(A children's story for all ages.)
A LITTLE TALE OF A BIG WHALE AND A SMALL SNAIL OR, MAMMAL MEETS MOLLUSK
Down in the deep a mighty banquet was in progress. It was the annual Seven Seas do and there were sharks from all over. Traditionally, a bash celebrating oceanic diversity, lately it had become dominated by one group of participants, the Patlantics. They were a noisy bunch, always flapping their tails when it wasn't necessary and stirring up the mud. Everyone else wanted to tell them to be quiet, but were afraid to because the 'Pats' had cornered the market on seaweed. Though quite necessary, some thought seaweed passé and rather disgusting.
The head of the Pats, who sat at the top of the coral banquet table wearing a ferocious Troschel's Murex shell, was a disagreeable shark from a line of sharks closely associated with the seaweed trade. While several of them had held public office, there was much talk that, rather than serving the public, they served themselves very nicely, thank you. Next to him sat the leader of the Nantics, the Nats, a smaller shark wearing a rather footling Sting Winkle. He was very fond of himself and liked to think he made a difference in oceanic affairs, but the truth was he was living on borrowed time and always did what his wife, who was a very controlling shark, told him to. The Pats sought to control the oceans; the Nats, still hopelessly fond of seaweed, sought to maintain a share in them. While they both spoke the same language and liked to go on and on about a common bond, the fact was the Pats never listened to the Nats, who, having once controlled the oceans, were hopelessly muddled as to what they were supposed to be about, now that they had lost them to the Pats.
At the other end of the coral table sat a shark wearing a Common Egg Cowry. Nobody was deceived by this, for inscrutability was a well-known characteristic of the Sechinseas, the Chintzy. While years of maintaining an impenetrable façade and ignoring the rest of the oceans had caused the Chintzy to be neglected, some thought they were the Next Big Thing in the deep. Better, of course, to be the next rather than the last, like the Nats, or worse, the might-have-beens, now represented by their leader, a po-faced shark wearing a faded Imperial Harp. The Tricas, or Tricks as the Pats liked to call them - indeed, they still had one or two up their fins - thought they understood the soul of the deep, but it turned out that they were just as greedy as everyone else and ended up bankrupting themselves.
Along with the Pats and Nats, the Chintzy and Tricks, the leaders and has-beens, the likely-to-bes and might-have-beens, was a motley array of sharks representing the rest. Amongst those from the south Seas were the leaders of the fun-loving Sopatlantics, wearing a range of Murexes - the wild Radish, the flowery Rose Branch and the charming Wag Tail; the colorful but impoverished Atlinders sporting Olives - the mysterious Angled, the warm Red-mouth and the only-too-eloquent Inflated; and the industrious Pains busily attired in False Fusi - the Colossal, which speaks for itself, the noisy Tuba and the brash Australian Trumpet. The north Seas were represented by a mixture of Cones - the overrated General, the self-regarding Admirable and the washed-up Admiral, a fraying Textile, an absurd Imperial, the tiresome Flea-Bite, a precocious Matchless, the generic Sand-dusted, the provocative Circumcision, the naïve Noble, the saucy Garter and an absurd Pontifical.
Above the huge dining area electric eels wormed brilliantly in concentric circles illuminating the grand gathering. All about the diners wove a mixture of sea horses proffering appetizers, octopuses bearing buffets, rays with entrees, and lemon fish tempting the ever-expanding waist lines with delectable desserts. Music was provided by an orchestra of clams, and angel fish danced prettily over the glowing coral, while lobsters rocked gently nearby. In the darker reaches beyond, drawn by this gleaming spectacle, hovered crowds of ordinary fish. Some looked on with envy, waving their fins enthusiastically, hoping to be noticed; others, fearful, cheered extravagantly, hoping for favors; while a few watched silently, aware that any one or all of them had the potential to be an easy snack for the diners once the feast was over.
Meanwhile, at a latitude known for its warm attitude and a longitude known for its brevity, Lorrill 'Lorry' and Lilack 'Lil', two whales who loved each other, were cruising just beneath the surface. Lorry was going on about the ocean situation and how it was being dangerously compromised by the leader of the Pats.
"It's insane - he'll have us all wearing Murexes and swimming in schools to 'Under the Waves'! Meanwhile, the rest of the deep goes to hell in a lobster pot!"
Lil nodded wearily - she had heard it all before. He was right, of course, but Lorry's complaints didn't help to resolve anything and it was wearing to listen to him.
"What's the matter with fish?" Lorry went on. "What happened to us that we put up with this rubbish? Damn sharks. We ought to swim down and expose them. A few hours on the beach would settle their plankton!" His whole body shook with righteous anger, sending vibrations through the water and knocking Lil off course.
"Hey!" she cried, struggling to regain her balance. "You're upsetting me and it doesn't feel good! I know your feelings - and I agree with them - but your getting angry upsets me and spoils our day."
Consumed with indignation at fish's unfinniness to fish, Lil's words only served to increase Lorry's anger.
"But this is MADNESS. It's CRAZY!" His body shook furiously, knocking Lil off course, again.
"That's enough!" cried Lil angrily. "You've got to stop this, now - it isn't good for us!"
An impetuous, obstinate and proud whale, Lorry took after his grandfather, who had beached a pod in an effort to get from here to there without going roundabout, which everyone knows is the only way to go. Without thought for the possible dangers of the shallow waters in which they were swimming, with a fierce flick of his tail Lorry sped away from Lil in a huff. If she wasn't going to listen to him, he wasn't going to hang around!
Lil watched him go. She knew Lorry and, while he had indeed inherited his grandfather's streak of stubbornness, in him it was muted to short-lived episodes of impetuousness, from which he quickly recovered. All he needed was a little space, just as she did sometimes. While his behavior, if momentarily unsettling, did not unduly trouble her, the risks for Lorry posed by the shallow waters did.
As Lorry raced through the water, he experienced a warm rush of adrenaline released by the powerful thrusting of his tail. One day, they would listen to him, or face the consequences! Absorbed by his thoughts, he failed to notice the intermittent scraping of sand on his belly. In a disastrous moment, several things happened in rapid succession: Lorry's blowhole sensed air, the occasional drag of sand on his belly no longer yielded, and his forward passage came to an abrupt halt, driving all the air out of him. Whomp! He was aground.
At first, Lorry struggled to free himself. He had encountered sandbars before and managed to ease himself off them. Despite his efforts, however, he remained fast. Pausing, he looked about him to assess the situation. It was not good, even for an optimistic whale. On either side, fading into the distance, stretched an empty, sunlit beach. Ahead, rose a ridge of sand dunes. By the faint lapping of water about his lower extremities he knew himself to be in that dreaded situation: 'beached.'
Oh dear, he thought, how stupid of me - what an IDIOT! His heart contracted at the thought of dear Lil and a wave of nausea induced by his plight threatened to engulf him. Even as he struggled to remain calm, the awful truth of his situation caused a chill shiver. He might never see her again. The thought was unbearable and he felt the pit of his stomach tighten in a knot. How stupid, how stupid, how STUPID! Searching for any scrap of hope, he took stock of the circumstances. Was the water that lapped against him rising or falling? After a short while, its receding presence indicated it was falling. How high would the tide rise, if he could last that long? A dark line of sea litter denoting the high water mark lay close ahead. Far too close. He would need much more water than this suggested, if he were to re-float himself. Observing the nature of the refuse, he noted with disgust the seaweed that comprised much of it. The wretched stuff - it was everywhere and, now, it looked as if he might die staring at it. The final insult!
For a while, Lorry rested. The sun was warm and, except for his awful plight, it was quite comfortable. He had been dozing lightly when he was suddenly aware of a small movement close by. Opening an eye, he observed a tiny dark object moving very slowly towards him across the sand. The main body of the creature bore a round brown shell. The head had two horns and a fleshy tail dragged across the sand. A trail of slime glistening in the sun behind indicated its passage.
The creature stopped within a few inches of Lorry's left eye, the horns wiggling tentatively as it looked up at him. Tiny squeaking sounds like those produced by a 78 record played without amplification on an old phonograph filled the air.
"Who are you?" Lorry asked.
His deep booming voice created a harsh vibration in the ground about him, and the creature's head and tail at once disappeared within the shell. Oh, dear, thought Lorry, this will never do. For a while nothing happened and he felt sad and lonely. Then, the creature's head and tail slowly re-emerged and the squeaking began again. Summoning up the softness he employed to wake Lil sometimes, Lorry addressed the creature, again.
"Who are you?"
There were several squeaks and then silence. Though perplexed, Lorry was careful not to shake his head for fear of upsetting the creature again. For a time, perhaps long enough to cook a three-minute egg – which is not to say three minute for there is the preparation to be considered: getting the eggs out of the fridge, selecting a saucepan and filling it with water, lighting the stove, boiling the water and adding salt and vinegar to stop the egg from cracking when immersed, and setting the timer - they stared at one another silently. Then, to Lorry's intense dismay, the creature turned and made off the way it had come, eventually disappearing from sight.
The sun waned, the air cooled and, as the beach acquired the gentler hues of evening, Lorry began to feel very sorry indeed for himself. He could not allow himself to think of Lil anymore - it was too painful. Then, all at once, in the gathering dusk, the creature reappeared, slithering across the sand towards him. Stopping a few inches away as before, it raised a trumpet-shaped object to its mouth.
"What are you?" The words, though shrill, were clear.
V-E-R-Y C-A-R-E-F-U-L-L-Y, Lorry replied, "I am a whale."
"Ah, a leviathan. What are you doing here?!"
What, indeed, thought Lorry, not sure whether to feel pleased or insulted by the description. Never mind, he reflected, beached whales couldn't expect courtesy - it was a rough sea on dry land.
"I'm stuck."
"Oh, dear!"
Oh dear, indeed.
"What will you do?"
Lorry shook his head slightly.
"Will you die?"
"Probably." A tear trickled from Lorry's eye and the creature shuffled awkwardly.
"I'm sorry."
"Me, too."
Both contemplated the awfulness of life posed by its invariable end. Then, Lorry, a well brought up whale, politely inquired the identity of his new acquaintance, though it seemed of little value in the dreadful circumstances.
"Yahoodley Danver-Williams the third, but my friends call me 'Tub.'"
"And what, may I ask, are you?"
"I'm a snail." And with that, Tub began to sing.
Both contemplated the awfulness of life posed by its invariable end. Then, Lorry, a well brought up whale, politely inquired the identity of his new acquaintance, though it seemed of little value in the dreadful circumstances.
"Yahoodley Danver-Williams the third, but my friends call me 'Tub.'"
"And what, may I ask, are you?"
"I'm a snail." And with that, Tub began to sing.
Hail! I'm a snail! 'S' is for Sauce - the best, of course. 'N' is for Nuts - no ifs, ands or buts. 'A' is for Ants - but not in our pants. 'I' is for Ichneumon - n.1.(infullichneumonfly) smallwaspdepositingeggsinoronthelarvaofanotherasfoodforitsownlarva. n.2.Mongoosenotedfordestroyingcrocodileeggs (Greekfromikhnosfootstep) L' is for Limburger - cheese, if you please. Hail! I'm a snail!
Tub ended with a little bow.
At another time, the snail might have made a tasty sea horse d'oeuvre, Lorry thought, but in the circumstances it was simply absurd. Winking his eye several times, he politely affected applause.
"Perhaps I can help," Tub offered.
"How?"
"I don't know, but I'll think about it." With that he turned and moved away in the gloaming.
Ridiculous, cursed Lorry to himself. How could a snail possibly help? Of course, he couldn't - it was far too small and he was far too big!
It was getting cold, now, and Lorry shivered. He was completely out of the water and only aware of it by the sound of the sea's soft rhythmic wash down the beach behind him. Oh, to die all alone…… and 'OUT OF WATER!' He longed to hear Lil's gentle voice. He began to weep uncontrollably, the tears running in rivulets on either side of his huge, helpless form, scoring channels in the sand.
A silver toenail moon set out on its nocturnal course across a cloudless sky, its reflection shimmering on the sea. A fresh breeze stirred the sand into tiny eddies, driving strands of dried seaweed across the beach, careless like a lover's abandoned caress. Frequent shivers shook Lorry's frame, but he was no longer aware of them. He had sunk into that place that protects the mind from knowing its fate.
There were shapes and colors and ideas and feelings, all mixed up together and none of them distinguishable one from another. This very lack of distinction endowed them with comforting characteristics. Lorry could see, but he could not recognize what he saw. He could feel, but not know what he felt. He could want, but have no desire.
It was a strange place and no mistake and Lorry idly wondered why. Not why it was a strange place, but why it was. He was a curious fish.
Lorry was sliding, pleasantly and with an ease that made him feel grateful. He was going……somewhere. It didn't matter where - he was going, and he felt relief. Suddenly, he felt a tug. A shrill blaring sound shattered his reverie. A brilliant light pummeled his senses. A memory of Lil pierced his heart like a harpoon. He was moving, still. Faster and faster. He was out of control and a terrible fear, such as produced by the dreaded entanglement with old ships' rusted steel hawsers on the seabed, gripped his stomach. Then, he was weightless. This must surely be the end, he thought.
Lorry landed in the water on his belly with a loud smack, his blubber smarting from the impact. Wriggling deliriously, he imagined himself afloat. Could this be death? The eternal sea without end that some spoke of? He opened his eyes. Yesterday's sun was high, again, the same beach golden. At the water's edge, now on the right side of Lorry's life, rose a pile of partially flattened debris, discernible to his eye as formerly a sort of ramp. Extending beyond it and leading up to the high water mark, just below which he had been trapped, a broad transparent path of slime glistened brilliantly. He squinted. Atop the ridge, hundreds, perhaps thousands, millions even of tiny horns waved excitedly.
In a moment, Lorry understood. Tub had collected a veritable multitude of mollusks and, employing only that with which nature had endowed them, the many had managed what one alone could not.
All through the night by the light of the moon, while the glittering surf broke steadily at the edge of the receding tide, the snails, in vast congregation, slithered up and down the slope that lay below the whale, creating a broad slipway of slime. At a point they judged the rising tide would reach next morning, using their bodies like tiny bulldozers, they constructed a ramp with broken shells and pebbles, cementing it with slime. At dawn they rested, curled up in their shells.
With daylight the wind freshened, whipping the mild surf into waves that surged towards the shore, spray blowing wildly from their foaming crests. The snails, woken by the crash of the breakers and noting the rapidly advancing tide, saw there was not a moment to be lost. While many gathered at the stranded whale's snout, others raised trumpet-shaped shells to their lips. Those about the whale pushed against the huge inert mass, while fanfares from the others urged them on.
At first, it seemed impossible and all would be lost. The rising tide must surely destroy the ramp and slipway and the whale's last chance be gone. The trumpeters blew as if their lungs might burst, while the others heaved as if their lives depended on it. In a moment, when it looked as if the next breaker must destroy their carefully constructed ramp, their efforts were rewarded and the great body began to move towards the sea. Quickly it gathered speed, the ground about it vibrating with a low rumble. The closer it came to the ramp, the flimsier the structure appeared. It must surely collapse on impact, leaving the whale to be battered to a miserable death by the sea. Awestruck at the spectacle, the trumpeters fell silent mid blast. The rumble and swoosh of the sliding whale competing with the angry roar of the approaching surf held their hearts hostage to fate.
As the whale hit the ramp, the snails' worst fears were confirmed - it shattered, sending a cloud of debris in all directions. However, it held just long enough to launch the whale into the air, with sufficient force to propel it into deeper waters.
Lorry hadn't dreamed it. He had been weightless, as he soared through the air to safety. Now, he was free. With a flick of his tail, he rose and dove several times, saluting his landlocked friends in grateful appreciation. Then, accompanied by a shrill fanfare from the ridge that scared off a flock of seagulls attracted by the prospect of a tasty meal of snails, he headed out to sea.
Lorry pushed forward on the surface towards the horizon. Lil was all he could think of. Had she given him up for lost? Was she, even now, perhaps, cruising sorrowfully home? His desire to reassure her leant strength to his weary body.
There it was - a spout in the distance. And another. Was this…? Could this…? Lorry dove to make better speed. As the shadow of the whale on the surface drew closer, Lorry's heart pounded fit to burst. Within sound, he knew at once that it was Lil. Rising to the surface, he blew as if he would lift the sky itself. And, then, again. Lil turned at his signal. They headed towards one another, roiling the sea into a bubbling maelstrom. Meeting, they dove and tumbled, their tails twining in an ecstasy of relief. Nothing was said. There was no need.
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