CHAPTER EIGHT<\/p>\n
Life continued in sweet monotony. We journeyed with the<\/p>\n
tides and moved about the world. The bright light and night of<\/p>\n
the silverside moved in an unrelenting blur of activity, all of which<\/p>\n
I turned to song. It was on the tenth journey back from the cold<\/p>\n
summer feedings that I heard the classical tones of Philosophy<\/p>\n
once again evoking a philosophical change in the song. The pod<\/p>\n
stopped silent in the seas.<\/p>\n
Philosophy, who seemed as old as the song itself, had lagged<\/p>\n
far behind. Objectively, I drew away from the main pod to seek out<\/p>\n
this old whale and see what new theme he was creating. What I<\/p>\n
found was sad indeed–a whale that had grown so old and feeble he<\/p>\n
was barely able to move. His mind had gentled, and he sang now in<\/p>\n
monotone. I followed and listened as he moved with deliberation of<\/p>\n
purpose toward the pod.<\/p>\n
He had fallen so far behind that it took the good part of the<\/p>\n
golden tide for him to join the main body of the pod. There at the<\/p>\n
edge he stopped, floating deathly still in the water. When asked if<\/p>\n
all was right, he sang in a reedy voice that he had been slowed by<\/p>\n
a deep trance and that from these dreams was a new theme for the<\/p>\n
song itself. He needed a tide or two to finish his vision. The pod<\/p>\n
was patient and took this time to feed heavily on all those sweet<\/p>\n
things that can be found to eat in the warmer waters.<\/p>\n
Early the next day, when the bright lights of golden tide had<\/p>\n
overshadowed the night of the silverside, Philosophy began to sing.<\/p>\n
At first it was only a gentle harmonic rippling the water, but slowly it<\/p>\n
crescendoed into a demand that the pod gather about him. From all<\/p>\n
points and depths of the sea, they came. We moved and surround-<\/p>\n
ed this aging whale of wisdom and dreams.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am old,\u201d he said. \u201cI am about to slip from the waves that<\/p>\n
rock the sea and fall like a rock to the deep! As is my wont, I wish<\/p>\n
to reunite myself voluntarily with the waters of life and give up that<\/p>\n
which was given to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The pod buzzed in excitement but quieted again as the old<\/p>\n
whale continued, \u201cI have over the past several tides been visited in<\/p>\n
dreams by the Narwhal of the Horn. They have presented me with<\/p>\n
new thoughts and perspective of life. I have been much moved by<\/p>\n
their arguments in my dreams. It is with the counsel of those pro-<\/p>\n
phetic dreams that call for my right as dictated within the Holy Song<\/p>\n
of Truth as sung by the Narwhal of the Horn . . . for the THOU-<\/p>\n
SAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER.\u201d Then in dramatic<\/p>\n
punctuation, he floated there, quiet still rocking side-to-side with the<\/p>\n
waves, singing nothing. But from the pod there was a silent expec-<\/p>\n
tation of more and a searching for understanding of his request.<\/p>\n
My charge was to record all, as part and parcel of the song.<\/p>\n
While Philosophy sang, I remembered the ghostly pair I had met so<\/p>\n
long ago who had first sung of the \u201cdeath.\u201d I silently recalled my<\/p>\n
dreamlike meeting with the Narwhal and their call for the ultimate<\/p>\n
revenge, wherein a pod would drive themselves upon the shore in<\/p>\n
obscure protest. I tore deep into the heart and soul of the very<\/p>\n
song itself searching for a melody or a verse that would guide me to<\/p>\n
accept or refute Philosophy\u2019s demand that the pod should commit<\/p>\n
such a massive suicide and if that request should be honored. The<\/p>\n
pod turned to me and waited in nervous anticipation.<\/p>\n
How long they waited or how long I searched I do not know,<\/p>\n
but suddenly from the very beginnings of the song I found that pas-<\/p>\n
sage, that same passage that was later sung to me by the Narwhal<\/p>\n
in my youthful dream in the ice flow.<\/p>\n
At first as a gentle humming and then to full voice, I sang,<\/p>\n
\u201cThere will come a time when the song as sung need not be sung<\/p>\n
any more. There will come a time when one amidst the pod will call<\/p>\n
for the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER, to force the<\/p>\n
pod to the dryside in silent protest of all the wrongs the sandwalkers<\/p>\n
have committed in the sea. The pod must agree in majority and be<\/p>\n
willingly to give up that which was given to them, life itself. The<\/p>\n
requesting whale, so honored, will be allowed to lead the pod to the<\/p>\n
dryside, there to leave the waters of life forever and die, never to<\/p>\n
return to the sea.<\/p>\n
But the decision is great for the pod. For, with the honor of<\/p>\n
the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER, the pod song<\/p>\n
is ended. All must go. All must sing the final song with the one<\/p>\n
so honored. All must gloriously rush to the shores of the dryside<\/p>\n
and sing the final stanza in protest to those that wish us gone from<\/p>\n
the sea. This is not an ignominious death, but rather a rapturous<\/p>\n
crescendo honoring all of those who have swum and still swim the<\/p>\n
waters of life. So it is sung in the Song of the Sea.<\/p>\n
As I finished, the seas went flat, not even a breeze ruffled the<\/p>\n
waters. The pod floated as if suspended in time and place reflecting<\/p>\n
on what I had sung. All, every member of the pod from Progeny<\/p>\n
to Philosophy would die if the request was granted, this honored<\/p>\n
death. Right or wrong, I knew not which, but a feeling of waste<\/p>\n
pervaded my very soul. Surely the pod would see the futility in this<\/p>\n
gesture of ending the song. I was but the Scribe. I was the singer<\/p>\n
of the song and could not, would not enter the debate as to the val-<\/p>\n
ue of this decision. I was charged with listening, detached, a part,<\/p>\n
yet not a part. I waited as all those others waited for a new song<\/p>\n
to be sung to end the anticipation of this frightful request. Surely<\/p>\n
Philosophy had grown mad with the aging. Surely the pod would<\/p>\n
not agree.<\/p>\n
Dark had come with the rising of the silverside and the melt-<\/p>\n
ing of the bright golden light. Nothing moved but the waters them-<\/p>\n
selves. The tiny bright flashes of the far above watched and cooled<\/p>\n
the seas, but still no one moved. Everyone, young and old alike,<\/p>\n
silently sang the song that had been sung.<\/p>\n
Much later as the tide changed and the bright light skipped<\/p>\n
across the rolling waves like some great silvered fish, without cue<\/p>\n
the pod began to sing as one. \u2018We greet the golden tide. We greet<\/p>\n
the sea. We honor those that have gone before. We honor those<\/p>\n
still living. We now honor Philosophy with the beginning, the end.<\/p>\n
We gladly go as one to sing this the final passage to the Song of<\/p>\n
the Sea. We will freely die to protest the sandwalker and the evil<\/p>\n
that he brings to the sea.\u201d<\/p>\n
As long as I live, as long as I swim the seas seeking some<\/p>\n
form of destiny, I will hear those hollow lyrics that were added to the<\/p>\n
song. My mind reeled as I recorded all, as was my charge. For the<\/p>\n
moment, I was caught in the very same excitement, the fever of this<\/p>\n
momentous decision and I too began to sing the acquiescence. I<\/p>\n
hummed, and my blood boiled with the power that comes in being<\/p>\n
one with the pod. It was done. The pod had decided and the insidi-<\/p>\n
ous wave had begun its ominous roll to the shore.<\/p>\n
I, too began to sing the acceptance, pledging my body to<\/p>\n
the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER, but the old,<\/p>\n
cracked voice of Philosophy cried out bringing me to my senses,<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Harmony! The entire pod must go as one save for one . . .<\/p>\n
the Scribe, the sentinel, the singer of the song. You must stand<\/p>\n
away and record the final notes. You are charged, as you have been<\/p>\n
charged before, with watching and recording. There is no other way.<\/p>\n
When all is done you must sing the song in all its finality to another<\/p>\n
pod so that the traditions will be passed on. As you sing the final<\/p>\n
notes of the song, then and only then will you enjoy the rapture of<\/p>\n
all that we have enjoyed. Then shall you have your end, your be-<\/p>\n
ginning. This is the way it has been. This is the way it shall be.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence once again knifed through the pod but in the air was<\/p>\n
the blood call of the decision. So numbed was I, that I simply re-<\/p>\n
corded and thought not at all of what would come later.<\/p>\n
As the pod sang their song of expectation, I heard, in the<\/p>\n
distance, the angry bellowing of Cacophony as he breached from<\/p>\n
the deep. \u201cIt was mine. The song was mine. Mine to sing. Mine to<\/p>\n
listen. I agree with the pod, but I do not want to die!\u201d Only I heard<\/p>\n
this passionate outburst, like many small verses. It was followed<\/p>\n
by silence, as Cacophony sounded deep and disappeared from the<\/p>\n
song for a time.<\/p>\n
The pod did not move; the pod did not sing. It lulled in the<\/p>\n
waters off the shore and waited for the darkness of the silverside.<\/p>\n
For this was the time of great madness, as the silverside pulled not<\/p>\n
only at the tides but twisted our sanity and reason. With the si-<\/p>\n
lence and the quiet of the pod, I dropped from the world to reflect on<\/p>\n
the fullness of the song. The music of all the histories reeled in my<\/p>\n
mind and I sought some form of escape from the decision of Phi-<\/p>\n
losophy. The music whispered like a quick wind that blows, but no<\/p>\n
remedy came.<\/p>\n
I found in the song in tides long past other Scribes who had<\/p>\n
traveled long distances until they found our pod. They had come<\/p>\n
shrouded in the anguish of their aloneness and to sing their song<\/p>\n
one final time. Always when finished, as they sang the final chord,<\/p>\n
the crescendo, of their now-extinct pod\u2019s song, they died becom-<\/p>\n
ing one with the sea, their song echoing forever in the verses of<\/p>\n
our pod. For being a Scribe without an active song to sing has to<\/p>\n
be loneliness so painful and deep that the only cure is the end,<\/p>\n
the beginning.<\/p>\n
But also in the song was one Scribe who came not alone.<\/p>\n
He came with a mate. I was there, a young whale, and as this<\/p>\n
Scribe from some unknown, long-departed pod sang, his mate<\/p>\n
joined him with a gentle harmony. At the final crescendo, they end-<\/p>\n
ed their lives together.<\/p>\n
I could take a mate!<\/p>\n
It was always known to me that should I wish, I could take<\/p>\n
a wife, and it was always assumed that in some tide, Melody and<\/p>\n
I would be one. Now was my final chance to join, to have a com-<\/p>\n
panion to ease the lonely tides as I searched for a pod to pass the<\/p>\n
song to. A mate. An interlude in my personal song in which I could<\/p>\n
reflect and join and become one for a time. No time for calving, no<\/p>\n
time for child, but still something to grasp on my journey to the end.<\/p>\n
Without thinking, I breached and called loudly for Melody. Her<\/p>\n
name echoed about the pod as they floated idly in deep contempla-<\/p>\n
tion of all that was, and was to be.<\/p>\n
The waters seemed to sweeten as I felt her come near, her<\/p>\n
song questioning my need. The wind whipped at the waves and<\/p>\n
froth, in the form of tiny bubbles lifted in the air reflecting the laven-<\/p>\n
ders and blues of the twinkling lights overhead. She sang a gentle<\/p>\n
blush and brushed against me as the swell of the waters lifted us<\/p>\n
both in unison. We became one for a moment, there in the bril-<\/p>\n
liance of the reflected silver light, and for that moment, forgotten<\/p>\n
was the world.<\/p>\n
The forgetting seemed forever. There was not yesterday, only<\/p>\n
the sweet promise of now, but like the tides that roll in and out,<\/p>\n
tomorrow crept upon us. What had been only two in the world be-<\/p>\n
came all things of the sea, and a pod that demanded to sing a fatal<\/p>\n
song. I regained my senses.<\/p>\n
\u201cStay with me Melody,\u201d I rushed. \u201cAs is my right as Scribe for<\/p>\n
a pod that seeks to end its song, I may choose a mate. Stay with<\/p>\n
me and listen to this strange glory. Our tides will not be long, but<\/p>\n
we can see what we can as we seek another pod to sing our final<\/p>\n
song.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sang nothing for a time as we rode the crest of the silver-<\/p>\n
side tide, then slowly she pulled away. \u201cI, too, had a vision from the<\/p>\n
Narwhal. In my dream I was told that I must succumb to the will of<\/p>\n
the song. The Narwhal said that I would be tempted to stray, but<\/p>\n
that I must be true of course and sing with those I have sung with<\/p>\n
always. Philosophy has called for the finale to our song and of that<\/p>\n
honor I should sing. But, I also long for your song. I wish to sing<\/p>\n
both songs but I cannot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut,\u201d I protested, \u201cit seems so futile, such a waste of life and<\/p>\n
the song. We have lived, frolicked, and swum the seas. We have<\/p>\n
run from dangers. Have we survived only to drown in the dryside?<\/p>\n
What makes Philosophy right? What makes the death of all for the<\/p>\n
death of one so glorious? Who has a right to ask us to give up our<\/p>\n
world for the sake of an old whale\u2019s pride? Don\u2019t sing with them,<\/p>\n
sing with me! It will give us tides together before we, too, sing the<\/p>\n
finale of the Song of the Sea.\u201d<\/p>\n
In answer, Melody slowly drifted from my side by the tide of<\/p>\n
the night of silverside. \u201cLet me think,\u201d she cried as she turned.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me think of that which I should do.\u201d<\/p>\n
I found myself alone, wrapped in my own self-pitying song.<\/p>\n
Pity always wraps those who sing of it in a numbing blanket of false<\/p>\n
warmth and security. I heard not the rush and swell of the seas, nor<\/p>\n
the simple tunes sung by the others that swam nearby in the waters<\/p>\n
of life. I could only hear my own song as I lamented a love lost.<\/p>\n
So dulled was I by my saddened introspection, it was some<\/p>\n
time before I realized that something was very wrong indeed. I felt<\/p>\n
the waters begin to churn as I was tossed this way and that. Blink-<\/p>\n
ing my eyes in confusion, shaking off the lethargy that had envel-<\/p>\n
oped me, I was tossed again violently as a giant fluke smashed me<\/p>\n
full in the face.<\/p>\n
I turned and looked but could see nothing. Then, from the<\/p>\n
murkiness of the depths was a shape and form I knew only too<\/p>\n
well–Cacophony! His eyes were glazed and shot with the raging hot<\/p>\n
blood that coursed in his veins. Full into my side, he hammered,<\/p>\n
and I felt the bone and cartilage splinter and crush. I twisted in<\/p>\n
slow agony trying to hold to conscious thought, but the darkness of<\/p>\n
the silverside was getting darker, and I could not react as he struck,<\/p>\n
again and again.<\/p>\n
I floated, unable to defend myself, all the sweet dryside airs<\/p>\n
driven from my body. I could only listen as Cacophony railed, \u201cDie,<\/p>\n
white whale, die. Die not the honorable THOUSAND DEATHS OF<\/p>\n
THE SANDWALKER, but die just the same. You have taken the<\/p>\n
song that should have been mine. You have changed my life. You<\/p>\n
have made all the wrongs seem right. You might have had the hon-<\/p>\n
or to stand aside and listen as we all sang the final song, but I take<\/p>\n
that honor. I take back that which you have taken from me!\u201d<\/p>\n
He receded into the gloom, and I could barely discern his<\/p>\n
form as he prepared to deal the final blow. As he charged, I steeled<\/p>\n
myself for the end, the beginning. Just as he was about upon me,<\/p>\n
a tiny form leaped through the waters and deflected his blow. Like<\/p>\n
a dolphin, darting here and there, was Progeny. Progeny, my tiny<\/p>\n
friend, was no match for this monster of the deep but a match he<\/p>\n
made.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must leave him be!\u201d Progeny sang in his child-whale<\/p>\n
voice. \u201cYou must be gone from the crystal seas.\u201d He rammed the<\/p>\n
much larger whale square in the eye, and Cacophony was blinded<\/p>\n
on one side. Progeny darted this way and that, and before Cacoph-<\/p>\n
ony could react, this silvery missile smacked into his other side,<\/p>\n
rendering the mad bull totally blind.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy son,\u201d croaked Cacophony in shock and disbelief, \u201cyou<\/p>\n
would side with him who has taken the song from your father?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d cried Progeny, \u201cI learned from Harmony to give all for<\/p>\n
the song.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd, I suppose,\u201d continued the blinded whale in gentler<\/p>\n
tones now, \u201cthat dear, sweet Harmony has sung all sorts of ditties<\/p>\n
about your father. I suppose he has sung in a loud voice all the<\/p>\n
wrong that he felt I had done.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, father. Harmony has not sung of you at all. He has<\/p>\n
avoided all melodies with mention of you for fear of turning me<\/p>\n
against you. No, father, the song I sing is one of observation. I<\/p>\n
have watched. I have listened. You are an evil in the waters of life!\u201d<\/p>\n
Cacophony paused in silence as he thought on all that had<\/p>\n
been spoken. Then, he softly spoke, \u201cMay chance you are right,<\/p>\n
my son. May chance I have squandered the wealth that the waters<\/p>\n
of life gave me. I am so sorry. I have not been a father to you at all.<\/p>\n
I have ignored you and I know not your song. Come closer so that<\/p>\n
I may see you, for you have blinded my eyes and I can barely see.\u201d<\/p>\n
As Cacophony spoke, the child\u2019s angry resolve softened<\/p>\n
and then turned quickly to pity and shame. \u201cFather,\u201d cried the tiny<\/p>\n
whale as he cautiously slipped to Cacophony\u2019s side, \u201cI have hurt<\/p>\n
you so, but I only did so to save another.\u201d<\/p>\n
Progeny moved near to his father and began to sing a song<\/p>\n
of gentle healing, as he brushed against the eyes that could not<\/p>\n
see. Round and round, round and round, he swam about the injured<\/p>\n
whale, as he tried to heal the injuries that he had caused.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, the older whale twisted his massive body and<\/p>\n
with one mighty blow, smashed his tail with all of his weight into<\/p>\n
the tiny whale.<\/p>\n
With a burst of bubbles, Progeny softly sang, \u201cFather, why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy? Why?\u201d his father laughed, \u201cYou are my son, and<\/p>\n
you have to ask why? Anyone who dares to strike at the mighty<\/p>\n
Cacophony shall not live long in the sea. Adagio, the fat whale;<\/p>\n
Tympani, my learned father; Harmony, the great white; even you, my<\/p>\n
son, none shall live that fail to understand–I am he that controls the<\/p>\n
sea.\u201d And with a crash of body on body and a cackle of laughter,<\/p>\n
Cacophony ended the just-begun life of his son, Progeny.<\/p>\n
I lay there still in the water. \u201cOh, my dear sweet child, Prog-<\/p>\n
eny. Yours was a special gift of laughter and mischief. Yours was<\/p>\n
always to give to me, and now you are gone, involved in that which<\/p>\n
you did not belong!\u201d<\/p>\n
My lament was broken again by the discordant voice of Ca-<\/p>\n
cophony, \u201cNow, white whale, as my vision clears, we shall finish<\/p>\n
that which is ours to finish.\u201d He began moving towards me and I<\/p>\n
once again steeled myself for the end. Droning a senseless tune,<\/p>\n
he moved in the ever-tightening circle of the death spin. I had just<\/p>\n
begun to sing my final song, to quietly ease what pain was coming,<\/p>\n
when Cacophony stopped.<\/p>\n
The waters surrounding us were filled with such frothing that<\/p>\n
as single-minded as was his intent, even Cacophony stopped. But<\/p>\n
the water wasn\u2019t truly frothing. The waters were dancing with the<\/p>\n
unified voices of the entire pod, singing the first chorus to the Song<\/p>\n
of the Sea, the prelude to the death of Philosophy. The notes of<\/p>\n
the song were accented by each of the pod, from the smallest to the<\/p>\n
largest, and it caught them all in a fever of finale. Whale by whale,<\/p>\n
they breached between Cacophony and me, and whale by whale,<\/p>\n
they separated us. Cacophony bellowed in rage as he was carried<\/p>\n
along, but no one in the pod reacted, for the ritual had begun.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop!\u201d he cried, \u201cI am Cacophony. I will not lower myself to the<\/p>\n
clamshell level of you . . . you followers! I am the leader.\u201d<\/p>\n
But the pod ignored his protestations pushing him toward the<\/p>\n
shore behind the slowly swimming, age-mad Philosophy.<\/p>\n
Cacophony began to panic as he realized he was trapped at<\/p>\n
the head of the procession. \u201cYou kelp heads, you crusty-coated<\/p>\n
feathered furies, let me be! I should have been the Scribe. The<\/p>\n
song should have been mine to sing.\u201d<\/p>\n
But the pod continued to sing as one. The mad bull tried<\/p>\n
vainly to swim through the pod and back out to sea, but the crush<\/p>\n
of whales was so massive that in their fervor, they could not let<\/p>\n
him go. He battered and slammed at the moving wall of flesh but<\/p>\n
they were resolute in their determination. All the while, Philosophy<\/p>\n
moved through the break line of the crashing waves, closer and<\/p>\n
closer to shore as he hummed a sweet gentle tune in counterpoint.<\/p>\n
As the pod passed me by, so did Melody, and the waters<\/p>\n
seemed saltier still as rainbow-hued tears welled in her eyes. \u201cI<\/p>\n
love you, Harmony. I want that noted and reflected in this, the final<\/p>\n
crescendo of the song. I wish I could stay. I wish I could live a<\/p>\n
moment more with you by my side, but I cannot. I will be with you<\/p>\n
forever in song.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was mortally injured and could do nothing but listen. I float-<\/p>\n
ed in the sea, charged with the responsibility of those things that<\/p>\n
had been sung before. I could not interfere. I could not be involved.<\/p>\n
I was the Scribe . . . the singer of the song. I was to listen and to<\/p>\n
remember, not necessarily of choice but rather by chance alone.<\/p>\n
The pod moved by and I was left alone in a sea awash with<\/p>\n
the music of the honor and vengeance of the THOUSAND DEATHS<\/p>\n
OF THE SANDWALKER. I heard and remembered tens and hun-<\/p>\n
dreds of simple verses as the pod moved where the waves broke<\/p>\n
upon the sands. I heard short tunes of love lasting forever, and<\/p>\n
mothers cheering their children, and the children nervously respond-<\/p>\n
ing, not truly understanding all this stuff of traditions. I listened as<\/p>\n
Cacophony bellowed, at first in rage and then in total fear, for his<\/p>\n
end was very near. Though he thrashed and tried to force himself<\/p>\n
back to sea, the press of flesh was too much, and he was rolled in<\/p>\n
the waves that crashed up on the shore.<\/p>\n
The entire pod was embroiled in personal verses, all of which<\/p>\n
became part and parcel to the final singing of the song. At the head<\/p>\n
of this senseless procession was Philosophy, and slowly I began to<\/p>\n
isolate his ending song. I expected something deep and meaning-<\/p>\n
ful but instead I heard a silly lullaby, a song a mother would sing to<\/p>\n
a child. His sing-song voice rocked with the waves as his ancient<\/p>\n
form began to grate on the sand. This was not the tune of some<\/p>\n
great member of the pod. This was the song of a whale gone mad.<\/p>\n
This tradition, this death of the sandwalkers, was the whim and<\/p>\n
wish of senility. It was off tune.<\/p>\n
The sea now rang with other noises, the rattle and the grated<\/p>\n
clackings of the sandwalkers as the shore filled with their scores.<\/p>\n
Why were they here? Why would they mingle with us? Why would<\/p>\n
they interfere with the song as it was sung in all its glory in protest<\/p>\n
of their lives?<\/p>\n
Finally, I began to realize that in a way maybe Cacophony was<\/p>\n
right, and all of this was senseless waste and carp bile. I started to<\/p>\n
move my aching limbs and began to shake myself from the lethargy<\/p>\n
of tradition. This was wrong! This hideous act must be stopped!<\/p>\n
Waste, what a waste, all the pod, all the lives thrown to the shore<\/p>\n
to end all, to honor some whale who now sang of chasing tuna-tails<\/p>\n
and butterflies. I pushed my way through the mass of slick flesh<\/p>\n
that blindly moved to a sandy death.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop,\u201d I cried, \u201cGo back. What you do is wrong! Stop the<\/p>\n
singing! Stop the song! The final test is the sanity, the rightness,<\/p>\n
of him who calls for the death. Philosophy is not right with the<\/p>\n
world. He has failed the test. This death should not be!\u201d But my<\/p>\n
pleas fell on ears deafened by that which has happened before — tra-<\/p>\n
dition. As I tried to turn the tide and force them back to sea, some<\/p>\n
were already singing their final melody. I pushed and shoved, bit<\/p>\n
and battered at them, but they would not be dissuaded. Back and<\/p>\n
forth, my belly dragging upon the sand as my great fin stood from<\/p>\n
the water like some sagging white sail, I swam, trying to stop all<\/p>\n
from this stupidity. The waters frothed about me as I sought Melo-<\/p>\n
dy. Surely she would listen to the logic of all this insanity.<\/p>\n
v oices began to drop out from the song as they passed over,<\/p>\n
gone forever. I lashed at some, battered at others–anything to get<\/p>\n
their attention. Some of the babies, the smaller whales, frightened<\/p>\n
by my machinations, moved miraculously back from the shore, but<\/p>\n
it was all I could do to keep them away from the death, for they did<\/p>\n
not under<\/span>stand,<\/span> wanting only to be near their mothers and fathers.<\/p>\n Mixed in with the rocking bodies of the pod were the hideous, frail<\/p>\n sandwalkers who strangely moved in the waters with us.<\/p>\n Before me, closer to the shore, I could hear the beautiful bell-<\/p>\n like sounds of my beloved Melody, as she reached the goal. \u201cNo!\u201d I<\/p>\n bellowed. \u201cDo not die, my sweet. You can live. This final song is<\/p>\n a lie. It should not be sung.\u201d I flipped and pulled at these waterless<\/p>\n sands forcing myself higher and higher into the dryside and closer to<\/p>\n my Melody. I must save her. I must force her back into the waters of<\/p>\n life, back to sensibility.<\/p>\n As I pushed forward, I felt myself being pushed back. Not<\/p>\n by the sea, which was rushing to the shore, but by the dry-skinned<\/p>\n fins of the sandwalkers. \u201cLet me be!\u201d I sang, but as I noted be-<\/p>\n fore, these strange creatures know not how to sing, and worse<\/p>\n still, would not listen to my song. I fought against them. I pushed<\/p>\n and twisted and hammered myself closer to my love, my life itself.<\/p>\n They pulled; I pushed.<\/p>\n Then to my horror, I heard the final, gloriously dreadful sound<\/p>\n of Melody singing her last. She sang the song of love, the song of<\/p>\n my life as she saw it. She sang a song of calves not born and the<\/p>\n golden light we would never see again. \u201cI loved you, Harmony,\u201d she<\/p>\n sang in a whisper like the wind. \u201cI loved you then; I love you now,<\/p>\n and I dedicate my end, my beginning to you!\u201d And with that, the<\/p>\n waves seemed to stop and the seas went flat. The song ended. The<\/p>\n song was no more to be. For the first time in my life, I heard a silent<\/p>\n world, a world without a song.<\/p>\n I paused in my grief and stared with great unblinking eyes at<\/p>\n the shore that was now strewn with the bodies, the hulks of all who<\/p>\n I had loved and come to know. How long I floated there, I do not<\/p>\n know. I felt myself at some other time being pressed back to the sea<\/p>\n by the strange sandwalkers. But I cared not, idly floating and allow-<\/p>\n ing the waves to move me to the shore. Now I too had reason to<\/p>\n die, for I had no reason to cling to a hollow life, empty of song. The<\/p>\n song that I had been charged with singing was a flat buzzing sound<\/p>\n of memory only. It was then that all around me faded to black and<\/p>\n cooler grays.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" CHAPTER EIGHT Life continued in sweet monotony. We journeyed with the tides and moved about the world. The bright light and night of the silverside moved in an unrelenting blur of activity, all of which I turned to song. It was on the tenth journey back from the cold summer feedings that I heard the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-1336","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-uncategorized","7":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1336","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1336"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1336\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1337,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1336\/revisions\/1337"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1336"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1336"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1336"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}