Hester Velmans - Jessaloups Song

HESTER VELMANS

Jessaloups Song is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyperson or whale is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 Hester Velmans

Published by van Horton Books atSmashwords

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebookmay not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would liketo share this book with another person, please purchase anadditional copy for each reader.. Thank you for respecting the hardwork of this author.

ISBN 978-0-9835505-9-4

Jacket illustration by Jesse Reisch

For Peter

Once I sat upon a promontory

and heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back

uttering such dulcet and harmoniousbreath

that the rude sea grew civil at her song

and certain stars shot madly from theirspheres

to hear the sea-maid's music

WilliamShakespeare, A Midsummer Night's

Dream

TABLE OFCONTENTS

FORTY-NINE

H ere they come: one by one, in two longsnaking lines. The young whales first, jostling one another to bein front. Behind them the families, the mothers with theirhalf-yearlings. Finally the elders come sweeping up alongside:Momboduno, with Onijonah on his right; Bonadiboh, Lord of the IceFloe, and General Trogulo, the old battle-scarred warrior, on hisleft. As they pass him, each gazes deep into his unblinkingeye.

Although he is anxious to be off, to starton his fearful adventure, he patiently endures the endlessfarewell. For each member of the tribe must be given a chance todonate a token of fortitude to the great store of courage he willbe needing to complete his quest. It is ordained in the Song.

Even the seaweed is waving farewell. Thelight above has faded to a dusky, ominous green. He blinks, makesan effort to stay still in the prescribed position, although he isitching to flap his flukes, to shake his head, to twist his bodyand release some of the pent-up energy that has been building up inhim and is about ready to explode.

There, at last, is Indigoneah, Keeper ofSongs. As always, she is the last in line. Instead of gliding pasthim, she stops as she draws up alongside. He can sense the whalesbehind him settling into their positions. Without needing to look,he can tell that they are drawn up in great concentric semi-circlesback there, like tiers of spectators in a Roman theater.

Nobody moves. There is a thick, expectanthush. The whole ocean seems to be holding its breath.

Then, finally:

Courage, my son,Indigoneah intones.

Courage, comes a hushedwhisper from the whales behind him.

Follow the Way of theSong, she continues.

Follow the Way of theSong, hums the chorus at his back.

May you succeed in yourtask, rumbles Indigoneah.

Succeed in your task,sings the chorus, louder now.

May you survive unharmed!she bellows.

SurVIVE unHARMED! Its adeafening roar.

An involuntary shiver twitches all up anddown his spine.

Go now, Indigoneahexhorts him, and make us proud. Save the HUMANS!

The cry SAVE THE HUMANS! lifts him up on atidal wave of sound as he sets off in the opposite direction, andit goes on ringing in his ears for many a mile as he makes hislong, lonely way toward the shore.

O ften at night, with the wind rattlingmy window and the rustling branches outside swelling, crashing andebbing away again like the sea, Id suddenly find myself sitting upin bed, wide awake. Joy and sadness inflated my stomach like aballoon, and next thing I knew, I was kneeling at the window myturret window, at the top of my familys blue Victorian house onCape Cod. Once my eyes had grown used to the dark, I was able tomake out the sliver of sea that was my sea, the narrow slice of oceanwedged between the hardware store and the marina. I could kneelthere for hours, until my knees were numb and my eyes dry fromstaring.

What I was hoping to see out there wasclearly impossible it was too far away, and too dark, and toodeep. Still I would keep waiting, and yearning hoping. There! Thatglint on the horizon, gone in a flash. Could it be?

And then, warmed in the pit of my stomach bythat little crumb of hope, I would finally crawl back into my bed,and shut my eyes. And I dreamed I was being called back to thesea.

I sabel ! Are you dreaming, Isabel? Iasked you a question!

I looked up, startled. Mrs. Stiglitz wasmouthing words at me, words that echoed hollowly in the neon-litclassroom. There were charts on the wall, a whiteboard, kidsslumped all around me in little desks. There was a notebook open infront of me, I seemed to have a pencil in my hand, a pencil with atassel on the end of it, but for a moment I had no idea what I wassupposed to be doing.

Uh Could you repeat thequestion, please? I stammered.

I said, have you got yourfinal assignment for me? Everyone else has handed it in exceptyou.

I fumbled around, peered under the book onmy desk. Sure enough, there was a sheaf of papers, paper-clippedtogether, hiding underneath. I pulled it out and, pushing myselfsideways out of my desk, stumbled to the front of theclassroom.

Sorry, I muttered,handing her my assignment. The bell had rung, and everyone wasmaking for the door.

Isabel. A word. Mrs.Stiglitzs voice was stern.

I have to get to Spanishclass I said feebly.

I dont know whatis with you thesedays. You were always such an excellent student. Now youreconstantly off in some never-never land, it seems. And your work issuffering. Youre just not concentrating enough. Are you gettingenough sleep? I shall have to speak to your parents.

I mumbled something about insomnia, andescaped.

In the corridor, I ran into Tom, myex-boyfriend. Id broken up with him weeks ago, but he still actedas if he hadnt gotten the memo. Hey, Isabel, he said. Whatsup!

Im late for class, Ipanted.

Havent seen you around atall, he said reproachfully. You avoiding me, or what? Battle ofthe Bands day after tomorrow, you know.

I know! I yelled over myshoulder.

Dont forget! he shoutedafter me. You gotta be there! Promise!

In Spanish class, my best friend Molly hadsaved me a seat. She looked at me quizzically.

The Stick has it in for meagain. She says shes going to have to talk to my parents, Imoaned. Im just not concentrating enough, she says.

Well its true, Mollysaid, you do seem kind of out of it.

And Tom keeps bugging meabout the Battle of the Bands.

Come on, arent you even alittle excited about Tom and his band? Theyve got a good chance ofwinning, you know.

I shrugged. He acts as ifwere still together. I mean, as if he didnt even hear me when I told him Iwanted to break up.

I dont think he believesthats the way you really feel. He thinks youll change your mind,especially if his band wins.

So what am I supposed todo? Pretend everythings fine, and scream my head off when its histurn to play?

Plenty of girls would loveto take your place, you know, said Molly. Everyone thinkshes way cool.

I know, I sighed. Itsjust me, I guess.

Molly patted my hand. Youcant help feeling the way you feel. But I do wish you wouldnt actso gloomy. Cheer up, cant you? I mean, were nearly done for theyear. Almost three whole months of freedom ahead of us! Whatis up with youanyway?

Nothings up, I shrugged,rifling through the stack of books before me to find my Spanishtextbook. Nada, uh, esta arriba , I clarified in my best stab at Spanish, pointing up at theceiling and snapping my fingers. Ol!

Molly snorted. You make melaugh, Seorita .

I do? I said.

You still do, she said.Sometimes.

B ut it was true, I was feeling gloomy.I had nothing to cheer up about.

Today was the anniversary. Three years!