Meeting by the Lake

My grandfather, Ivan, told me this story. He was a stern man, had been through the war, and wasn't much of a writer.

It happened in Ukraine, in the Poltava region. After the war, my grandfather got a job as a postman, and he worked there until his retirement. He traveled around his assigned territory in a cart pulled by an old gelding. He usually returned at dusk, but that day, after returning from the post office, he developed a severe headache, lay down, and slept almost until evening. It was getting late, and he had to deliver the mail. He had to harness the horse.

When he returned, the moon was already shining. Part of the road ran along the lake, and at one point there was a bridge where men were fishing. My grandfather noticed a woman with long hair sitting on the bridge with her back to him. Her hair was long, covering almost her entire back, and the lower half of her body was submerged in the water. So she just sat there, but the woman was crying so hard that he wanted to howl himself. Grandfather started to attach the reins to the special handle so he could get off the cart and see what had happened, but the old horse, who had never run before, bolted so fast that Ivan almost fell off.

Grandfather turned back to the woman—he saw her, and she turned around. He froze—it wasn't a person, but something incomprehensible: an angry, bared-snarl face, long, tangled hair, naked to the waist, and whatever was below was writhing so that the water around her bubbled like a geyser. She dove under the water, and the water rippled toward him. And the horse didn't need urging—it galloped and bucked all the time, as if someone was biting it...

Grandfather said that during the war, when he was clearing mines from the rails, he wasn't as afraid as he was that night. And he kept repeating: “Now believe the fairy tales that mermaids are beautiful!”