‘She was determined to leave. She would not stay. The fisherman pleaded. He was a man in love and she was a mother. This was a happy home. ‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘You are all happy, but I am out of place. I belong in the water.’’ ‘‘You are my wife,’’ he said. And so it went on until he shouted, ‘‘I should have burnt that skin, destroyed it once and for all, instead of hiding it. I will burn it now.’’

‘She fought him for the skin. They tugged and tussled, but he was stronger, and the skin fell with a thud into the fire. She dived after it and, although he pulled her out, much damage was done. Her skin was badly scorched, her beautiful face deformed and ugly. Watching her sealskin burn to ashes, she screamed in anguish as if she were the one dying.

‘From that day onwards, the fisherman no longer had a beautiful wife. Instead he had a bitter, ugly presence in his home, one that forever wished him ill and brought him bad luck.

‘After Nathan finished telling the captain the story of the selkie, he crept into his bedding below deck with thoughts of that beautiful woman who was on the land human and in the water seal. He was woken in the middle of the night by a warm, soft creature who put her arms around him and pressed her breasts against his body. She was molten and her heated breath was what had first woken him. She promised him that if he gave her his body, she would melt his chains. She was fire, she explained, and iron was hers to shape and to break; she was a flame and wood was hers to crush into ash. Did he not want to give up his chains, did he not want to abandon what was dragging and holding him back? She tempted and cajoled him; she mocked his reluctance and sneered at his indecision. Did he not believe in her power? She blew on the iron chain that was looped around his neck. He watched it glow in the dark, he felt it soften and scald his skin. With one more breath it would melt and his freedom would be complete. He swayed towards her and then suddenly tugged his chains away from her grasp. He wrestled and pushed her with all his strength. He turned away. The breath of a genie – because this was who she was, a shape-shifter, a half-demon – was not the way to his salvation. It could not be his just end. There was another way.

‘The ship arrived on shore and Nathan was on the road again. He was weaker but lighter on his feet, less healthy but quicker. How familiar these chains were to him now! They were almost a part of him. For hours, for days, he would forgot all about them until people pointed them out and asked for an explanation. What he did not forget, however, were his sins and the particular sin that had brought him all this way. He asked forgiveness at every step, under every tree, past every field. At every shrine he came upon, he would kneel and pray. One day, sudden acute hunger distracted him from his prayers. Leaving the shrine, he found a little boy selling fish. The fish were raw and not gutted, but they were available for the meagre sum Nathan could afford. He bought two fish and immediately gave one away to the leper who was always sitting at the entrance to the shrine. Nathan took his fish to a nearby trough of water. He washed it and split it open down the middle. Inside the body of the fish was the sign of his forgiveness.’