by D R Sherman
The boy moved against it. He slid his left arm under the lower jaw of its beak directly below the beetling forehead. He did it because he thought it might be tiring for the big fish to keep its head lifted out of the water, and then he put his right arm over its back. He held the dolphin like that, pressing gently up against its body, and then he began to rub the tips of his fingers up and down over its flank. In that moment he truly loved the big fish. He saw one big brown eye watching him, and in a burst of sudden tenderness and affection he bent and laid his cheek against the sleek head of the fish just in front of the blowhole.
“What a fine fish you are,” he murmured softly, in the lilting musical patois of his Creole. “I wish that I could change into a fish like you, because then I could leave the land and swim by your side through all the great seas and all the great oceans.”
I wish I could change into a fish and be your brother, he thought. He remembered his leg, and the idea filled him with a passionate and desperate longing.
He heard a sudden shrieking cry. It came from the direction of the beach, and it was shrill with half-hysterical excitement. He lifted his head quickly and glanced across his shoulder, irritated by the intrusion, and more, alarmed that the big fish might take fright and swim away. It trusted him now, but it was a wild thing, and he did not know how it would react in the presence of other people who were strangers.
He was concerned only for its safety and well-being, but at the same time he could not help the sudden stab of possessive jealousy he felt when he saw the girl. It was his fish, and he did not want to share it with anyone, nor did he want another to have its trust.
“Limpleg!” she screamed frantically, dancing up and down on the beach at the water’s edge forty yards away. “Is it a shark you have caught?”
She had been throwing stones at a wagtail on the beach when she first noticed the big fish as it surfaced to breathe. She saw the masked face close against its back, and she stared in astonishment, unwilling to believe her eyes. She blinked them rapidly, convinced that they were playing tricks on her, but then when the fish surfaced again closer in towards the shore she knew that she had not been imagining-things. She stared incredulously, and the first thought which crossed her mind was that a man was fighting with a shark. She turned and ran, and she ran down the steps which led to the beach, and before she reached the edge of the water she saw the man stand up dripping from the sea. She recognized him at once, and she knew then that it was not a man but a boy only a little older than herself who had been gripping tightly to the back of some great fish.
The boy pushed the mask up onto his forehead and then hastily resumed his gentle caressing of the dolphin’s flank. He waved at her angrily, motioning her away. He did not want to shout out, because he was afraid he might frighten the fish.
“But what is it?” the girl shouted at him. “Is it a shark? Have you killed it?”
He saw that she had no intention of leaving. “Can’t you see that it is not a shark?” he called back furiously, pitching his voice low and just loud enough to reach her.
Just then the undershot lower jaw of the dolphin bore down heavily on his left arm. The weight was tremendous, and it broke the cradling support of his arm. He saw the fish sink into the water, and then with a sudden flick of its tail it darted away. It moved fast, and with the water still heavily clouded he was unable to follow its flight. He thought the big fish had gone and left him. He turned towards the beach and the girl, and he felt a burning anger rise chokingly inside him. It was all her fault.
He lifted a clenched fish and shook it at her, and there was no mistaking the meaning of the gesture. He was on the point of starting an abusive tirade when the dolphin sliced silently through the water and knocked his legs out from under him. The boy let out a half-strangled gasp of fright as he crashed face first into the sea. He thought it was a shark, and as he thrashed around trying to regain his feet he searched the water frantically for it.
He got his legs under him and stood up, and that was when the big fish surfaced quietly about ten feet away. Its right eye stared at him unwinkingly. He thought he saw amusement in it, and the set smile of its mouth seemed to have a smugly mischievous tilt.
The nervous tension ran out of the boy. It drained him completely, and his relief was so great that his legs felt weak and trembly for a moment. After that he started laughing softly, partly out of reaction, but mostly because of the realization that the fish had only disappeared to play a trick on him. It added another dimension to the bond that was between them already. He did not have the words to define it, but the knowledge was in his mind, and he knew it was a good thing.
He smacked his hand down lightly into the water, whistling softly at the same time. He watched the big fish in a fever of anxiety. For a moment it did not move. He was disappointed, but a second later it flicked its tail lazily and came gliding up to him. He could not believe at first that it had happened but then he cried out joyously. The dolphin had actually answered to his call.
He tickled it just behind the left flipper, along the smooth white belly and the flank. The dolphin swam past him and then it began to circle him slowly in the water, making those strange creaking whistles he was getting to know so well.
He heard the girl calling out again, and he turned patronizingly towards her. “What do you want?” he asked.
He squared his shoulders and straightened up. He felt smug and complacent, and he felt that it was more than justified. Was he not a boy who could call the very fishes of the sea to him? He felt elated and proud, but at the same time he did not forget that it was a wild creature, and that it came of its own free will. The realization humbled him a little.
“What is it, Limpleg?” the girl called.
“Can you not see?” he asked. “It is a marsouin.”
He heard her shrill exclamation of delight and surprise, and he straightened his shoulders again and stood up a little taller. He saw her come dancing a little way into the sea and then she paused, hesitant and wary.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked.
He smiled at her with a tolerant superiority. He shook his head, beginning to enjoy himself. “He does not harm me,” he said.
“But will it bite me?” she called anxiously.
“I do not think it will bite you while I am here,” he replied airily.
She thought it over for a while and then came on cautiously. “I saw you riding on its back when you came in from the sea,” she said incredulously. “Were you fighting with it?”
“I was riding on his back,” he called back. “And not fighting with him.”
“But how can a great fish allow you to ride on its back?”
“Because he is my friend,” the boy replied smugly, and then he became conscious for the first time that he had used the word he instead of it when speaking about the fish. He was startled for a moment, but then he came to accept it as quite natural and even more fitting.
He saw with alarm that she had approached already to within fifteen yards. He held tip his hand, “Do not come closer,” he warned her peremptorily.
She froze, instantly apprehensive. “But why?” she asked. “Because he’s my fish!” he cried suddenly, harshly.
For a second he was startled and dismayed at the words which had burst from him so involuntarily. He saw the look of hurt on her face, and he wished he had not spoken. He looked away from her pain, and he told himself he didn’t care. It was his fish, after all.
“Oh, Limpleg,” she said softly, with an understanding and compassion that, coming from her, shocked him and made him feel even more mean. “I know it’s your fish.”
She spoke to him not in the classical French she had been using before, but in the slurred, bastard French of his Creole patois. It was her first move towards identification with him and the world in which he lived. The significance did not escape him, and he felt worse than ever.
“Then if you know it is my fish what do you want with it?” he asked sull
enly.
“Oh Limpleg!” she rebuked him quietly. “I only want to see it from close.” She also wanted to touch it and ride on its back as the boy had done, but she knew it was neither the time nor the place to mention those matters.
“My name is not Limpleg!” he cried angrily, and to soothe himself he reached out and caressed the fish as it swam by him in the water. He looked up at her suddenly, and when he spoke again there was a simple dignity in his voice, “My name is Paul Mistral,” he said.
“Won’t you let me come a little bit closer and see your fish, Paul?” she asked.
“Well—” He eyed her suspiciously, warily, but the look on her face made him weaken. “All right,” he said grudgingly, “you can come.”
She started forward eagerly, and as she waded in deeper the water swirled up around her waist and lifted her dress. It floated in a circle, and as she moved he caught glimpses of the curved white sweetness of her thighs. He looked up quickly, almost ashamed of himself, and his attention was caught by the swelling roundness of her breasts which showed quite clearly underneath her dress where the water had splashed and made it wet. His eyes shied off nervously. He had never seen so much of a girl before, and the shape and promise of her body which was contoured so very differently from his own excited and frightened him at the same time. He took refuge in belligerence.
“Don’t splash and make so much noise,” he whispered harshly. “You might frighten him away.”
She nodded breathlessly and came on. Her eyes were fixed on the dolphin which was swimming lazily in the water now, circling in front of the boy and watching her approach. She was two yards from his side when the big fish turned suddenly on the outward sweep of its circle and sped in towards her with its belly scraping up clouds of sand.
She screamed in terror. She felt the body of the dolphin sliding past her legs and the next instant a flick of the powerful tail knocked her feet right out from under her. She came up spluttering and gasping, and she flung herself against the boy and held to him frantically, using his body as a shield between herself and the big fish which was now circling placidly fifteen feet away on the other side of the boy. She stared at it in horror, choking and sobbing.
“It tried to bite me,” she whimpered.
Instinctively he put his arms round her. “No, no!” he said quickly, defending his noble fish. “He was only playing. Did you not see him doing the same thing to me a little while ago?”
“When you dived into the water?” she asked.
The boy laughed. He felt the girl stir within his arms, and it accentuated the contact between them. He felt a quickening in his body, and it was a pleasurable sensation. He began to feel embarrassed that he was holding her, but neither did he want to let go.
“Yes, when I dived into the water,” he said, laughing about it again. “Only I did not dive. It was Marsouin who knocked my feet out from under me just as he did it to you.” For the first time he thought of the word marsouin as being the name of the dolphin: listening to the echo of it in his mind he decided it was a fine name for his great fish.
“Oh!” the girl exclaimed. “Is that what happened?”
“Oui.”
“I thought you were diving after it to catch it,” the girl said.
The boy shook his head. He felt her body moving restlessly against him and then suddenly she twisted out of his arms and turned towards the fish.
“Why do you call it he all the time?” she asked. “It is a fish, not a person.”
“It is a boy fish,” he said profoundly.
“Oh—” She stared at him doubtfully. “Are you sure?” “I am sure.”
She was silent for a while. “Could I touch the fish as you did?” she asked suddenly.
The boy became instantly wary. It showed plainly on his face, and the girl saw it. She reached out quickly and touched his arm.
“Please, Paul,” she pleaded with him.
He began to weaken. He hesitated a moment, not at all happy about the idea. He glanced at the circling dolphin, and then back at her. The look in her eyes was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.
He wanted to let her touch the fish, but he was dreadfully afraid that if he allowed her to play with it the big fish might develop a preference for her. The girl saw his indecision, and with the wisdom of a woman she understood it for what it was.
“I’ll only touch him a little, Paul,” she said.
“All right,” the boy said, suddenly making up his mind. “Go and see if you can touch him then.”
It would be a true testing of the love that was between him and the fish, he thought, and by refusing to permit the trial he himself was admitting to a lack of faith and trust. It had to be, he knew, and if he did not allow it he would wonder about it and be fearful every day of his life.
We will see, he thought, we will see.
“How will I touch him?” the girl asked.
The boy shrugged. “Just touch him.”
“But he is far out of my reach,” she protested.
“Walk over to where he is swimming,” the boy said un-helpfully.
“He might knock me into the water again,” the girl said. “And this time he might bite me.”
The boy grunted in exasperation and disgust. “Would you like me to call him to you?” he asked sarcastically.
The girl was too preoccupied to notice it. “Can you call him?” she asked, and her eyes rounded on him in wonder and awe.
He was not prepared for it. “I think—” He saw her lip curl in derision, and his stammering uncertainty was replaced by anger and resentment. He remembered that he had called the big fish to him a little while ago, and he wondered if he could do it again. He had to try though. He hoped he could do it, because it would be a terrible thing to fail now, in front of her.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “I can call him.”
“Go on, then,” she said, and her voice was tinged with amusement.
The boy drew a deep breath. He felt the quivering inside him die. He whistled softly, the trilling note he had used right from the beginning, and then he slapped the palm of his hand lightly against the water. Spraying drops splashed into his eyes, but he did not blink or flinch. He watched the dolphin with a fixed stare, and his heart raced painfully.
Come on, fish, he said inside his mind. Come on, Marsouin, my beautiful fish.
Before he had finished his invocation the dolphin was turning in the water. It turned head on to him and then a single flick of the tail sent its body gliding effortlessly through the water straight towards him.
The boy felt the muscles of his stomach begin to unknot. He glanced surreptitiously at the girl, bursting with conceit. She was staring at him in astonishment, and the look in her eyes was something very close to reverence. He glanced away hastily, pretending he hadn’t seen it. He reached out with a studied nonchalance and scratched the flank of the dolphin as it swam up close against him. It remained motionless while he caressed it, and only its flippers moved lazily as it held its balance in the water. The boy felt very proud of the big fish then, and his heart was warm because of what it had done for him.
“You had better touch him now,” he said. “He will not stay forever.”
The girl stretched out eagerly, and the moment she laid her hand on the back of the dolphin it shied away from her sharply. Its tail flicked up and down once and it shot off under the water and came up thirty feet away.
“Oh no!” she cried, and her face crumpled with disappointment. She stared after the dolphin. She watched it circling and cavorting in the water and then she turned suddenly to the boy. “Why did it not allow me to touch it?” she asked.
“But you did touch him,” he said calmly.
He felt a fierce exultation sweep through him, but he kept it hidden and did not let it show. In that moment he loved the big fish more than he had ever loved it before. It had answered his call without hesitation, and more, it had rejected the advances of the girl. That, as far as he was
concerned, was positive proof that its affection and loyalty were reserved for no one but himself.
He began to wonder why the big fish had darted away, and then he wondered whether some sixth sense had not perhaps made it aware of the test to which it was being subjected. He thought it quite possible, and since he could think of no other explanation which might account for its behavior, he convinced himself finally that it was so.
“But not the way you did,” the girl complained. “He swam off the moment I touched him.”
The boy began to feel a little sorry for her. “Perhaps it is because you are strange to him,” he said, trying to console her, but he knew in his rejoicing, heart that there was another reason for it.
“Do you think,” the girl said hesitantly, “do you think if you called him again I might be able to touch him?” Unconsciously she had begun to emulate the boy, speaking of the dolphin as a person and not as a fish.
“I do not think he will allow it,” the boy said gravely. “How can you know?” the girl cried, and there was anger and irritation in her voice.
“I know my fish,” the boy replied simply. His eyes looked inward on the secrets in his mind, and his mouth curved softly in an enigmatic smile.
The girl did not understand it: she thought he was mocking her, and she became infuriated. “I will call your fish myself!” she cried angrily.
She whistled, and then she slapped the palm of her hand down on the water as she had seen the boy do it. The dolphin surfaced instantly. It stared at her for a moment, and she thought she saw a look of indignant reproach in the large brown eyes just before it sank out of sight and swam off again. She bowed her head, and her face burned red with humiliation.
“I will call him for you,” the boy said gently. “But I do not think he will let you touch him.”
He called the fish to his side once more, but somehow its obedient response did not thrill him as it had done the last time. He saw the girl reach out, but before she had even touched the dolphin it veered off abruptly. It circled round her and came up on the other side of him against his leg. He saw the look of despair and resignation on her face.