«I'm afraid I'm terrible at dancing» Sangreal replied quickly «I'm sorry. I'm sure there are hundreds of men who want to dance with you, but their skills are certainly superior to mine»

«I don't test dancers. I do it for fun» Marti laughed, shaking her head «You're really a type, you know that?»

«A type of what?" Sangreal blinked, his very long, dark lashes curling, almost touching his cheeks

«A type of... guy... a guy. An interesting guy»

«Thank you, Martine Panorme»

«Can I ask you a question?»

«You can ask me more than one, actually» Sangreal smiled «But didn't you say there'd be music?»

«Oh, sure... Seraphin, if you don't mind...»

Seraphin ran to turn on the stereo. They had a good system: each of the sisters had put in a little of her own money, together they had reached a reasonable amount to buy a top-of-the-line system. The speakers, which Nana had decorated with her usual stickers of long cats, flying saucers, alien cows, and fiery cacti, were over two feet tall.

«I have a record from overseas» Seraphin said «Do you like American music?»

«Do Americans make music?» Sangreal replied, his tone half ironic, half disgusted

«Come on, are you skeptical? I know I'm the way things are for them, trapped in the loop and all, but there's this artist, Hawk Storm, who has the voice of an angel»

«Then let's listen to this angel».

While Seraphin searched for the record, Martine sat down on a chair next to Sangreal, who smiled at her and asked «So, this question you had to ask me?»

«Oh, sure! So, I wanted to know if you're from here, if you're French. You speak impeccably, don't get me wrong, but your... last name... doesn't sound local»

«Oh, I'm French» Sangreal took a deep breath, placing his hands on his thighs and pushing until his shoulders reached below his ears, then relaxed «However, I live in a very sparsely populated area, and my people have traditions that yours don't follow. Culturally, I'm afraid I'm a little different from you» 

«How fascinating! Where do you come from?»

«From the sea?»

«From the sea? From an island?»

«No, not an island. An island is still dry land, right? No, I mean the water, the sea»

«Were you born on a ship?»

«No».

Seraphin, who had finally found the CD and pressed play (a complicated overture, with flute arabesques, had begun), intercepted the conversation.

«I believe there is a community that lives in a sort of... village made out of waste» He said «I think I read about it in a book. It was a bit old, so maybe it wasn't entirely accurate, but it talked about these seafaring people who use metal, wood, but above all plastic, which is a very precious commodity to them, to build their houses»

Sangreal nodded, smiling.

«Them» He said «My house is entirely made of what you'd call 'recycled materials»

«Good thing my brother's a blockhead who's always reading» Nana joked

«Oh, he's definitely obsessed with studying»

Seraphin sighed, spreading his arms.

«You too? You too, you too against me, Sangreal? My sisters weren't enough to call me a blockhead!» 

«Your head is peculiarly big» Sangreal, as if suddenly realizing what he'd said, put his hands out in front of him «But I think it's because your hair is big and your shoulders are narrow»

«You understand» Martine added, smiling «You have narrow shoulders» 

«You too?!» Seraphin flopped onto the couch as if he'd been shot, legs wide apart, then turned his head toward the speakers «Oh, I love this song»

«Ahhh, eyes of the sea and hair of ink,

queen who appears from the waves like a man's dream,

how many voices speak of you?

How many voices sing of you?

Beautiful, beautiful as the sun, she descends from the steps overlooking the sea,

and with her gaze she tames the dogs and calls the hawks...».

«Stairway to the Sea» Martine said, closing her eyes «Wasn't that by another singer?»

«Fredericka Hollow» Seraphin confirmed «Hawk Storm did this cover, though, and I really like it»

«You look like Hawk Storm»

«I wish» Seraphin smiled, tucking his chin into his chest «He's definitely a really, really hot guy».

Sangreal remained silent, listening to the music, his hands now quietly in his lap, his hawk-like profile slightly leaning toward the speakers, his eyes half-closed and sparkling like someone waiting for something.

«The people of the sea speak of her,
like a dream or a goddess,
like a saint or a sinner:
Who tore the wings from the herring gull?
Who brought abundance to the nets?
Look toward the rocks, where the water foams:
on the steps of the sea you will see the lady»

«You live on the sea» Martine said «It must be of enormous importance to you. I mean, we couldn't understand certain things about you, but now it makes sense, doesn't it, Sangreal?»

«Huh? Were you talking to me?» the man straightened his back «Forgive me, I wasn't paying attention»

«I was saying that, given where you live, it's easy to think why you're so familiar with rare fish, like the oarfish»

«Ah, yes. They're very rare, and I understand that most people who live on land can go their entire lives without seeing one. A bit like me, who's never seen a lion»

«Lions aren't very common»

«Nor are oarfish»

«Right» Martine nodded «So... I'm curious... what's it like to live at sea?»

«Eat a chip» Nana interjected, pushing a bowl (decorated with a plethora of stickers) toward Sangreal.

«Hm... a... chip... I'll eat it now... anyway, it's not as easy as it seems, living at sea. There's that old song, right? At the bottom of the sea, at the bottom of the maaar... you know that song?» The man's voice, when he sang, was warm and full, melodious, slightly scratchy, and even the childish lyrics of an old cartoon song sounded like poetry when they left his lips «That whole thing about the colorful fish and how there's peace under the sea, let me tell you, is propaganda».

Seraphin laughed. Sangreal glared at him.

«I'm serious, Serapin. There are things you don't know. You read about us in an old book for a reason: we were erased from history. You won't find my people in the newspapers these days. Or in a documentary. I think it's convenient, not having to get involved in other people's troubles»

«Oh. I'm sorry. I thought... I thought it was a joke» Seraphin apologized, almost slurring, his face purple with embarrassment «Because, you know, because you were talking about a cartoon crab, I thought it was... a joke...»

«It wasn't»

«I'm sorry»

«It's not...» Seraphin took a very deep breath, as if trying to calm himself, and at the end of it his voice sounded relaxed and invigorated «It's okay, Seraphin. Like you said yourself, you couldn't have known»

«Your people» Celestine said «Do they have a name?»

«Um... that's a good question. We simply call ourselves 'the people'»

«Many people call themselves that» Martine nodded «They refer to themselves as 'the people,' and then the rest of the world knows them by their word for 'the people'» 

«We're probably no different. But we speak French; we can't just call ourselves 'the people.' I think they've given us countless names over time, but many of them are lost to the memory of past generations. There are still some that are used, some names they used on old maps, when they drew us in unexplored areas of the ocean, as a reminder of the strangeness and danger of unknown places»

«Wow» Seraphin leaned over to turn the knob and lower the music a bit, to better hear Sangreal's words «And what do they call you?»

«I have to remember» the man frowned, raising a hand to his thick red hair «There were at least... at least a couple... one had to do with snakes, the other was a name... biblical, I think»

«I have a Bible!» Nana exclaimed, opening a kitchen drawer

«And why do you keep it there?» Celestine asked

«Because I want to make all the recipes in the Bible!»

«Are there recipes in the Bible?»

«I don't know, but I'm determined to find out step by step. Oh, here it is... could you find the name of your people in the Bible?».

Sangreal put a hand to his mouth, his fingers almost closed, his index finger curved, smiling.

«I'm afraid not» He said «A Bible has many words»

«But do you remember roughly where in the Bible it was?»

«It's a fish that ate a little boy, I think. Or did something bad, anyway. I think»

«A fish that… okay, someone take out your phone and look for it! Let’s see if I get there first with the Bible, or you with your phones! Three, two, one… go!».

All the sisters, except Nana, took out their smartphones and began searching.

«Could it be the leviathan? The one that ate Jonah?» Marti asked, even though she hadn’t found anything about it yet «I’m looking for it, and I think ‘fish eating a little boy’ is a good description of the leviathan»

«Ah! I know where to find it!» Nana grinned «I bookmarked it, because usually where there’s a fish, there’s also a fish recipe!»

«One: I don’t think there are any fish recipes in the story of Jonah. And two: a whale isn’t a fish, right?»