CHAPTER NINETEEN<\/p>\n
During these many tides, I came to know well the sandwalker<\/p>\n
called Sharing.<\/p>\n
Tracking the tides themselves became a monstrous problem,<\/p>\n
for these sterile waters where we were sealed in the stone ponds did<\/p>\n
not move at all. The waters were perfectly still, unaffected by the<\/p>\n
nights of the silverside or of starlight bright. I soon was taught to<\/p>\n
count and think in other strange ways. Sandwalkers had five little<\/p>\n
fins on each of two upper fins so all their counting was based on<\/p>\n
the unit ten. Time was not measured in tides but rather by the cycle<\/p>\n
of the golden light. Each day represented approximately two tides.<\/p>\n
I continued to count in tides out of stubborn pride rather than the<\/p>\n
new daylight cycle system of the sandwalker.<\/p>\n
Sharing came daily to the stone pool just after the early<\/p>\n
throwing of the dead fish. She stayed in the pool with me for nearly<\/p>\n
half of every tide while the other dolphins and the whale translated,<\/p>\n
and I learned the gentle nuances of her speech; the way her fins<\/p>\n
waved and formed word pictures.<\/p>\n
Her face was more expressive than I could have imagined.<\/p>\n
Occasionally, she stretched her mouth in an odd grimace, showing<\/p>\n
her teeth. The first time, I thought she was preparing to attack,<\/p>\n
for it was not unlike the sharp-fin as he prepares to swallow some-<\/p>\n
thing whole. But her mouth was small, and her teeth were blunt and<\/p>\n
looked ineffective for doing more than grinding stones. The gri-<\/p>\n
mace was usually accompanied by odd snorts and coughs. I ques-<\/p>\n
tioned her once about it, and she said it was the way the sandwalker<\/p>\n
showed joy. Seems appropriate. It is the same way the sharp-fin<\/p>\n
shows joy \u2013 when preparing to devour something.<\/p>\n
Through talks with Sharing, the sandwalkers became an<\/p>\n
even greater mystery than they had been before. Word by word,<\/p>\n
I learned of them and their odd ways. Sharing explained that she<\/p>\n
wished to know more of the Song of the Sea and how it was sung<\/p>\n
and recorded. Dreamer knew of the song but was not a Scribe and<\/p>\n
only knew bits and pieces. I, on the other hand, had swum with<\/p>\n
Harmony and remembered all of the Song.<\/p>\n
Still cautious, I was selective in what I told her. Often the<\/p>\n
whale or my fellow dolphin questioned my failure to give her com-<\/p>\n
plete answers. I had seen many evils performed in my travels<\/p>\n
throughout the seas, for the most part by the sandwalker. Although I<\/p>\n
came to have a strong friendship with Sharing, I continued to be coy.<\/p>\n
Sandwalkers didn\u2019t migrate or wander free, but rather lived<\/p>\n
their lives in tiny caves that they had built by rearranging the nat-<\/p>\n
ural order of things. They had even constructed the stone ponds<\/p>\n
in which we swam. I learned that the shell-shark was not a natural<\/p>\n
phenomenon of the dryside but rather was constructed, too. Their<\/p>\n
need to rearrange nature seems to be a critical element that sepa-<\/p>\n
rates the singers and the sandwalkers philosophically that and their<\/p>\n
need to collect. At one point Sharing told me she was adding my<\/p>\n
brief answers to her personal song, a collection of which she called<\/p>\n
notes. They all seemed to be obsessed with gathering things.<\/p>\n
Things were everything. Sandwalkers had many different woven<\/p>\n
weeds they draped over their bodies. Sharing told me the sand-<\/p>\n
walkers were driven to possess, to accumulate, and the thought of<\/p>\n
sharing was a horror to them far worse than the end . . . the begin-<\/p>\n
ning. All of the sandwalkers appeared to feel this way — that is, ex-<\/p>\n
cept Sharing who for some reason possessed the philosophy of the<\/p>\n
whale and dolphin, at least in part. She still had a varied collection<\/p>\n
of weeds.<\/p>\n
I really struggled with the material value system that the<\/p>\n
sandwalker embraced. They had developed a system that gave<\/p>\n
reward for activity, not unlike the throwing of dead fish to me. The<\/p>\n
sandwalker collected its rewards and then hoarded it, using them at<\/p>\n
a later tide in exchange for other things to collect. They all were<\/p>\n
rewarded for doing normal things, and even Sharing was given valu-<\/p>\n
ables for talking to us in the ponds. Odder still was that the other<\/p>\n
sandwalkers did not truly believe Sharing spoke with us at all. But<\/p>\n
they still rewarded her for doing it. It would be like a whale giving a<\/p>\n
dolphin a bug-eye or a tuna-tail for breaching from the sea. I don\u2019t<\/p>\n
get it. It just doesn\u2019t make sense. Worse than worse these collec-<\/p>\n
tions of rewards were the measure of the value of their lives as they<\/p>\n
passed at the end . . . the beginning.<\/p>\n
Oh, sandwalkers were peculiar indeed.<\/p>\n
What was the same between us was that the sandwalkers\u2019<\/p>\n
learning was taught in a form of the Song and passed on from father<\/p>\n
to son, mother to daughter. Young sandwalkers were taught from an<\/p>\n
early age to memorize bits and pieces of the sandwalker song. But<\/p>\n
the sandwalkers who were like the Scribes were not rewarded much<\/p>\n
at all and collected very little in their lives.<\/p>\n
I was delighted to learn the sandwalker felt love and had<\/p>\n
many ways to express it. Some even believed in a form of ALL<\/p>\n
THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD. Maybe there was a greater tie<\/p>\n
binding us together than had been sung before.<\/p>\n
Daily, Sharing brought me many of the long-dead fish. I<\/p>\n
think she thought it was some sort of reward. Finally one day in<\/p>\n
disgust, I asked, \u201cWhy do you and other sandwalkers throw the<\/p>\n
long-dead fish in the water? Why cannot we have real food?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sharing moved her fins in the water in her odd signing way<\/p>\n
and said, \u201cBut these are real food.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are capable of sustaining,\u201d I countered in disdain, \u201cbut<\/p>\n
they are hardly real food. Would you, Sharing, eat of them?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mouth twisted in her odd way as she said, \u201cNo, but we<\/p>\n
eat things that would not suit you. Better still, I will show you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She crawled from the pool and soon came back with a large<\/p>\n
container. From it she took a long reddish-colored tube that looked,<\/p>\n
of all things, like a sea slug, dried and stiff. \u201cTaste of this,\u201d she said,<\/p>\n
and popped the still warm object in my mouth.<\/p>\n
I swallowed and then spat all back into the water. \u201cWhat was<\/p>\n
that?\u201d I gagged, \u201cIt was warm, not cool like sweet meat. It cannot<\/p>\n
be food.\u201d<\/p>\n
Once again Sharing\u2019s mouth twisted in her odd smirk of de-<\/p>\n
light. \u201cThere are some of us who do not think of this as food either,<\/p>\n
but still many eat of it constantly. It is called a hot creature that is<\/p>\n
furred and walks on four fins,\u201d she signed.<\/p>\n
I shook my head. A hot creature?<\/p>\n
\u201cBut,\u201d I protested, \u201cthis hot creature who is furred and walks<\/p>\n
on four fins did not taste alive! It did not even taste of meat.\u201d<\/p>\n
Grimacing as many burps and gasps escaped her lips Sharing tried<\/p>\n
to explain that a creature who is furred and walks on four fins was a<\/p>\n
friend of the sandwalker, a bringer of great joy and laughter.<\/p>\n
\u201cSandwalkers are beasts!\u201d I sang in disgust. \u201cNot only do<\/p>\n
they try to kill all in the sea, they eat their friends, the furred four-fin\u201d<\/p>\n
With fins flashing, Sharing again tried to explain to me that<\/p>\n
the hot meat tube was not a furred four-fin but was only called that<\/p>\n
as a joke of sorts. The tube itself was made of a larger four-fin that<\/p>\n
schooled like our food fish, the bug-eye and split-tail. This large<\/p>\n
four-fin ate the seaweed that grew on the dryside.<\/p>\n
This all was very confusing and made my head spin, so filled<\/p>\n
was it with great knowledge.<\/p>\n
Over the next several tides I learned more and more from<\/p>\n
Sharing, and she from me. I was the first she had met who had trav-<\/p>\n
eled afar in the seas. I was the first that had shared friendship with<\/p>\n
a whale, such as Harmony, and experienced firsthand the THOU-<\/p>\n
SAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER.<\/p>\n
But in all that I explained to Sharing, I told her not of the<\/p>\n
great Conclave. For the Conclave\u2019s ultimate purpose was to decide<\/p>\n
the fate of the sandwalker once and for all. I knew not how Sharing<\/p>\n
would react to her race\u2019s future being held in sway at this trial. I<\/p>\n
knew not if Sharing, once knowing the truth, would help me escape<\/p>\n
the ponds and return to the sea. Therefore, in fear that the truth<\/p>\n
might be likened one who was a friend to a sharp-fin — friend one<\/p>\n
moment, food another — I maintained silence.<\/p>\n
All this knowledge, given to me by Sharing, somehow had to<\/p>\n
be passed on to Harmony and the Conclave that was soon to gath-<\/p>\n
er. The other dolphin and the whale knew of the importance. This<\/p>\n
knowledge should never be given to the Narwhal alone to be used<\/p>\n
in their devious plan; rather Harmony must know all of the truth<\/p>\n
before the Conclave.<\/p>\n
During a group session when my stone pond was shared by<\/p>\n
all the dolphins, a spasm wracked me so hard it spun me in circles,<\/p>\n
leaving me dazed.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt has begun,\u201d Bitty murmured excitedly. \u201cThe child within<\/p>\n
wants out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sharing splashed over to me and comforted me as best she<\/p>\n
could. I recovered my breath, only to be wracked a moment later<\/p>\n
by another convulsion, stronger yet. Of all that is holy, what was I<\/p>\n
giving birth to, a whale? The pains continued and then as quickly<\/p>\n
as they had started, they subsided like the emptiness in the middle<\/p>\n
of a storm.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt has passed,\u201d I cried in relief, \u201cbut the birth will be within<\/p>\n
this tide.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will go,\u201d signed Sharing, \u201cand bring other sandwalkers to<\/p>\n
help me lift you from the water to take you where we can help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d I exclaimed, \u201cMy child will be born in the sea, even<\/p>\n
this sterile sea. It can be no other way!\u201d<\/p>\n
Sharing signed there was great danger and the baby and I<\/p>\n
both could die. But I resolutely defied her. My child would be born<\/p>\n
in the sea or not be born at all. The little sandwalker was agitated<\/p>\n
but understood my resolve.<\/p>\n
The other dolphins sang comforting melodies, and Dreamer<\/p>\n
sang bits and pieces of the Song of the Sea to soothe me. Some<\/p>\n
time later Sharing returned with two other sandwalkers. In an effort<\/p>\n
to afford some privacy, the sandwalkers shooed the whale and the<\/p>\n
dolphins back to their ponds, and I was left alone with Sharing.<\/p>\n
She asked how I felt and I told her that, although the child<\/p>\n
still moved within me, there hadn\u2019t been any new pains. She signed<\/p>\n
that the others would have come sooner except there was some<\/p>\n
trouble in the ponds. She signed curiously, \u201cYet another dolphin has<\/p>\n
been brought to the stone ponds. This is an odd dolphin and . . .\u201d<\/p>\n
Before she could continue, once again, my body seemed<\/p>\n
to explode with pain. The twisting, muscle-tensing pain stiffened<\/p>\n
me; then, as quickly as it had come, the pain disappeared like a<\/p>\n
wave passing in the sea. The first wave was followed by another,<\/p>\n
and yet another.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe time is soon!\u201d I groaned.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, dear little dolphin,\u201d Sharing waved, \u201cI hope you are do-<\/p>\n
ing right to stay in the water. We will help, but it will be very difficult<\/p>\n
and dangerous.\u201d An incessant hammering at the other end of the<\/p>\n
pool broke the nervous anticipation and the silence that ensued.<\/p>\n
Something or someone kept throwing himself at the stone gate.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was that?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat,\u201d signed Sharing, \u201cwas the dolphin I spoke of. The<\/p>\n
odd thing is he wanted to be caught even though we didn\u2019t want to<\/p>\n
catch him.\u201d<\/p>\n
The pain began to well again, but even through the pain my<\/p>\n
eyes opened wide. It must be.<\/p>\n
\u201cQuickly!\u201d I cried. \u201cBring him to me. Hurry!\u201d<\/p>\n
Sharing seemed confused at this request but finally signed<\/p>\n
to another sandwalker, who fiddled with a great smooth-stone ring<\/p>\n
on the edge of the dryside. The water at the end of the pool surged,<\/p>\n
and the new dolphin swam through the opening.<\/p>\n
Sharing and the other sandwalkers were rudely bumped as<\/p>\n
this interloper smashed his way to my side. I turned my head to the<\/p>\n
most beautiful sight in all the sea, for there was Little Brother.<\/p>\n
Then quiet settled over me and all went black as I was<\/p>\n
wracked with an unbelievable pain.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
CHAPTER NINETEEN During these many tides, I came to know well the sandwalker called Sharing. Tracking the tides themselves became a monstrous problem, for these sterile waters where we were sealed in the stone ponds did not move at all. The waters were perfectly still, unaffected by the nights of the silverside or of starlight […]<\/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-1364","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\/1364","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=1364"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1364\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1365,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1364\/revisions\/1365"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1364"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1364"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1364"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}