My father was a teacher. He was also a skilful sculpturer who preferibly
would use clay - which is also the basic material for the famous pottery
from the little village "Vietri sul Mare" where Jamie used to live.
I spend my infancy standing by him outside the terrace, observing my father
shaping grey clay into statues.
The dump block would stay covered with a wet towel for days, until the
sculpture had been finished.
Only then, my father would let it dry in the open air. He taught me that you
need to leave a hole, a vacuum inside, to prevent the clay to break. Failure
to do so, would result into fatal crevices and irreparable fractures of the
structure.

One day, I fantasised about Jamie doing the same as my father, modelling
with his thumbs a piece of clay to create something out of a shapeless
block. I found the idea very attractive so I went to one of the many small
family factories of pottery, up in the village,  and bought a
big piece of clay. I loaded it in the back bonnet of my new bright green
Diane 6 and went straight to Jamie's house, up the hill on Vietri sul Mare.
That day, he heard my car's suspensions jolting on the gate's frame. He was
very happy of my initiative and started working at his statue the same
night.

The day after I saw on the kitchen table the mermaid. She was slender,
seated with her tail coiled under the still visible knees; She had long wavy
hair and breasts made perfect. One could see the inguinal shallowness where
her thighs would join into the sheath of her tail. The face was tiny and
gentle. A very fine little piece of amateur sculpturing.
The mermaid's body resembled at the same time me and Jamie. She had the
features of the two of us.
I checked the structure. He had left no gap inside. I foresaw a disaster and
told Jamie that it would one day the mermaid would have broken, sure enough.
I had witnessed so many similar breakdowns in my father's early  attempt at
sculpturing. Was it too late or there was still a possibility to create that
internal  vacuum?
The little statue was put on the window sill to dry up at the puffs of the
September sea-breeze.
The process of drying up already caused her one crevice at her waist.
Some glue was used to repair the damage.
I said the statue should have been taken to a local pottery factory to be
put in an oven and cooked. It was never done and she remained "untreated".
Another hint for her future dissolution.

Few months later, Jamie had to move house. He rented an antique flat in the
"Centro storico", at underground level of a beautiful but decayed 17th
Century palace with arches, vaults, a courtyard, palm trees and
pomegranates.
He moved all his staff from the flat in Vietri (which faced the sea front)
to this new amazing town location, using his old light blue Diane 6 as a
van. When he took all the staff into the new house, he forgot to carry in
also the carton box where he had stored the little statue of the mermaid.
The car became her new house. From time to time we would check how safe she
was there. She seemed in reasonably good health.
On a Christmas break, Jamie went back to Liverpool to visit his parents and
left the blue Diane in my care. During his absence, I was invited by
Jonathan Holland (Jamie's best friend and university colleague) to go and
spend some evenings in his flat in Vietri sul Mare, a few buildings away
from Jamie's old apartment on the sea coast, which was located as I said on
a small hill, one hundred metres above the sea.
One evening I parked the blue Diane's down in the village square and
ventured up, to visit Jonathan. While being there, it started raining, In a
few minutes, a terrible wind arose from the sea, lifting waves of 15 metres.
The sky became dark as lead and lowered down oppressing the sea-line. In
half an hour strong waves had brushed away all the bathing huts of the many
lined up "stabilimenti", the sea had broke beyond the screen of the cliffs,
invading the village square, so that the new edging of the sea was now the
foot of the stairs which would lead to the houses on the hill. All the cars
parked in the square had disappeared under the water. Only the solitary top
of a lean and gaunt palm tree, set in the very centre of the square, would
emerge from that unbelievable inundation. There was no way of leaving the
village. So I staied the night at Jonathan's house. The day after the rain
had  calmed down, and the local people would navigate around the square on
small boats to check where the hell their cars had gone underwater. I
horrified at the though of Jamie's beloved old light blue Diane 6 - left in
my heartless care - to have been sucked back by the tide into the sea and
gone lost for ever, with all his  precious belonging neglected in the bonnet
of the car. I had completely forgotten about the mermaid and had no thought
of her. On the phone with Liverpool, the same day, feeling almost
responsible fo that sea-storm, as if it was caused by my carelessness,  I
explained to Jamie what was the matter and that I hadn't seen his Diane 6
out of  the waters, yet. He was very worried and upset.
But the sea was  clement, and gave back Jamie his dear old car. The winter
sun soon healed all the damages and dried up the water in the engine's
pipes, leaving here and there nice traces of fine sand. He thought that
misadventure was not all bad, after all, since the front and rear seat
covers looked now cleaner, well washed. But when he opened the baggage-rack,
looking for the carton box contained the mermaid, he realised she had
dissolved away.
I said "You'll make another one". But a new one was never made.

Erminia


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