"Salmon... Salmon everywhere..." Peedee moaned, almost comically.

The poor lad was in absolute shock after bing nearly drowned by the school of salmon. This combined with the gash that the mermaid had cut in the cast net was why Mr. Fisherman had decided to call it a day several hours early. Thus, the family was now rowing back to shore without having caught a single thing. And the worst part was that Mr. Fisherman held Ronaldo entirely responsible.

Ronaldo, of course, was in far too good a mood to care or even notice. He had seen a real mermaid with his own eyes. And she was far more beautiful than he had ever imagined a mermaid could be. Nothing could ruin this day for him.

As soon as the boat was docked, Mr. Fisherman marched his sons inside, torn between being gentle with Peedee and rough with Ronaldo.

"Wait for me in your room," he said to Ronaldo once they were upstairs. He then marched off to put Peedee to bed.

Even knowing he was in for a very firm talking to, Ronaldo was still beaming. He went to his room, eager to be alone with his thoughts. At first he thought to draw a sketch of her in his journal, but quickly decided against it. A creature that beautiful deserved to be drawn properly, on a clean, proper sized sheet of paper and painted with all the right colors to enhance her beauty. He ran over to his desk, withdrew paper, paint, and brushes, and, forcing his trembling hand to steady, began work on his masterpiece.

Ronaldo had every detail of the mermaid memorized and was intent on making her appear on paper exactly as he had seen her in life. He was so very deep in thought that the sudden sound of the door being thrust open almost made the hand holding his brush jerk. Thankfully it hadn't and his painting was spared, but it did not stop him being unhappy.

"Alright, Ronaldo Fisherman," said his father's angry voice from behind him. "I want an explanation and I want it now."

"Well for starters, I'd appreciate it if you'd knock in future," said Ronaldo, who was on a completely different subject than the one his father was on. "As you can see, I'm in the middle of something very important and I'd rather not be interrupted," he added, showing his father the half-finished painting of the mermaid.

Mr. Fisherman stared blankly at the picture and then at his son.

"I know. It's pretty good, huh? Just wait until it's finished," said Ronaldo, misinterpreting his father's stunned look.

"Don't you have any shame?" Mr. Fisherman asked, suddenly angry again. "You ruin our entire day before the clock strikes noon and then you come back here and doodle? What's the matter with you?"

"I'm not doodling, Dad," Ronaldo explained. "I am recreating the beautiful image I saw this morning. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get it done while the image is still fresh in my mind," he added, indicating that he wanted to be alone.

Mr. Fisherman stared at his eldest son looking dumbfounded.

"Dad? Did you hear me?" Ronaldo asked. "I said I've got work to do..."

"I heard you!" his father snapped. "I wish I hadn't though. First of all, I'm in charge in this house and no conversation's over until I say it is. And second, what the heck do you mean by, 'beautiful image'?"

"The mermaid, of course," said Ronaldo, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Excuse me?" he finally said.

Ronaldo looked at his father as though he thought he was the crazy one. "The mermaid, Dad. The one that rescued all those salmon from our net. You know. She had long brown hair that flowed every which way, eyes that shone so brightly they put stars to shame, and the most gorgeous tail..."

Before Ronaldo's description of the mermaid could become too rich in detail, Mr. Fisherman cut him off.

"Okay, let me see if I understand you. You saw... a mermaid?" he said slowly, not sounding even slightly convinced.

"Come on. You were there. You were in the water. You can't tell me you didn't see her too," said Ronaldo, starting to get upset that his father was being so slow to grasp all of this.

"I didn't have time to see anything. I was too busy trying to save your brother from drowning," his father retorted. "And that's another thing. When I tell you to help us with anything, you help. Do you realize that Peedee almost drowned because you were slacking off and acting careless?"

"How is that exclusively my fault? You could've helped too, you know," said Ronoldo defiantly.

Ronaldo would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from his father's eyes.

"Don't you turn this around on me!" Mr. Fisherman bellowed. "I had to step away from him to stop you from lollygagging! So because of you, we have no catch, our cast net's ruined, and your bother's lying in bed with... post-traumatic salmon disorder! Does any of that mean anything to you?"

"Dad, the net wasn't my fault," said Ronaldo impatiently. "I told you, it was the mermaid. She cut the fish free with some kind of rock..."

"Enough of this mermaid talk!" roared Mr. Fisherman.

"She was there, Dad. I saw her with my own eyes," Ronaldo insisted.

Mr. Fisherman held up a hand to silence him. "Ronaldo. Just stop," he said through gritted teeth.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere with his father, Ronaldo finally and reluctantly obliged. For a moment that contained an eternity, neither of them spoke. Then Mr. Fisherman broke the ugly silence.

"Now let's just get one thing straight," Mr. Fisherman said, pointing a quivering finger at his son. "I'm not gonna stand for this any longer. You're always daydreaming and fantasizing and it's distracting you from your work and your family. Well it ends now. It's time you got your head out of the clouds and started acting your age. And if not, I'm bringing the hammer down. Understand?"

"Yes, okay?" said Ronaldo exasperatedly.

It was as good as, if not worse than, a no. His father glared at him, clearly not happy with his tone.

Ronaldo cleared his throat and said in the most polite voice he could muster, "Yes, Sir."

"Alright then," said Mr. Fisherman, nodding his approval. "And to make sure you have time to think about what you did, I want you on dry land. Starting now and ending when I say, you'll be doing chores and running errands instead of fishing with me and your brother."

Ronaldo's immediate thought was that that didn't sound like a punishment at all. On the contrary, he would've much preferred spending the days by himself than being stuck in a boat with his father yelling at him all day. He was just about to say this when the realization of what this meant hit him like a ton of bricks.

"But wait," he said. "If I can't go fishing then that means I won't be able to see the..."

His father shot him a look that said, "Say the 'm' word. I dare you." Ronaldo fell silent at once.

"You heard what I said. I don't want you in or near that boat until further notice," Mr. Fisherman said sternly. "Doing chores around here will teach you not to shirk. Besides, there's no way I'm trusting you with my fishing gear after today."

"Fine," said Ronaldo bitterly.

"Good. I'll leave you a list of chores first thing in the morning," said Mr. Fisherman, turning to leave the room. "Now the conversation's over," he added. And he walked off, shutting the door behind him.

Now alone, Ronaldo let out a snarl. It was not fair. He had actually seen a real life mermaid today and now he was being ordered never to see her again by a man who did not even believe in such things. Ronaldo banged his fist against his desktop in frustration. Why was his father so stubborn? Why did he have to ruin everything for everyone else? Why was he so very stuck in his own ways and unwilling to welcome new ideas? Ronaldo thought (ironically) that it was good that these things skipped a generation.

Then he looked down at his unfinished mermaid painting and felt his spirits lift. If he couldn't see the mermaid himself, at least he would have this picture to remember her by. And so, unruffled by his father's reprimand, Ronaldo got right back to work. He picked up his brush and painted and painted, not sparing a single detail that he recalled.

It was nearly supper time by the time he'd finished. He sat there and admired his work. It was his best yet. He'd created almost an exact replica of the mermaid herself. Every physical feature had been drawn and colored to perfection, from the piercing blue of her eyes to the sea green of her tail. Ronaldo couldn't help but sit and gaze, mesmerized by her beauty.

"I just wish I knew your name," he said wistfully.