Why Mermaids don't have feet.

Years and years ago when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I was at Drama school, we were doing a Brechtian chorus as part of our end-of-year show.  (Don’t be intimidated by “Brechtian chorus.” Basically, what it means is there was a speech at the end of a play by Bertolt Brecht, and each of the students was given one line to say as we stood as a chorus.)

I had the second to last line. I still remember it now. It was, “And where you have recognized an abuse…” after which, the entire cast would join in with “Provide a remedy.”

It was a play called, ‘The Exception and the Rule’ - part of Bertholt Brecht’s Lehrstücke -and many of the students felt very very smart just to be doing it. It's not a long play but it definitely packs a punch.

It's the story of a Merchant and his Servant traveling through a fictional desert. When they get lost and are dying of thirst, the Servant reaches for his water flask to offer the Merchant the last of his water. The Merchant shoots the Servant believing that the Servant was reaching for a weapon planning to kill him. Once out of the desert, the Merchant is on trial for the Servant’s murder. The Judge rules that the Merchant treated the Servant so badly, that it would seem only reasonable that the Servant would want to kill him, and so the Merchant could reasonably be acting in self-defense.

It's a play about the abuse of the poor by the rich and of the vulnerable by those in power.

Like I say, it packs a punch.

Anyway, in rehearsals the chorus mostly worked fine. It was clunky in places, but once it set up a rhythm, and student after student delivered their line, it was pretty effective. And when I delivered my line in my broad Scottish accent, “And where you have recognized an ahbyooooooos,” and the answering call of ‘Provide a remedy” came, we were all ready to paint our faces blue like Mel Gibson in Braveheart.

There was one girl who struggled a bit though. She was quite a gentle soul. She was brilliant at so many things and had the singing voice of an angel. But when confined to her speaking voice, she was like a mermaid on dry land. She struggled remembering lines, and wasn’t the most natural actor.

Having spent most of her life like a fish out of water, she was happy to take a light ribbing about it and mostly laughed along. But there were a couple of VERY SERIOUS students in class, who saw her struggles somehow as a reflection on them, and didn’t find her missteps funny at all.

On the day of the performance, everyone was bristling with excitement. Vocal warm-ups were happening, and a lot of general posturing, and thinking of Brechtian thoughts. And the play began, and it was all going smoothly.

It felt great to be telling a story that mattered. Even though we were all just 2nd-year drama students, we felt that just by being in something that had been so cleverly constructed, meant we were doing something important

And then we gathered for the chorus to bring the play to its conclusion and line after line, each student delivered their weighted piece of the Lehrstucke:

You have seen what is common.

What continually occurs.

But we ask you:

Even if it’s not very strange,

Find it estranging

Even if it is usual

Find it hard to explain….

The message was effective. The audience were focused. The atmosphere was intense.

And then suddenly the chorus came to an abrupt stop. And there was silence.

The chorus waited. The audience waited - wondering if this was yet another spiffy wee Brechtian trick. But as the silence grew longer, it was clear there was trouble and not a trick at all.

The chorus shuffled awkwardly, and shot accusatory side-eye at one another, demanding the criminal who had forgotten their line, speak up.

I knew who the line belonged to. It was the Mermaid. I knew it, and so did the person whose line was directly after the Mermaid.

But that person was a VERY SERIOUS student. Her face like fizz, she had evidently decided that she would not say her line until the line before hers had been said. Because there was no way she wanted the audience to think she had been the one who had messed up. She wanted them to know the guilty party was the Mermaid.

The Mermaid, meanwhile, was blissfully oblivious. Just enjoying being part of something, and from a slightly different planet, clearly it would be a while (if indeed ever at all) before she said her line. So the silence continued.

I am not great with uncomfortable silence, and I am completely not a stranger to people thinking I’m an idiot. So, after what felt like an eternity, in my best ‘actory’ voice I announced, “And where you have recognized an abuse..” to which the chorus responded with eager and enthusiastic gusto, “Provide a remedy.”

And the show ended five minutes early.

Afterwards, everybody had a lot of words to say. The nods and sympathetic smiles I received from audience members who saw the fault as mine, were balanced by relieved thanks from my castmates.

For the Mermaid though, there was no such balance. There was much judgy speak towards her, and a cluster of anger that did not subside no matter how much she earnestly and repeatedly apologized.

And I remember thinking it was out of whack.

Sure the Mermaid screwed up, but the problem only became worse because the VERY SERIOUS student wouldn’t pick up the slack, in case she lost face. Didn’t she play a role in it too?

I wondered what Brecht would have made of it. Lehrstucke indeed.

For my own part, I learned and made peace with the knowledge that I would never be the smooth and sophisticated, smart person in the room. My future was destined to always be in the realms of the ridiculous, because other things bother me much more than looking stupid.

None of us are the exception to the rule of screwing up. Sometimes it’s other people. Sometimes it’s me. Some screw up more than others. But we all take a turn. I'm good with that. That is life. It's the move that's made after the screw-up that determines what character you are in the narrative.

In my Drama School years, I felt such hopelessness for the Mermaid and what the future had in store for her. But over the years my view has changed. The Mermaid was kind and gentle and sang like an Angel. Her music brought beauty to the world. She had worth. The VERY SERIOUS student had only outrage. And outrage is disposable, hopeless, and cheap. What possible future can come from that?

After the Drama School show, the Mermaid took time to thank me. Her face red from tears and shame, she said she hoped one day she’d help me. I think I knew even then, that she already had.

Never let a group identity be so strong that you forget about your own individual values within it. No matter what the chorus proclaims to be the right and only way, we are each of us entirely accountable for our own behavior.

Vulnerability is an opportunity for us to find our better selves. The step after the misstep is the one that really matters. Our worth is based on what we give to the world, not on what we take.

I'm no Brecht, but had I a group of earnest 2nd-year drama students handy, that would be the chorus I’d give them.

Till next week, Xo

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