CHAPTER ELEVEN
There were also many non-living creatures that swam in our
seas — the shell-sharks that carry the sandwalkers over the top of
the waters of life. Throughout our many young journeys around our
sea, we came into contact with them over and over again. Some
were good, but, for the most part, they brought a sense of wrong-
ness with them–something that didn’t belong and was best left on
the dryside.
We saw the shell-sharks filled with sandwalkers we called
fisher-catchers drag behind them great weavings of twisted kelp
that trapped all within its confines. To be caught in these weavings
meant instant death, for a strong-lunged dolphin needs the sweet air
to breathe and these weavings forced us too long below the surface.
At other times, we saw dolphin dragged from the waters still full with
life, and only moments later, their useless dead bodies were thrown
back to us in the taunt and tease of uselessness, proof of our inabil-
ity to fight the great sandwalkers. Our group as a whole survived
without fatality. We viewed much and during these times with the
fisher-catchers churning the waters we experienced little laughter
and much fear.
But in life there is always a balance. For every tear shed,
there is a giggle given; and for the dark, there is light. So was
it with the shell-sharks and the sandwalkers that rode upon the
sea. Little Brother and I had found great sport in chasing the little
sun-colored shell-sharks that we called hummers. Unlike the hard-
shelled variety, their thin skin was somewhat akin to the whales’
hide, but they smelled tangy and not right with the world.
They would wildly race to where Little Brother and I would
be swimming or chasing tuna-tails, and the humming would stop
and so would they. The sandwalkers sat upon the hummer’s back
and gazed for long periods of time as we played. When we ventured
close, they dangled their puny fins in the water as if inviting us to
savor the texture and the flavor of their meat. I personally have
never tasted them, but there are many tales of sharp-fins who have
had one or two sandwalkers for a meal. Thankfully, they were not
something that I savored.
However, the sandwalkers were fun to play with, and their
antics delighted Little Brother and me almost to the point of tears.
Little Brother, in particular, recounted to them long, bizarre stories.
They would stare intently at him with those intense, tiny eyes that
appeared so very intelligent, simulating understanding but I swear
they never understood a word he said. Fun to play with, yes but
intelligent, no!
Little Brother persisted in chattering away telling them tales
of flipper-fin and tuna-tails. They, in turn, would nod their puny
heads, moaning their moronic moans, which would send my mate
and me into paroxysms of laughter. Little Brother would even at
times swipe his head from side to side, splashing them in a very
irritating way. Their little puny fins would wave furiously, and their
moans would turn to squeals and squeaks, and then they would
rush back for more. Not intelligent, these creatures, definitely
not intelligent.
The seemingly innocuous sandwalkers would, on some oc-
casions, even share their food with us. I tried it only once. It was
a bit of white, fluffy stuff with a blob of brown glop spread on it. It
was horrible! It stuck to the roof of my mouth and surely never had
its beginning as flesh. Little Brother seemed to like some of the
stuff they tried to feed us, and he once encouraged me to try some-
thing he said tasted something like tuna-tails. I politely refused.
“Poor little things, the sandwalkers,” I used to think. “They
give offerings, so in awe are they of us.” How wrong I was, not
about their intelligence, for I still feel they have little if any, but of
their gentle intent.
The shell-sharks came in a variety of shapes and sizes.
There were hummers both big and little, some made of whale-like
skin, and others of some kind of odd-smelling smooth stone. There
were giant hummers that sometimes screamed as they skimmed
over the water, and monstrous moaners greater still that groaned
their way slowly across the seas.
But of the shell-sharks, my favorites were the silent ones
that creaked about in the seas, rocking as the waves rolled. They
were aptly called creakers. Held above their great shells were flat-
tened sheets of cloud that filled with the wind, or sometimes the
clouds seemed to just slap at themselves, beating out their distort-
ed rhythms. Often Little Brother and I sought out the creakers, for
the sandwalkers that flopped about in them seemed to be a kind and
gentle lot.
It was great fun to dance in front of these behemoths of the
sea, leaping in the froth and foam as they cut laboriously through
the water. On one such adventure, Little Brother and I came upon
an isolated white whale. Of course, we had met whales before in
our travels, but this whale was to change our lives forever — we
would never be the same.
We were leading a large creaker on a twisted, convoluted trail
through the sea, when just ahead breached a large white whale. He
was nearly rammed in the side by the creaker which was never known
for its ability to turn quickly in the water. My immediate fear was for
the safety of the creaker and the puny creatures it carried within.
Who could know who would survive a collision of that magnitude?
Once again, Little Brother came to the rescue and chanted
merrily, “Out of the way. Out of the way. Sandwalkers come looking
for fun and they can’t seem to find their way.”
The whale turned his mighty head, his eyes opened wide in
shock, and then he sank like a rock into the deep. Knowing the
creaker was safe, at least for a time, we swam quickly back to the
whale. He was wallowing in the trough of a wave and muttering to
himself, “Where was the warning–the hum, the song that is not a
song–that flows with every shell-shark I have seen?”
Little Brother, never at a loss for words, leaped into the
whale’s soliloquy and answered the question he had not been
asked, “This shell-shark is silent. It is called a creaker and it fol-
lows the wind.”
“What are you?” sang the whale in a richly accented voice,
“You nearly sing the whale song, but you are not whale. What
are you?”
“Hmm,” laughed Little Brother, “What are I? Well, I are not
sandwalker, I are not whale. If I are not these things, then I must
be dolphin.” With that, Little Brother swam right up to this whale
and stopped only when he was nearly eye to eye. “My name is Little
Brother and that is my mate, Laughter Ring.”
“I am called Harmony,” sang the whale in a deep pleasing
tone, “I have come seeking wisdom about the sandwalker. What is
your purpose, dolphin?”
“Our purpose, whale, is to lead the way before yonder creaker.”
“But why?” sang the whale.
“Why? You of all creatures need to ask why?” Quickly, before
the white whale could answer, Little Brother continued his tease.
“The sandwalkers that ride the creakers make us laugh, and we dol-
phin live to laugh. Besides, if we didn’t lead the way, yonder creaker
would run over dumb whales like you.”
It was my feeling that maybe, just maybe, my mate had gone
too far. This whale was ten times our size, and just one little swipe
of his mighty tail would send both of us reeling into the seas with
aches of the head that could last a lifetime. Many times, we had
heard tales that some angry or very hungry whales of this sort had
been known to munch upon sharp-tongued dolphin. I rushed be-
tween the two of them as they bristled angrily in the water.
“He means no harm,” I laughed merrily to break the tension.
“He means only to make you smile and laugh at all the fun that
spreads beneath the sun.”
The whale paused and considered all that had been said.
His eyes relaxed and his tone turned from tense to curious. “You
say,” said he, “that the sandwalkers make you laugh. How can that
be? I have seen sandwalkers in their shell-sharks before, and in
their wake I have only found death and destruction.”
“Oh, ‘tis true,” continued Little Brother as if there were no
threat at all and as if this huge whale were nothing more than some
young dolphin to be taught a lesson of life. “Most of the sandwalk-
ers are evil to the very core, but some are fun, and many, in their
simple way, bring joy to me on a sunny day. Look, even as we sing,
they turn the lumbering shell to follow us.”
The whale turned his mighty body in the water. Noticing
Little Brother was right in his observation, he took a breath to
prepare for diving deep. “Never fear, my friend,” said I. “They will not
hurt you. They are but curious and love to touch all that they see.”
The whale looked completely terrified. “Do you mean you
would actually allow the sandwalkers to touch you?” he asked
nervously.
“Yup,” teased Little Brother, “It doesn’t hurt, and besides,
it tickles.”
The whale floated shaking in the water, scared nearly out of
his wits, as the creaker drew near. Both Little Brother and I, in an
attempt to set the whale at ease, began our usual entertainment of
these simple creatures that sailed.
As was our style we danced on our tails on the surface of
the sea rather than within it followed by breaches high into the air.
But the odd, white whale never joined us. He just floated anxiously
three or four sea troughs away ready to escape at any moment.
Swimming to where he waited quivering with fear, I laughed,
“The sandwalkers care not about watching us dolphin in our play
this day. They are more entertained by you, great white whale. Go
to them. Feel their strange dry skin upon your flesh. It will make
you laugh, or at the very least, it will enlighten you. Go. These
sandwalkers have no evil intent.”
Harmony stared at me for a long moment, as if for reassur-
ance. Challenged by our fearlessness he made his way slowly over
to the creaker that was standing still in the water, its white clouds
that reached up to the far above flapping in the breeze.
The sandwalkers, following the custom they had established
with us, the dolphin, leaned over the edge of the shell to reach
down and pet this great white whale. I once again noted their abso-
lute ignorance, for this huge whale could have inhaled one of them
with plenty of room left over for a burp.
After a time, Harmony relaxed and seemed to enjoy the
stroking and petting. He finally sang to us in his deep, rich tones,
“Maybe they, too, have a song but it appears to be an odd song,
without depth or soul. Possibly, if I took them into the deep, they
would be able to sing their song with more strength.”
This innocent statement sent Little Brother and me into
gales of laughter. We rolled, unable to talk, unable to catch our
breath. Our composure finally regained, we patiently explained that
the sandwalkers knew not how to hold their breath and if they were
taken to the deep they would surely die.
Harmony finally swam away from the creaker and called to us.
“I must leave, for this is quite perplexing to me. I have been told the
sandwalkers bring only death to the sea. Now I see they are not so
bad. I must go back to my pod and add this information to our song.”
“Ah,” I laughed, “so that is what you are about: a great seek-
er of information.” I quickly explained that all the sandwalkers were
not as gentle as these and that some, yea even many, bring much
death and evil to the sea.
Harmony batted his great eyes and looked wonderingly at my
mate and me. “Then,” he sang, “I must seek out these other sand-
walkers that bring evil to the sea. I have many answers that have
need of questions to be asked.”
Little Brother and I looked at each other and, without even
talking it over, chorused together, “We shall guide you if you will
have us. For we have traveled far in our journeys and have seen
what you seek.”
With a flash of our tails, Little Brother and I swam off up
the sea towards the coldest of waters in the farthest reaches of our
domain. For if Harmony sought to see all the evil of the sandwalk-
ers, then we would show him the greatest of their evils. The journey
would be far and it would take many tides to accomplish.
We looked back, and it wasn’t long before this lumbering
great white whale joined us on our swim to the cold waters and the
answers to the questions he carried.
Though reluctant to laugh at first, Harmony truly was more
in tune with the world than either Little Brother or I. Little Brother
loved to make others laugh, and Harmony was his greatest chal-
lenge. My laughter would ring about the sea as Little Brother came
floating by with a crown of seaweed or mush-fish on his head. But
Harmony would only chuckle a little, at best, and continue on his
way. Little Brother told the tale of Bubble Butt and his imaginary
brother and sister, and although I had heard the story at least a
hundred times before, I laughed, but Harmony simply smiled. It was
only when Little Brother, by accident, got a clacker-claw stuck to
his nose that Harmony finally broke down and laughed so hard that
he nearly cried.
The ice now broken, Harmony easily and often laughed and
sang with us as we continued our journey together. He was at the
same time both patient and impatient as we swam along. Impatient
when we needed an occasional rest, and patient in the understand-
ing that without that rest we all would have to travel slower.
Finally, Harmony asked, “When and where will we see this
evil side of the sandwalker, whale, or dolphin. Other than the puny
fish we feed upon, the sea seems to be barren of life.”
Little Brother sipped a tiny sip of the sea and shuddered in
revulsion, “There is a taste in the water of the sandwalker and the
evil he brings to the sea. Come the next tide, two at the most, you
will see that which you won’t want to see.”