CHAPTER TWENTY -EIGHT
Once again, there came a bumping on the bottom of the boat
when a form threw itself at the side. This time, it breached and
landed up on the gunwale. The rubber-sided boat crumpled under
the weight. We were looking into the low-angled sun, and, for a mo-
ment, we were blinded by the contrast of brilliant light and silhouette.
A voice vibrated in my inner ear: a good voice, a welcome
voice, a sweet voice, the voice of Laughter Ring.
One form was joined by another as Little Brother, too,
plopped himself on the edge of the boat. Even Fred seemed to
understand that these two odd creatures were friends. “Sorry we’re
late!” toned Little Brother. “Fortunately, we got here in time for the
main course. In this case, coming just for dessert would have been
a disaster.”
I translated for Peter as Laughter Ring chided her mate for
his tasteless remarks. Peter laughed and then grabbed his side,
wracked with pain from his injuries. Sitting there, it suddenly
dawned on him that the dolphin had indeed been speaking and, with
sign, I had been talking back.
“They do talk!” he croaked in mouth-speak. “And you talk
to them.”
“Well, score another point for belief and believing,” I signed in
mock indignation. “You thought I was making this all up?”
Peter grinned sheepishly.
I turned back to Laughter Ring. “What is happening now?”
I signed.
“There is a great debate raging beneath us even as we
speak.” she toned. “Harmony called the Conclave, but the Nar-
whal of the Horn are trying to establish rules to ensure their con-
trol. Harmony is wise to the Narwhal’s twisted sense of fair play
and, with our help, has created his own alliance with the blues, the
humpbacks, and the dolphins. He had enough to control the Con-
clave with the support of the dolphins alone, but he felt he needed a
mandate. The decisions here will be hard, and the results far-reach-
ing.”
I paused to digest the fact that politics was universal in our
world of twisting values and philosophies. “You say the decisions
will be far-reaching. Far-reaching to what extent and to whom?” I
asked tentatively, sure that I already knew the answer.
Laughter Ring turned her eyes downward and vibrantly toned,
“For eternity, the decision will affect the sandwalker and all his chil-
dren’s, children’s, children.”
“Then I claim the right to speak for the sandwalkers and to
sing their defense.” I gambled that somewhere in the Song of the
Sea was a rule or value that allowed the accused to present their
own case. I sat in the boat defiantly, feeling like a drowned rat.
Little Brother turned to Laughter Ring and said, “I do not
know the song that well, but I will take her message to Harmony if
he wins the mandate. If not, I will have to put the question to the
Narwhal of the Horn.”
Though it was very late the sun still burned in the sky, adding
a twisted, dreamlike quality to an already crazy day. As we waited,
the sun dried our clothes, and the chills dissipated. In fifteen-min-
ute intervals, I opened the tourniquet on Peter’s leg, allowing the
blood to circulate in hopes of avoiding complications later.
The waters around us teemed with life; the sea snapped with
anticipation. Every so often, Little Brother or Laughter Ring would
slip off the side of the boat to seek news of the debate. Each time,
they returned shaking their heads in dismay.
Nearly an hour later, Laughter Ring again went to seek news.
It wasn’t but a minute before she leaped back to the boat. “Harmo-
ny will have his way. The Narwhal of the Horn are very, very angry.
Godwin the Avenger, their choirmaster, proclaimed the Conclave
canceled and urged all to leave, but none would. Now, they are
bound by the Conclave and its great import. The Narwhal have
remained, but they are dangerous still, very dangerous. Watch them.
Never turn your back.”
“But what of my demand for the sandwalker’s defense?” I
waved angrily, caring not for the petty political dissent.
Laughter Ring paused, “Godwin agreed and there was yet
another debate. At this point Harmony was against anything the
Narwhal were for. He said, ‘No!’ and dove to the deep. Moments
later, he rose and acquiesced. No matter his prejudice, he is hon-
or-bound by his duty to the Song of the Sea.”
“For, you see, many, many tides ago, he was a Scribe, a dis-
passionate recorder of the song. His pod, an old, old group of Great
Whale with a song nearly as old as the Song of the Sea itself, died
the Thousand Deaths of the Sandwalker. With that death came the
death of his greatest love and his greatest enemy. He believes the
Narwhal killed his family, his friends –if not by deed, then by intent.
The Song of the Sea echoes within his empty soul, and his blood is
on fire as he seeks the final answer to the final question. He has now
proclaimed you the leader of the sandwalker . . . the symbol of all the
dryside near this sea and throughout the dryside all over the world.”
In relief, I laughed but in anxiety. I signed, “Ah, I have just
been made queen of the dryside earth.”
Laughter Ring shook her head gravely, “This is no laughing
matter. What happens here will reach far into the future, for all the
tides that remain in the waters of life. Here, you will speak for the
sandwalker. You will be the first to hear the decision. You will be
the first to suffer the punishment if indeed punishment is rendered.”
Sobered by her comments, I explained to Peter what was to
happen. Moving Fred-the-dog from atop my duffel bag where he had
made an impromptu bed, I spread out and checked my equipment.
Peter checked the regulator and the tanks while I quickly slipped
out of my jeans, my dry suit worn below. With the multiple layers of
the suit, even the cold waters of this northern inlet wouldn’t bother
me for a while. Long before hypothermia could set in, I would be
out of air. Long before I froze, the Conclave would have decided.
Geared up, Peter strapped the tanks to my back while I pulled on
the flippers. I asked Laughter Ring, who was now in the water with
Little Brother, where I would meet the great Harmony.
“That,” toned the dolphin, “I don’t know. Harmony will send
for you, I guess. There has never been such a . . .”
Her comments were cut off as the world seemed to explode
right before us. Like a geyser gone mad, the water first twisted and
boiled, sucking into itself, and then shot into the air. Out of this
foam and froth breached the most powerful form I have ever seen.
Against the backdrop of the never-dying summer sun was the great
white whale, Harmony!
He breached so high that he appeared to stand on his tail
some eight meters above us and was so close I could touch his
pearly, opalescent skin. In contrast to the explosive breach, like
velvet he dropped, rushing softly back into the sea. I could hear the
mighty vibration in my inner ear as he toned loudly, “Tell the spin-
dly-finned sandwalker, my sweet dolphin friends, that Harmony will
speak to it now!”
With shaking hands, I pulled the mask over my face and
bit down hard on the mouthpiece, my source of life-giving oxy-
gen. Holding the faceplate, I leaned back and rolled into the sea.
Though the suit insulated me, it still seemed an icy shock to slip
into those waters. I dropped down and down as I gained my bear-
ings. I spun around, weightless in nearly twenty feet of water.
There, before me, suspended in the crystal waters of life with
shafts of sunlight forming a curtained background, was Harmony.
His tail and fins moved effortlessly, keeping him exacting still in the
water. I, on the other hand, had to wave my arms and legs wildly
in an attempt to maintain buoyancy and position. Behind him in a
cathedral setting floated a wall of dolphins, flipper-fins, and whales.
The water vibrated with snaps and buzzes of language as
Little Brother explained to Harmony that I could hear the song and
that he could speak to me directly.
Harmony seemed unimpressed and unmoved as he angrily
sang, “You say she can hear our song? After all of eternity, there
now is but one sandwalker who has bothered to listen? To see if we
sing? To see if we think? To see if we feel?”
Floating in the water, I listened as this great whale sang his
powerful accusations my heart pounding in my chest.
“We have reached out to the sandwalker since the beginning
of time,” he continued. “We offered our song to him and have been
rewarded with death. We have welcomed him to our seas, and he
has turned the seas sour with his greed and our regret. We have
offered the laughter of the dolphin, and the sandwalker has ripped
him from the sea in their woven webs. We have offered to the sand-
walker the whale and his singing of the song, and we have received
in return an audience that refused to listen and opted instead to
devour the choir.”
In the distance, I could hear the insistent, hypnotic whisper-
ing of the Narwhal, Godwin, “This is good! This is good! Kill the
sandwalker! Kill the sandwalker!” Faintly, others echoed the chant,
the Narwhal sentiment, but no verdict had yet been reached.
Harmony, disregarding the Narwhal, continued his song. “The
dolphins, Laughter Ring and Little Brother, have brought to us great
tales of the ability of the sandwalker, and now, for the first time, they
bring one to hear the song. After all that has transpired since the
beginning of time and from the first tide that rolled from an other-
wise still sea, the sandwalker has decided that possibly this is the
tide to reach out to his brethren. This is the tide to sing the Song
of the Sea.”
From afar came the piercing whisper of the Narwhal, “No!
No! No! Not true! Not true!”
Harmony paused, turning slowly in the water, tail slightly
down. The light cast from above drove a silvery spike shimmering
through the water. The last vestiges of his song echoed off into
the distance.
He then continued, “Well, the sandwalker is here. This sand-
walker has appeared in the defense of all the sandwalkers. Hear
me, all who live in the sea and sing the song. The sandwalker has
defiled the sea for the final time. The sandwalker has killed the last
creature of song for sport, not to eat the meat, but to let it lie fallow
and rot in the sea, violating all that is holy. The Conclave sings
now and will cast their lots. My ruling is, and I ask for your voice
in the chorus.” He paused dramatically and I held my breath fear-
ing the worst of verdicts. He slowly turned in the water and looked
down at me and then in nearly a monotone he softly toned, “I find
the sandwalker guilty! The sandwalker should die, his death to be
allowed as preScribed by All That Is Right in the World and recorded
by the Song of the Sea!”
The silence was stunning. In the distance, like lightning
crackling down a copper wire, came the delighted, static whispering
of the Narwhal of the Horn, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Before the proclamation could be mandated by the mammal
mass of the Conclave, I signed to Laughter Ring, who translated,
“No! I have the right to sing the song. I have the right to offer de-
fense. I call upon my right. Of all that is holy, let me sing!”
The little dolphin’s voice vibrated loud and true in the crys-
tal, still waters. Harmony, who had turned away during the passion
of his proclamation, slowly focused his attention back on me. He
nodded his head in a quizzical movement, “She said that? I heard
nothing. Yet, dolphin, you say she has called for the right to sing
the song? What proof have you that this is not some silliness, a
jest at a very inopportune time? I warn you this is not a time of
laughter, dolphin, and–friend or not–your lot can be cast with those
you support.”
I signed again, “Watch my hands, my arms, all of my body. I
cannot sing out loud. I have not the voice and you could not hear it
if I did. So instead, I sing with all of me, but, still and all, the song is
sung. Please listen and watch as I try to explain the evil and wrong
that has been committed against all that live in the sea and all that
live on the dryside, too!”
Harmony moved closer and closer as I signed. He listened as
word after word was instantly translated and broadcast into the sea.
“We were wrong,” I signed. “We have done monstrous evil in
ignorance of our action. For greed alone, we have destroyed that
which was never ours to own, but only to borrow. For Earth belongs
to Tomorrow. If Earth is the gift and Tomorrow the receiver, then we
give nothing. For we are destroying the gift itself.”
“Stop,” roared Harmony in a tone so heavy with vibration
that my head wanted to explode, “Don’t speak in riddles! Don’t
play games with the song as it is being sung! Do not, sandwalker,
mock us!”
I sucked in a large gasp of the canned air to still my pound-
ing heart and continued, “I do not mock the song. I play no
games. I, a sandwalker, am here to plead our case. We, the sand-
walker, are guilty!”
Closing in, the Narwhal’s whisper scraped like a knife on a
rock. “Ohhh, yesss! Yes! Yes!”
The waters echoed silent-still. No movement. For a mo-
ment, there seemed to be no other life than mine, isolated and
alone in the presence of All That Is Right in the World. Then my
body tingled as a thousand voices spoke at once–a cacophony of
sound and vibration.
“What?” roared Harmony in disbelief. The waters once again
settled into silence. “You come here to us and admit guilt. Should
I not then place my verdict at the sandwalker leader before me?
Should I not taste blood as the sandwalker has tasted the blood of
my family, my friends?” The great whale began to move closer in
the passion of the moment. “Should I not, little puny-finned one,
bite down once on that head of yours and thereby silence the only
sandwalker witness to the Song of the Sea?”
Tensely, like a plucked string on a violin, Godwin twanged
gleefully, “Oh, yes! Do it!”
“Silence!” toned Harmony forcefully. All again was quiet-still.
“You plead guilty?”
“Yes,” I signed.
Calmed now and curious, Harmony continued, “Answer these
questions–some of personal curiosity, others of a philosophical
nature. Will you answer them from the heart for all sandwalkers?”
“I will,” I signed solemnly. Laughter Ring and Little Brother
translated my movements into the words sung to Harmony.
Although he did not understand all of my movements and
signing to begin with, he began to understand a little and then more
and more. Out of deference to his friendship with the dolphins, he
allowed them to continue to translate, although they probably were
not needed. Harmony studied me. His eyes were deep, etched round
with lines of memory, memory of sights he had seen and the song
he carried in his soul. He paused and rose slowly to the surface to
vent and then, after a brief time, settled down into the water until his
buoyancy matched mine, and we were once again eye-to-eye.
“In the sea,” he sang, “we have the sharp-fin, a natural preda-
tor to all except us and, at times, even to our weaker members. But
that is the mandate of All That Is Right in the World. On the dry-
side, do you have predators?”
“We have.”
“What are they?” he asked quietly.
“We have creatures called bears, lions, tigers, wolves, and
coyotes. We have eagles and hawks that soar above the dryside on
feathered wings.”
“Do these predators prey on the sandwalker?”
I paused. There was no need for deception; I had already
pleaded guilty. “They did, but we vanquished them. For the most
part, they are all gone. We have killed many of them.”
“What, then, preys on the sandwalker? What is the balance
point on the dryside? Are there natural things, or do all sandwalker
survive?”
“We are eliminating disease, the balance point, the natural
predator. Nature herself, often called All That Is Right in the World
in the Song of the Sea, is being vanquished.”
“Do you wish to live forever?”
“No!” I answered, confident of my personal beliefs on mortality.
“Does the sandwalker wish to live forever?”
I sighed and then signed, “Yes.”
“In the Song of the Sea,” he sang in beautiful, rich vibration,
“it is sung that in the beginning we who live in the sea were to go
forth and multiply, balanced by All That Is Right in the World. If
the young, old, or infirm were meant to live, they would live. If they
were meant to die, they would incorporate with the end . . . the
beginning. In that way, nothing would ever die. Death honors the
living, and the living honor the dead. But the sandwalker multiplies
and multiplies and multiplies. Where will he go when he has no
more flat land dryside?”
My mind raced, seeking answers to an enigma. Man indeed
survives. “He will have nowhere to go but to the mountains.”
“And when the mountains are filled?”
“To the deserts,” I answered.
“And when they are filled?”
I paused and then slowly signed, “To the sea.”
Harmony floated there before me. The water was flat, and, for
a moment, the tides froze. There was no movement from any of the
whales, dolphins, or flipper-fins. In a majestic tone, Harmony be-
gan to sing. “The sandwalker is guilty by action. The sandwalker is
guilty by deed. The sandwalker is guilty in the pleadings of this lead-
er, Sharing. Therefore, he is guilty. How does the Conclave vote?”
In somber tones like the keening of a bell, the Conclave rang
out in unison, “Guilty!”
In the not-far distance, I could feel the tinkling laughter of
Godwin, “Yes! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!”