuel foolishly go so far as the rock again.
By then he had met Ellen. They married, and his quest became monthly. Their daughter arrived, and it slowed to yearly. Anything more felt out of place, like bar-hopping or cruising in his ’55 Chevy.
He often told his tale over a few beers, or after yet another budget meeting. Anytime he ached for a world filled with magic.
The rock is barely visible now. Was it always so far? He puts his head down and strokes.
It was Ellen who named the creature. You tell more stories about your Friend than anyone else!
She was wrong. He’s always talked more about her. Especially now that she’s gone.
The rock is close now. Fatigue blankets Samuel’s body. He might not make it back without help. But he knew that going in.
He treads water and squints through myopic eyes. Does that shadow to one side have a familiar shape?
Samuel’s breath catches with the wonder he’s dearly missed.
It’s him.
Only—different.
The merman of his memory was smooth, broad-shouldered, and eternally young, with a rakish scar above one eye. Free in a way that captivated and terrified Samuel. Everything he dreamed of becoming—aside from the tail.
The creature before him now has the same tail, strong and prehistoric like a lake sturgeon. The same scar.
And yet.
The merman’s long hair is white. His muscles have soft, lived-in edges. His scales are duller than Samuel remembers.
He’s more brother than legend now. Calling him “Friend” feels genuine for the first time.
Samuel never considered what he would do now. Say thank you? Poor payment for fulfilling an old dreamer’s quest.
He raises one arm in greeting. In memory of who they were. In recognition of all they have become. It’s not much, but it’s all he has.
The merman—his Friend—salutes back.
It’s enough.
Samuel’s strength is nearly gone. With a parting nod, he turns and strokes limply toward shore.
A man his age, swimming this far in open water? If he survives, he’ll be the stuff of legend.
Lake Superior Writers 