CHAPTER TWENTY -FOUR<\/p>\n
Peter and I drove rapidly up the coast. Whale beaching — a marine<\/p>\n
biologist\u2019s greatest frustration and a whale lover\u2019s greatest fear. Of<\/p>\n
course it would take a blubber bloat like Lambert to try and use it as<\/p>\n
an opportunity to acquire a new act for his park.<\/p>\n
My reverie was broken by our arrival at the parking lot on<\/p>\n
the rise above the beach. There below us, fifty or so whales were<\/p>\n
swimming up into the shallows and forcing themselves up onto the<\/p>\n
beach. I stood there, watching in horrified fascination, awed at the<\/p>\n
magnitude of the sight of whales throwing themselves to the shore.<\/p>\n
Peter and I rushed down to the shoreline to help in any way<\/p>\n
we could, and there, waiting for us, was Lambert. \u201cDo what you<\/p>\n
can,\u201d he mouthed. \u201cBut remember, you are on my payroll, and if we<\/p>\n
can save one of these free whales, I want it. Folks will pay big for a<\/p>\n
piece of this action.\u201d<\/p>\n
I ignored him as we waded into the surf and, with the locals<\/p>\n
on the beach, began trying to turn this whale-tide back to sea. For<\/p>\n
the most part, it was futile; they were already dying. A few of the<\/p>\n
babies were easily turned and almost eagerly swam back into deep-<\/p>\n
er waters, but the adults were steadfast in their apparent desire to<\/p>\n
throw themselves upon the shore, a suicide.<\/p>\n
In all the confusion, there was an event, an oddness that<\/p>\n
belied even the stark reality of the dying whales on the beach. As<\/p>\n
Peter and I stood in waist high water a large white whale, an albino,<\/p>\n
came rushing in from deeper water. We moved as one blocking its<\/p>\n
access to the beach and a slow death but the whale quickly moved<\/p>\n
around us. To make matters worse, Lambert began screaming at<\/p>\n
us from the shoreline. \u201cWhat\u2019s he saying?\u201d I signed to Peter. Peter<\/p>\n
shook his head and mouthed, \u201cHe told us we\u2019re doing a good job.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLambert said that? About us?\u201d<\/p>\n
Peter smiled ruefully as we again got in front of the suicidal<\/p>\n
white whale and continued our efforts to push him back into deeper<\/p>\n
water. \u201cI don\u2019t think he knows what we\u2019re doing. He thinks we are<\/p>\n
holding onto the whale, not pushing it back to sea. He said a heli-<\/p>\n
copter is on its way with nets to haul it back to the park.\u201d<\/p>\n
With that bit of news we redoubled our efforts, but the whale<\/p>\n
was too big and way too strong. We had all but given up and re-<\/p>\n
signed ourselves to Lambert\u2019s capture or worst still yet another<\/p>\n
death when, seemingly from nowhere, two dolphins bumped us out<\/p>\n
of the way moving between the white whale and the shore. Our first<\/p>\n
reaction was that the dolphins, too, were caught in the contagion,<\/p>\n
but, to our shock and delight, they began to pull on the tail and fins<\/p>\n
of the great white, trying to drag him back into deeper water. Finally<\/p>\n
the great white turned his massive head, staring at the two dolphins.<\/p>\n
I was mesmerized by all that was happening and was caught<\/p>\n
off-guard as suddenly, the whale lurched, broad siding me with his<\/p>\n
side fin and pulling me under the water. I was rolled to my side<\/p>\n
trying to fight my way back to the surface when suddenly I heard,<\/p>\n
once again, the rhythmic pulsation . . . the buzzing deep in my inner<\/p>\n
ear. It wasn\u2019t just one single pulse but two, then three separate<\/p>\n
and distinct rhythms and pulsation, like the differences between<\/p>\n
signatures. I would have forced myself to stay under longer, but the<\/p>\n
fin that pulled me into the water now pushed me out. As the whale<\/p>\n
turned, I looked deep into its eye. There was intelligence. There<\/p>\n
was soul. And there was pain . . . pain of a sort that goes far beyond<\/p>\n
the agony of mortal wounds.<\/p>\n
I sputtered and cleared my eyes and watched as the white<\/p>\n
moved slowly away from the shore.<\/p>\n
I struggled back to the beach, staggered by what I had heard<\/p>\n
and seen. Once again, those rhythmic vibrations had caressed me–<\/p>\n
this time not in a controlled situation but in the open sea.<\/p>\n
If the whales do speak, why am I the only one to listen?<\/p>\n
Other than a few of the whale calves and the great white, the<\/p>\n
rest of the pod was lost in the eight or nine hours we spent on the<\/p>\n
beach. As each one died, Lambert would suddenly appear. \u201cIf you<\/p>\n
know what is good for you, you will damn-well save one! You lost<\/p>\n
the big prize, the whiter, already. Do what I am paying you to do!\u201d<\/p>\n
When he wasn\u2019t threatening us, Lambert was granting inter-<\/p>\n
views to the local media as the resident expert.<\/p>\n
The rest of the day and long into the night was a blur of<\/p>\n
horrors beyond horrors. We took biopsies from all the dead whales<\/p>\n
before they were pushed into sandy graves dug deep into the shore<\/p>\n
by heavy-treaded tractors with huge blades. It was obviously an en-<\/p>\n
tire pod with young and old alike that had died here this day. Their<\/p>\n
eyes, glazing over with death, had reflected an obsession among all<\/p>\n
of them that confused the scientist in me as well as the humanitar-<\/p>\n
ian. Why? Why did they beach themselves? I resolved that if my<\/p>\n
career had but one purpose I would answer that why.<\/p>\n
Tired and exhausted, we went back to Water Whirled. I sent<\/p>\n
Peter home for some much-needed rest, but I continued to fuss<\/p>\n
about the lab for a time, reluctant to leave the embrace of familiar<\/p>\n
chores in the face of all that I had seen. I wandered into the com-<\/p>\n
pound and wound my way back to the main tank where the Orca<\/p>\n
and the four dolphins were still penned. With an intuitive sense<\/p>\n
that I wouldn\u2019t be dragged back into the water, I quietly climbed the<\/p>\n
stairs and sat at the edge of the observation platform. Out near the<\/p>\n
center of the smooth-surfaced pool, five heads effortlessly slipped<\/p>\n
above water and stared at me, looking quite forlorn.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, my dear friends,\u201d I signed, \u201cif only you had seen what<\/p>\n
I have seen on this day, then you would know the true meaning of<\/p>\n
sadness.\u201d They moved smoothly forward and continued to stare,<\/p>\n
making no attempt to yank me from my perilous perch. \u201cDo you<\/p>\n
speak?\u201d I signed. \u201cDid you speak? Was it all my imagination? Were<\/p>\n
the white whale and the dolphins on the beach my imaginings also?\u201d<\/p>\n
The next day and the next, I avoided the main tank wherein<\/p>\n
lay my anxieties. Lambert did what he could to make me feel horri-<\/p>\n
bly uncomfortable about the events in the pool and at the beaching.<\/p>\n
He was furious that he had been that close to a true white whale and<\/p>\n
failed to capture it. At the weekly meeting, he discouraged everyone<\/p>\n
by announcing that, unless the gate receipts went up immediately, all<\/p>\n
departments could expect cuts in their respective budgets.<\/p>\n
\u201cAll of this,\u201d he added, over-enunciating supposedly for my<\/p>\n
benefit, \u201cwouldn\u2019t have been necessary if the kindly and soundless<\/p>\n
Dr. Shar-oon hadn\u2019t helped turn the biggest find in marine history,<\/p>\n
an albino whale, back to the sea. Ten minutes more and we could<\/p>\n
have had a helicopter there with cables and a sling, and then all of<\/p>\n
us would have been on Easy Street. But no! Little Miss Doolittle<\/p>\n
did nothing. She let him go.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat there at the end of that long conference table, drum-<\/p>\n
ming his fingers and giving his infamous, icy stare, which I returned<\/p>\n
in kind. He then reached down and brought his briefcase up onto<\/p>\n
the table. \u201cOh, by the way, doctor,\u201d he spat, \u201cI have another ma-<\/p>\n
rine specimen that I need you to converse with. Maybe give us an<\/p>\n
insight as to its life in captivity. Could you talk to this?\u201d He rolled<\/p>\n
a can of tuna down the full length of the table. \u201cAsk the can if it<\/p>\n
prefers mayo or mustard with its salad.\u201d My face reddened as I saw<\/p>\n
everyone break into uncomfortable smiles. You don\u2019t have to hear<\/p>\n
laughter to feel it.<\/p>\n
Working late on the third day after the beaching, I had to<\/p>\n
make a first-hand observation of the whale. At the side of the tank,<\/p>\n
I geared up in my wet suit, scuba tank, and facemask and then<\/p>\n
climbed the steps to the platform. With some trepidation, I jumped<\/p>\n
into the water.<\/p>\n
All this time, the five creatures sat still and watched my<\/p>\n
actions. As I hit the water, there was still no reaction. Were they<\/p>\n
waiting for me to make the first move? Easily said, not so easily<\/p>\n
done. If you don\u2019t know the game, it is very difficult to make any<\/p>\n
move whatsoever. I kept my head at the surface, readjusted the<\/p>\n
facemask, then slowly slipped beneath the surface into their world.<\/p>\n
My eyes adjusted to the crystal blue water and the reflection of the<\/p>\n
artificial light from above. Their bodies were suspended in the water,<\/p>\n
yet their heads were floating on the surface. Then in concert, they<\/p>\n
sank below and hung there, silent-still, staring at me.<\/p>\n
What was supposed to have been a simple observation of a<\/p>\n
new exhibit was taking on a dramatic new dimension. I was waiting<\/p>\n
for who-knows-what, and they seemed to be waiting for the same<\/p>\n
thing. Who would speak first, if we were to speak at all? Dr. Lambert<\/p>\n
was right. All of this was a figment of my imagination . . . a dream.<\/p>\n
But if it were a dream, it was my dream, and I would be a fool<\/p>\n
to let it go to waste. I signed, \u201cDolphin! Dolphin!\u201d<\/p>\n
There was no motion in the water as they floated, their eyes<\/p>\n
unblinking–no emotion.<\/p>\n
I signed again, \u201cDolphin! Dolphin!\u201d Time slowed, then<\/p>\n
stopped altogether. Nothing happened. I started to turn away and<\/p>\n
leave the tank when one of the dolphins moved slightly closer. Sud-<\/p>\n
denly, my inner ear buzzed once again with the delightful, rhythmic<\/p>\n
pulsation. I heard. I felt. I knew the word that vibrated in an odd<\/p>\n
language as old as time. The word, repeated over and over in high<\/p>\n
modulation, was, \u201cWhale! Whale!\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the language of the sea, but I didn\u2019t understand. I had<\/p>\n
signed \u201cdolphin,\u201d yet they returned with \u201cwhale.\u201d It was like I was<\/p>\n
saying hello and they were saying good-bye. What had I missed?<\/p>\n
Once again, I felt the pulsation, \u201cWhale! Whale!\u201d<\/p>\n
Then, ponderously, wondrously, the whale swam forward, and<\/p>\n
he, too, toned, \u201cWhale! Whale!\u201d I was so overjoyed at the redis-<\/p>\n
covery of my communication with these creatures; I almost forgot<\/p>\n
the wonder of this sensation, which I now must call hearing. There<\/p>\n
was no other way for me to explain what I felt with respect to this<\/p>\n
buzzing in my inner ear. The dolphin and the whale felt distinct<\/p>\n
from each other. The dolphin voice\/vibration was more intense and<\/p>\n
faster. The whale, on the other hand, was deep and resonant. The<\/p>\n
vibrations seemed to soothe and appease. The difference was like<\/p>\n
comparing a cold fizzy soft drink and a lukewarm glass of chocolate<\/p>\n
milk. Both taste good, just different.<\/p>\n
We floated there facing one another and then he spoke.<\/p>\n
(There was and is no other way to define it.) He began speaking to<\/p>\n
me, introducing me to his life. What follows, as best I can trans-<\/p>\n
late, is what he told me that fateful afternoon. \u201cI am whale, called<\/p>\n
Dreamer,\u201d he resonated, \u201cI have come to the dryside to see what I<\/p>\n
might see. To collect verses for the song.\u201d Then, he paused waiting<\/p>\n
for me to respond.<\/p>\n
Obviously, if this was indeed the time for introductions it was<\/p>\n
now my turn. I began to slowly sign, \u201cI am sandwalker, called . . .\u201d<\/p>\n
I paused. His name was rich and reflected an act; my name sym-<\/p>\n
bolized nothing. I began again, \u201cI am a sandwalker who is sharing<\/p>\n
with all of you any and all that you might want to learn about us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh,\u201d they toned in unison, \u201cyou are called Sharing!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! No!\u201d I signed, \u201cI am not Sharing. I am sharing with<\/p>\n
you . . .\u201d<\/p>\n
They again interrupted, \u201cYou are Sharing? But you are not<\/p>\n
Sharing? If you are not Sharing, then who is Sharing?\u201d I swear the<\/p>\n
dolphins were smiling.<\/p>\n
Once again, I tried, \u201cI am Sharon, she who is sharing.\u201d<\/p>\n
The whale called Dreamer turned his massive head and<\/p>\n
looked me full in the eye. Having grown tired of the play on words<\/p>\n
he toned loudly, \u201cIf you are Sharing, then so be it!\u201d<\/p>\n
The debate was silly at best and futile. With these marvelous<\/p>\n
creatures I would share and be called Sharing.<\/p>\n
And from that inauspicious introduction, the dolphins and the<\/p>\n
whale slowly helped me expand my vocabulary as they related to me<\/p>\n
the wonders of their lives in the sea. I learned of simple things like<\/p>\n
the foods they ate but never to excess. They ate what they called<\/p>\n
tuna-tail, bug-eye, and clacker-claw. All were a part of an amazing<\/p>\n
balance that we, as man, often speak of but rarely attain. I learned<\/p>\n
more of us, mankind, the upright walking two-fin, called sandwalker,<\/p>\n
they that dominate the dryside. Minute by minute turned to hour<\/p>\n
after hour. This whale called Dreamer took me by leaps and bounds<\/p>\n
into a new dimension of understanding and reality.<\/p>\n
I learned that the whales had constructed and committed<\/p>\n
to memory the history of the world. They called it the Song of the<\/p>\n
Sea. Bit by tiny bit, I was taught this song. Melody by melody, I<\/p>\n
learned of the philosophy of balance with ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN<\/p>\n
THE WORLD, their name for a higher being, their God, their great<\/p>\n
Redeemer, their Universe. I learned that many of their kind loathed<\/p>\n
the sandwalker. They wished the sandwalker not only dead but also<\/p>\n
wished all traces of him washed from the sea and the dryside as well.<\/p>\n
I was shocked to learn that this whale and the dolphins at<\/p>\n
the marina had for the most part come voluntarily to places like<\/p>\n
this. They told me how they would be captured intentionally in order<\/p>\n
to observe the sandwalker in his natural surroundings. They were<\/p>\n
missionaries sent by the mystical whales called the Narwhal of the<\/p>\n
Horn. These horned, unicorn-like whales were part of some sort of<\/span><\/p>\n charismatic religion, ALL THAT IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD. This<\/span><\/p>\n Orca had gone there and had heard the singing of the songs of the<\/span><\/p>\n Narwhal. He then set out to be captured by the sandwalker so that he<\/span><\/p>\n might add another chapter–yet another verse to the Song of the Sea.<\/span><\/p>\n It seems the captured ones, both dolphins and whales,<\/p>\n stayed with their captors and thrived the best they could in the<\/p>\n worst of surroundings. In captivity they entertained and, in turn,<\/p>\n were entertained with observations and a slow understanding of<\/p>\n their great adversary, the sandwalker.<\/p>\n The captive song was composed and passed from whale to<\/p>\n whale to dolphin to dolphin. As time passed, one or two would be<\/p>\n returned to the sea, whether by some humanitarian gesture or the<\/p>\n simple overcrowding of one marina or another. Then, whether whale<\/p>\n or dolphin, the liberated creature would add its song to the great<\/p>\n song, the Song of the Sea and eventually the new melodies would<\/p>\n drift back to the Narwhal of the Horn.<\/p>\n As I listened and my comprehension and language devel-<\/p>\n oped, I could sense more and more. I was bowled over by the rich-<\/p>\n ness of their philosophy and their sometimes gentle compassion for<\/p>\n the spindly-finned creature they called the sandwalker, a compas-<\/p>\n sion mixed with a spiny resentment.<\/p>\n After nearly ninety minutes in the tank I signed, \u201cBut why,<\/p>\n during the second time that I tried to speak, did you refuse? Why<\/p>\n did you lie silent-still, soundless in the water?\u201d<\/p>\n The whale called Dreamer paused for a moment and then<\/p>\n slowly began to speak, \u201cWe didn\u2019t speak because we were in mourn-<\/p>\n ing, a great passing to the end . . . the beginning, and at the same<\/p>\n time celebrating a great event, the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE<\/p>\n SANDWALKER.<\/p>\n I shook my head, confused. \u201cWhat,\u201d I waved slowly with my<\/p>\n hands, \u201cis the THOUSAND DEATHS OF THE SANDWALKER?<\/p>\n And Dreamer explained, \u201cIt is the death of an entire pod of<\/p>\n whales to honor one who has brought greatness to the Song of the<\/p>\n Sea. It is the most powerful protest as prescribed by the mystic<\/p>\n Narwhal, the whale of the ivory horn. Every whale–young, old,<\/p>\n male, female–rushes to the dryside, there to die in protest of the<\/p>\n horrors the sandwalker has brought to the sea. There, they die to<\/p>\n dishonor these creatures that bring sadness to ALL THAT IS RIGHT<\/p>\n IN THE WORLD. It is a dying. It is a chorus sung in last crescendo<\/p>\n that washes the sea and even the dryside with its great sacrifice.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou knew,\u201d I signed, incredulous, \u201cof the beaching? You<\/p>\n knew of the death of the whales?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d he sang, \u201cwe knew of the deaths. We were in mourning<\/p>\n and as such we could not sing to you. It is only now that the song<\/p>\n has settled that we may once again try to teach the sandwalker that<\/p>\n which he must know.\u201d<\/p>\n My mind reeled with all that logic tried to reject. But I was<\/p>\n here, and, for all practical purposes, I was the first \u2018sandwalker\u2019 who<\/p>\n had heard the Song of the Sea. My air tanks nearing empty I pulled<\/p>\n myself up on the ramp. I removed all my diving gear and just sat<\/p>\n there, with my arms drawn about my knees, staring at these four<\/p>\n who patiently waited in the water for my return \u2013 the continuation of<\/p>\n my education.<\/p>\n As I sat there one of the security guards walked by and<\/p>\n smiled. He mouth-spoke slowly so I could read his lips, \u201cHow\u2019s it<\/p>\n going, Doc? Any news from the can of tuna?\u201d He laughed as he<\/p>\n walked away. To someone such as this, or for that matter to any<\/p>\n intelligent, well-educated person, how do I explain that I, a person<\/p>\n who cannot hear, can hear these inexplicable creatures and still be<\/p>\n deaf to my own world?<\/p>\n The very same bone, that abnormal growth that caused my<\/p>\n deafness, had to be the tuning fork, the vibrating drumhead, that<\/p>\n resonated with the fine modulations of the sung word of the whale<\/p>\n and dolphin. How long had the sandwalker, in his brilliant igno-<\/p>\n rance, listened to these wonderful creatures and heard nothing but<\/p>\n the echo of his own pride and conceit?<\/p>\n I rushed back to my lab, grabbed a fresh tank and returned to<\/p>\n whale. Slowly I slipped back into the water, back to the learning . . .<\/p>\n back to the Song of the Sea.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" CHAPTER TWENTY -FOUR Peter and I drove rapidly up the coast. Whale beaching — a marine biologist\u2019s greatest frustration and a whale lover\u2019s greatest fear. Of course it would take a blubber bloat like Lambert to try and use it as an opportunity to acquire a new act for his park. My reverie was broken […]<\/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-1376","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\/1376","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=1376"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1376\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1377,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1376\/revisions\/1377"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1376"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1376"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1376"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}