Chapter Sixteen: A Dream Within a Dream
As requested by his friend, Moreau sat on his right, indented couch cushion while having a bowl of split pea soup. He wasn't sure why she insisted on eating the smooth broth, never mind at room temperature, but he did as he was asked. After all, it was the least Moreau could do since Joy pulled him out from the brink of the most self-deprecation that he'd almost drowned himself in.
Moreau watched and listened silently as Joy strolled to and fro, preparing to attend to both of their spills: the shattered cup in the kitchen and the spot by the backdoor where the fish-man had wretched up. He'd offered to help but Joy was stoic about it and pleaded for him to relax and eat the soup that she had brought him.
The busy woman brushed the broom to gather up the shattered cup. Putting all the porcelain pieces from the dustpan into the pail as she had done with the broken plate, she emptied it into one of the refuse barrels. Afterward, on little hands and knees, she wiped and scrubbed the gastric mess on the floorboards with washcloths, soaked with water and vinegar, followed by putting the soiled square towels in the washbasin to soak with clean water and detergent. Then, Joy attended to her next undertaking...
Ultimately, she slowly returned to the living quarters. And with a small huff, she draped the ragged, clean trench-coat onto the rocking chair that she had already moved next to the enzyme wall to dry the vast damp blotches by the fireplace. For it was too coarse and weighty to hang on the clothesline which had been relocated to the kitchen again.
Joy turned to her sitting friend as he was staring down at the slackened spoon in the olive-colored, creamy broth.
"I hope ya don't mind using a teaspoon ta eat da soup? I just know dat it's good ta take smaller mouthfuls'a food after your tummy feels icky."
Moreau glanced up; the corners of his lips arose from hearing Joy's guarded worries for him.
"I don't mind the little spoon, Joy. ...Not... at... all..."
But both his smile and eyes fell, causing his friend to fold her hands with a tilt of the head.
"What's wrong, Mo? Do ya feel icky again?"
Moreau raised his broad head which somehow felt heavier.
"I'm, I'm sorry that I made Joy clean up after me."
The fish-man looked aside at nothing in particular and let out a disgruntled respire. He was extremely disappointed with himself because this was the first time that he'd ever vomited inside their precious, wooden castle.
Now, Moreau knew how his family felt about him and his futile endeavors.
"Please don't be sorry, Mo," remarked Joy, waving her palms. "Nobody made me do anything. I wanted ta clean up. It makes me happy ta help my friend." She grinned sheepishly. "And I wanted ta clean up after me, too."
Moreau's expression lightened before turning his widening sights to the hanging trench-coat and his mouth-line spread upwards even further. It felt quite odd, calmly observing the aged, gray apparel across from him... and not on him. Moreau had forgotten if it'd been another color before time took that away... Didn't it use to be brown? Or was it dark green..?
Nevertheless, the craggy trench-coat appeared better than it had in decades. It was almost shining! His friend had not only removed the malodorous gastric juices from the old leather sleeves, but she managed to get most of the much older stains out, as well.
"Oh! My coat looks... new!" the fish-man exclaimed, overlooking the multiple torn bottom hem. He veered his face toward his friend. "Joy's a super-duper maid!"
Beaming, the young woman rubbed her rosy cheek. "Thanks, Mo! In L.A., I guess being a maid's kinda like my job ta help and take care'a stuff when my mom can't. ...Like when Mom has a hard day or has a cold and isn't feeling great. ...It just took... what Mom always says... some elbow grease."
The center of Moreau's forehead crinkled more so and Joy lifted her hands with a little shrug.
"Uh-huh... I never understood dat, either." Joy pushed up one of her ocean blue sweater sleeves and bent her revealed arm. "My elbows never got greasy or margarine on dem... Well... maybe my fingers a few times when I made toast, but never my elbow."
Assuming margarine was an outsider's diction for butter, Moreau nodded in bewildered kinship as Joy readjusted her sleeve.
"So, how is Mo's tummy feeling now?"
Staying quiet momentarily, Moreau discerned the little polite being happily standing in arm's reach, casually conversing with him with his transmuted torso in full display.
It was all so surreal.
"Mo's tummy feels... good!" The fish-man glimpsed at his bowl. "Why did Joy give me not-hot pea soup? Why not uhhh... gaz-what-cho?"
"Tee-hee-hee! Gazpacho. Dat's too cold for tummies. But I thought'a pea soup 'cause'a my mom's goldfishies."
Moreau blinked twice. "Goldfishes eat soup? Wouldn't they swim in it?"
"Oh my goodness!" tittered Joy with a shake of the head. "I mean dey eat peas. ...Once a week or whenever Yin and Yang don't feel very good, Mom gives dem peeled peas dat're warm as da room..." The young woman whimpered softly, thinking of her finned companions. "I sure hope da pet sitter remembers ta do dat."
"Oh, I'm sure the uhh, pet sitter won't forget," assured Moreau, though he hadn't a clue on who or what a pet sitter was. He doubted sitting on pet fish would be very beneficial for them.
"Really?" peeped Joy hopefully, her smile reemerging.
Moreau retook the little steel utensil, bobbing his head. "Really, really."
Joy emitted a relieved exhalation. "Dat's good, 'cause peas always make Yin and Yang feel much better. So... I thought dat peas would help a part-merman's tummy, too."
She gestured to the fish-man, eagerly eating his soup.
"And I guess I was right!" Joy giggled as her friend began to slurp from his bowl. "Tee-hee-hee! Please take your time, Mo! Tee-hee! Go easy on your tummy!"
"Mmm-hmm! Mmm-hmm!"
Moreau's jagged, toothy grin almost reached his small, malformed ears. Joy was correct; he didn't feel nauseous anymore! And since he was improving... he wouldn't have to worry about his hated-self resurfacing either! His precious person was cleverer than his big, brassy brother!
While Moreau gradually enjoyed his miraculous meal, Joy recommenced her self-appointed duty of cleaning the towels. Once they were hung on the clothesline, she walked back into the living area to check on her friend.
"Did'ja finish da soup, Mo?"
Yes, yes! All done!" declared Moreau proudly, turning the spotless bowl vertically. "Pea soup's my favorite soup!"
Well... starting today it was. Since this was the first time that the fish-man had ever tasted it.
"Yay!" Joy hopped in place. "I'm super glad it is!"
The woman paused for a few seconds and extended an arm, wiggling her fingers as an incentive.
"Umm... I'd like ta clean one more thing... if dat's alright with Mo, a'course."
Moreau laid the teaspoon in the porcelain and put them in his awaiting friend's hands.
"Of course, Joy. But I could have washed them."
"Dat's alright, Mo. I'm happy ta do dat for ya... Umm... but I wasn't talking about cleaning deese."
The fish-man slightly canted his head. "Oh? But everything here is... spic and span. ...What else's there to clean?"
"Ummm..."
With a small, lopsided grin, Joy picked up the handle of the spoon and pointed it straight ahead.
"Ahem... You?"
Pumping the off-grid sink, the woman washed the utensils, bowls, and the plate as Moreau paced back and forth. She had asked him about the rest of his cheese from lunch. Currently not interested in the cultured condensed dairy, Moreau suggested just putting it outside for he had another one. Joy highly approved of the idea because she said the animals must have trouble finding food in the snow. But unbeknownst to the fidgeting fish-man, it was his inner workings that had implanted the idea.
Besides... he had something else paddling in his edgy mind...
"I, I don't need bath-time, Joy!" proclaimed Moreau. "I'm, I'm, I'm... clean!"
He froze while trying to scrunch pointy, dirty toenails.
"I mean... I-I feel fine!"
"I know, Mo, ya told me dat seven times..." Joy tapped a wet finger to her pouted bottom lip. "Or was it eight..?"
With a nonchalant shrug, the woman toweled the dish.
"Anyways, I see wittle icky spots in your hair. Bath-time'll make ya feel even better den just eating da pea soup."
"But, but, but Joy! Wh-What about being personal?"
"Like I promised, I'll stay all da way in da kitchen so ya can be all personal for your bath-time."
Moreau tapped his claws in heavy delayed thinking. A minute passed...
"Oh! I, I don't want Joy to carry all the heavy jugs from the kitchen and refill them because of me! You, you worked enough today. Yes, yes! Prettieded up our lodge with all of your... elbow butter!"
After replacing the plate in the small cupboard, Joy slung the damp towel over the big faucet and fronted her friend. She regarded the wide, pleading eyes and jutted, wide, lower lip; his knitted hands were up to his big, bumpy chin. The young woman smiled. He reminded her of a begging bulldog puppy, yearning for just one more treat.
"Tee-hee... Elbow grease. Ummm..."
The woman's index finger readied to make contact with a puckered lip...
"Oh! No problem, Mo! We can get fresh snow from da porch ta melt instead, so ya still can get prettied up."
Moreau flittered his sights widely. Me? Pretty?
With a deep chortle, he scratched his ruddy, receding hairline. "I, I think that I'd like to be... prettieded, Joy... But there's... a problem."
"What's dat, Mo?" asked Joy, stepping forward.
The fish-man drooped his long limbs until they almost touched the floor while emitting a throaty respire.
"...Me..."
"Huh?" The woman tilted her view of her somber friend. "Um, I don't understand."
"I... I can't move my arms very good." With a hung head, he threw his bulbous, tumorous back a terse and jaded glare. "Bath-time would be... tiring."
The last word was released through a very jaded sigh. Joy's red eyebrows slanted with concern.
"Oh, Mo!" she cooed, taking hold of his hands and rubbing their bony knuckles. "Dares gotta be a way ta get ya squeaky clean... ...Oh my goodness!" She bounced, still keeping her hands connected with his. "I can help with your bath-time!
Moreau elevated his head. "H-H-Huh?"
"Help ya wash your back, your hair, your arms and tummy so ya don't have ta worry about bending and ya can just take it easy and enjoy your bath-time."
Moreau felt warmness return to his agape face. "But... Wh-What about... b-being...?"
"Tee-hee-hee!" the blushing woman accidentally interposed. "Don't worry! Ya can keep your undies on and I'll stay in the kitchen till you're in da wittle bathtub."
Moreau's bottom eyelids arose. "Undies?"
"Y'know... what'cha wear under your pants... Underpants."
The fish-man slowly bowed his head, guessing that those were just outsider terms for drawers. Idly peering down at grimy toes once more, Moreau ruminated again that here he was... A disgusting, jiggling, misshapen nightmare, out in the open and right in front of this amazing, petite, perfect person who simply looked at him like he was anyone else but him.
Moreau's mouth-line rounded dreamily. A warm soak wouldn't have to be a dream anymore...
His reverie was gently interjected by his friend lightly squeezing his hands.
"Mo... I don't wanna be a bossy wossy. If ya don't want a bath, ya don't have ta have one. Umm... Maybe we could try cleaning ya with just da towels?"
Moreau gazed over Joy's fair hands holding his withered ones, then to her supportive smile.
"Bath-time would be... very good, Joy."
Beaming with a delighted gasp, the young woman hopped twice.
"Yay! Squeaky clean!"
Wearing her sunny yellow coat and mittens, Joy stomped through the cabin's front door with the cauldron, chock-full of fresh snow. This required a lot of bending with the shovel, so she put this weighty chore on her shoulders alone to save her friend's back from more soreness. However, he took the task of hanging the cauldron on the wrought iron hooks of the hearth with the curved poker. Joy offered to do it as she'd done beforehand, but he was quite adamant about it and said that the split pea soup made him well.
Wielding the filled black kettle was strenuous, but Moreau paced himself. And his exuberance from Joy's acceptance of his grotesque appearance aided his vigor, as well. The fish-man just wanted to participate in the laborious lifting since his friend had done so much. And true, he would always be cautious whenever Joy hung the cauldron, but he still respected and trusted her smartness and carefulness, too. He'd even given her the key to the front door which made her feel proud and responsible.
Friends trust each other. Moreau could finally identify with this now.
When the water appeared to be warm enough, the fish-man removed the cauldron. And with a dishtowel as makeshift oven mitts, Joy took its handle and after a moment, the pair cautiously poured the melted snow into the bath basin. The filling of the tin tub was a team effort. Reminiscent of what they had accomplished with cooking and when Joy was nervously granted her own bath-time.
The enzyme mound had long since become deliquescent from Moreau adding more kindling that the young woman carried in for him to stoke the hearth. Hence, making their current chores less difficult without the need of circling the green barrier. This time, Joy was able to witness the sea foam shrink into the floorboards and was quite impressed by her proud friend's sea powers.
The busy dual repeated their roles until the big basin was three-fourths full. Joy wished for more water because she felt that it was needed for her bigger friend. He concurred since he told her that he wasn't going to recline and overflow the water.
Not to mention that the fish-man couldn't lie down if his mutated life depended on that rudimentary motion.
Hearing the hesitant rumble of his throat, Joy understood the signal and left for the eatery to give him privacy. Moreau could not undress behind the curtains for his despised, organic baggage would surely tilt him over. He grunted as he retook his place on the brown sofa, followed by a worried glance at the right entry of the kitchen...
No sightings of his perfect, precious person.
Looking over a bumpy abdomen, Moreau tugged at the split rim of his pants and slowly shuffled in place; easing the thin pair off until they fell to his soiled ankles. Wiggling his feet free, Moreau groaned once more, gradually standing up. The woolly undergarment's leggings were timeworn from many seasons. They resembled a poor attempt at being those modern boxer shorts. And the exact color of said boxers... Moreau had no recollection of... whatsoever.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he wobbled his bowed legs to the bath area as promptly as he was able and closed the curtains. It wasn't because he was impatient to become squeaky clean, but the fish-man wanted to avoid spotting his horrific, nearly bare self in the nearby dresser again. He'd considered wishing to shroud the mirror again with the blanket, but he didn't wish for his precious person to be chilled as she slept.
Moreau stood beside the misty tub and his flat, ashen lips curved. After so much time, he was going to be a normal man and have a normal bath!
The fish-man weakly lifted a small foot, but hastily replaced it on the floorboards and stood stock-still. Uneasily, he chewed a lower wide lip, gazing at the beckoning water...
What if he slipped while struggling to get in and hurt his ankle? Then his precious person would have to cater to him: bring him meals and massage his aching foot...
Moreau blinked once with a small yet expanding smirk.
Maybe tripping wouldn't be so bad!
"Are ya ready, Mo?" called out the light and chipper tone from the kitchen.
Moreau shook his head and silly thoughts away.
"Yes! ...And... no..?"
A pause was felt within the little foursquare dwelling.
"Huh?"
Moreau stared longingly at the steamy water. "I'm ready for my bath-time, but, but I don't want to fall while getting in."
"Oh... I see- I mean, I hear!"
The voice went quiet, the fish-man could imagine his super-duper smart friend poking her puckered lip in clever contemplation.
"Oh, I got it, Mo! Ya still behind da pretty curtains?"
Moreau's pupils flitted over the surrounding white cloths. "Yes."
"Great! I'll help ya sit down but I'll close my eyes so ya can stay all personal. Alright?"
Joy is very super-duper smart! thought Moreau with renewed enthusiasm. "All right, Joy. I'm, I'm ready!"
The woman walked into the living area, carrying a big white towel and a smaller one. And when she neared the bath basin, she segregated the drapes with a petite wrist.
"Here, Mo," she said to the large, lumpy silhouette. "Please take my hand. I'll come in with my eyes shut and help ya sit down and won't open dem till ya tell me."
"...Okay," meekly replied her friend.
Once their hands were joined, Joy quietly stepped through the curtains. And despite her blind aid, Moreau's creased cheeks were as rosy as her lips. Getting into water with some garments wasn't new. However, being in the water with a young woman wanting to wash him, most indubitably was.
"Careful, Mo," stated Joy softly as she heard his feet wading in the small body of collected water.
With light trepidation, the fish-man's free hand gripped the basin's side, gradually bending his knobby, soiled knees until he was crouched in the water. All the while, Joy lowered herself as well, to keep her friend balanced.
At length, Moreau allowed his small posterior to tap the bottom, and he shifted his bent legs until his plunged toes neared the far end of the elliptical, tin tub.
"Uugghhh..," Moreau grunted deeply, watching the elevated water fluctuate from his jerky movements and weight; the ripples were almost reaching the border of the basin.
Dang... Just sitting for his bath with his heavily hunched self was a job in itself. However, making contact with the warm water was highly rewarding for his labored legs.
"Ya okay?" questioned Joy with worry as she slightly fumbled with laying down the towels.
"I'm okay..." The fish-man partly turned his head in her direction. "Oh, you can open your eyes now."
Joy fluttered her sights and she beamed hopefully.
"How's da water?" She dipped her fingertips. "It's not too hot for ya?"
Moreau's aches continued to lessen as did his frown. His mouth-line spread higher while regarding his precious person.
"You're perfect- it's perfect! The water's perfect, Joy!" Moreau gave her hand back and clung it to the basin's edge. "Huh-ha-ha..."
With a pleased giggle, the crouching woman averted her eyes fleetingly.
"I'm very glad ta hear dat, Mo!"
She knelt beside the basin and reached for the towels, drawing them closer.
"I think dat we should just use water... So da soap doesn't ummm... burn your eyes, alright?"
Moreau smiled grimly. "...All right."
He knew it wasn't the set of eyes in his head to which she was implying, but the vacant inhuman ones that hideously adorn his tortured back.
"I got soap in my eyes before." Joy squinted from the pained memory. "Not fun."
She held up a dishtowel and the fish-man blinked quizzically.
"Joy? Aren't those towels for dishes? I'm... I'm not a dish..."
"Tee-hee! A'course not!" she giggled, submerging the rectangular cloth. "Dis towel'll work much better den a wittle one or a big bath towel."
The young woman stood on her blue jean-covered knees, bringing up the drenched dishtowel with outstretched, upright arms.
"Uhhh, okay, Joy," agreed her friend, albeit, still confused. "But aren't bath towels... for... Baaattthhsssss..?"
Moreau's sentence faded into a low, lengthy gasp when soothing, warmness trickled along his back. With closed eyelids, a husky drone escaped his parted mouth.
Oh, God! That's wonderful!
"Mo, are ya alright?" queried Joy as she moved the towel away. "Are ya growing a tail?"
Moreau blinked his sights open.
"Wh-What? N-No... I'm not... growing a tail..."
"Oh, darn..," Joy muttered, making a little strike with a fist. "Dat woulda been neat ta see a merman tail."
Clucking his pale tongue, Moreau waved a right index claw. "Uhh-uhh-uhhh! Part-merman... remember?"
"I knooow..." sighed Joy with a bubbly laugh, as she soaked the dishtowel again. "But a girl can still dream."
The fish-man shifted and let his arms slope to his sides, breathing out thankfully for his friend's proficient care. With her, he'd never have to worry about growing a tail ever again!
Joy readied to squeeze the dishtowel. "And dis doesn't hurt?"
Serenely, Moreau looked at her. "My back usually hurts so much... But this..." His beam heightened. "This is nice!"
The woman's countenance harmonized with her appeased friend and she resumed dripping water over his vast oddity of ruddy lumps and bulges, followed by gently rubbing his face and upper torso. She chortled along with him when she circled his rotund belly.
"Tee-hee-hee, somebody's tummy is ticklish!" Joy dipped the towel. "I'm gonna pour water on your hair now, so could'ja close your..?"
Moreau's eyes were already enclosed by very relaxed lids.
"Tee-hee, thanks, Mo." Joy held the cotton cloth over the top of his bare scalp. "Just... put your head back a bit, please..."
"Mmm-hmmm..," drawled her friend as she wrung and pressed the warm towel.
Moreau could not believe it. Was this truly happening? Was he really receiving a warm, normal wash?! Not in a cold, murky reservoir with shocked, belittling fishermen nor within an icy lake with terrified fish and nearby wildlife; even after he changed back to himself. Yes, the fish-man's hunched and heavy posture would always be his misery. But right now, this was the best that he had ever felt for nearly an eternity.
Joy scanned over his contented expression and her pearly whites were unveiled from her large smile.
"See!" she squealed while shuffling around to wash his other arm. I knew dat ya'd like getting squeaky clean!"
Moreau could only answer with another drawn-out hum as he enjoyed the placating water and the caressing of the small hand enveloped by the soft towel, brushing down his left limb.
"Oh, dis's sooo pretty!"
Moreau partially opened his eyelids from the young woman's impressed comment.
"Hmmm? What's pretty, Joy?"
"Da paintings on your arm!" she stated, blinking with admiration at the anchor art on his forearm, but especially at the above jellyfish which was etched on his upper limb.
She traced a damp fingertip over the little banner that was etched across the inked sea animal.
"'Mother..,'" she read sweetly. "Awe, I bet your mom was so proud dat ya got dis just for her!"
The fish-man's dreamy smile narrowed as he peered at the aforementioned tattoo.
"I... I don't think M-Mother liked it. ...She, she never said anything..."
Joy pouted her lips in thought. "Well... maybe she was just super-duper busy doing mom stuff... Or 'cause'a your coat, she couldn't see your pretty paintings."
"Maybe," Moreau responded lowly.
When he wasn't working at her behest, Mother Miranda had always seemed to be preoccupied whenever he tried to gain a sliver of her attention. And the fish-man swore that he had the tribute created very long ago... Well before he had to cloak his ugliness.
But then, the strength in Moreau's smile returned; because of how Joy referred to his tattoos as paintings. Plus, she said they were pretty, too.
The woman resumed rubbing the dishtowel over his arm. "I know dat my mom would love it."
Moreau swerved milky white sights directly at his friend. She had used that word again.
"She-She w-would? R-Really?"
"Uh-huh, really, really! Mom loves jellyfish. She calls dem sea-angels. ...Dey kinda are when ya think about it." Joy soaked the towel. "I mean, da sea has seahorses, so why not sea-angels?"
Moreau bobbed his head with an agreeable grin and a pleased sigh. A mother loves them, too...
This was completely logical to his ocean-adoring psyche. The fluid, graceful movements of the gelatinous beauties in the shows on his video box were proof that they were true angels of the sea!
"Oh my GOODNESS!" Joy squealed suddenly.
The fish-man blinked profoundly at her, instigating an embarrassed giggle.
"Oopsie! Sorry, Mo, tee-hee!"
Letting go of the towel, Joy gently raised her friend's thin wrist and signaled to the item below the chain-link, buckskin cuff. It was a concatenated assortment of pebbles, beads, and a silver fishbone charm...
Moreau's sailor bracelet.
"Dis's very pretty, too!" exclaimed the young woman while marveling at the shiny bangle with careful fingertips. "Did'jur mom get dis for you?"
"Uh, no," responded Moreau. "Dat isn't... Mother's gift... I'd foundeded it... uhhhhh... somewhere."
Bright green orbs shined excitedly. "Dat's so neat! Did'ja find it and da big brown sleeve in da ocean?"
Swaying his kneecaps, Moreau's eyes tapered as his profound brow crumpled. He couldn't recall where he had gotten the cuff. However, a fuzzy but strong flashback of himself, in a body of water, arose. He was most likely in his tweens, swimming in the Village reservoir. At the very bottom of the artificial lake, Moreau spotted something silvery and light. And like an agile otter, the lean boy took another breath and dove downwards into the darkness for the glittery prize.
Fluttering his lash-less lids, Moreau's awareness returned to his awaiting friend.
"I know that I saw the bracelet underwater," he answered, pleased with himself for finally recovering a happy memory.
"Wow!" Joy's curved lips opened broadly. "It must be amazing ta be part-merman!"
Moreau looked over his elevated webbed hand and hummed flatly.
"Not really... but..." His mien beamed. "...it's, it's amazing that Joy is here."
With pink-tinted, raised cheeks, the beaming woman gently placed his arm down and pulled out the dishtowel to resume his bath.
"Thanks, Mo."
"Joy is most welcome."
After the woman rubbed the long cloth over his fingers and palm, she washed under the blushed fish-man's massive, lump-filled jaw and neck. His eyelids slid down once more, allowing his head to crane up slightly, while his big voice box droned loudly in sheer bliss from the soothing caresses.
Back when the former Lord of the Reservoir had endured that frightful vision of his death by the sassy blonde man, he wanted out of that nightmare more than anything.
But presently, not once, did he debate on pinching his soothed skin to alert a pacified consciousness.
I don't want this to stop! Oh, it feels so great!
For if this was a dream, then be darned, the Lord of the Lodge would never wake up.