by John Morano
“But you can add a hundred new lives every year,” Lupé pointed out. He looked around at Ping’s young playing on the seaweed, and half talking to her, half talking to Pettr, said, “I will be incredibly lucky if I can add just one. And even if I’m so blessed, what will one do?”
“True, Lupé, the Greens are not as close to extinction as your flock. I’ve said that. But just as our beaks are not so different, the same can be said for our problems. Someday, one of mine—Gilgongo, perhaps—may be faced with what challenges you… If I did not care for my young as I do and allowed them to progress as Nature originally intended, one or two might survive to adulthood. And given where we are today, that’s no longer good enough.”
Ping appeared tired and drained, yet at the same time, it seemed that she needed to tell Lupé what troubled her. The petrel did not interrupt. A corner of his mind was busy with thoughts of his own. If one or two surviving young every year was not good enough for the turtles, what did that say about his fate, the Gwatta’s fate?
“My birthplace is no more,” Ping continued. “Although my soul pulls me to that piece of shoreline, I do not return. I cannot return. It is not safe. My eggs and hatchlings would not survive there. I’m not even sure I could find a patch of undisturbed beach to dig a nest.
“I have been lucky enough to find another spot. Most have not. The clutch, however, faces its greatest danger after I have left the nest and before they have hatched. Many creatures look for the nests and destroy the eggs.”
Suddenly, little Gilgongo popped through the leafy weed beneath Ping and said, “When it was time to hatch, we spent three days digging through the egg shell and the sand just to break out of the nest. Then the beach was teeming with us, all covered with sand, all running to the ocean… First we encountered loose sand, then it was packed a little harder and we moved faster. When it felt wet underneath us, we pushed ourselves harder than we thought possible.
“Those who were strong and lucky reached the sea. We felt that first salty wave wetting our dry shells. It was an incredible feeling… And it was also terrible, Lupé. You begin your life watching too many of your brothers and sisters die… But a strange thing happened to some of the other nests on the beach. The eggs were taken by humans, picked up and carried away.”
“And killed or held?” Lupé interrupted.
“No,” Ping said. “Listen to Gilgongo. It’s very strange.”
The little turtle continued, unimpressed with the notion that adults were so interested in his story. “The humans took eggs and sometimes small turtles, but they never harmed them. When the eggs hatched and the little ones grew larger and stronger, they were gently released into the sea. I have spoken to these turtles. Some have joined us on this seaweed.”
“It’s true,” Ping added. “I’ve seen humans wait on shore and protect the nests from predators. I do not understand it.”
Lupé also looked confused when he said, “It is not like the man-flock at all. When I was held by them, it never seemed like they intended to let me go, but it does sound like the man-flock wants to help you.”
“Some do,” Ping said, but she was quick to include, “some don’t. When they strip the sea of fish, humans often take my brothers and sisters as well. Many are not returned.”
A very philosophical Gilgongo rubbed a tiny dark flipper across his brow and said, “Maybe… Maybe humans are like other creatures. Some are good, and some are bad. Maybe there is mankind and there is also manunkind.”
“I think you are right,” Ping agreed.
Sour and skeptical from his captivity, Lupé mumbled, “Well, I’m still waiting to see the good ones myself.”
While Ping turned to watch her young, Gilgongo slid across the seaweed and climbed onto Lupé’s wing. He nestled himself very comfortably beneath the fluffy gray feathers and was sound asleep before Ping spoke her next words.
“I had a mate,” she began, and then, nodding to the youngsters racing around the seaweed, added, “obviously.”
The petrel wondered what brought on this disclosure and where it would go.
Ping continued, “His name was Jahroo. He survived the nest, the race to the ocean, and the fish that waited for him. He grew large and powerful, and together, we had our babies. When it seemed that Jahroo and I were going to be blessed with each other forever, he was taken from the sea. He swam into the long tentacles of the tiny islands that float across the water, the islands humans use to pull all life from the ocean.
“Jahroo called to me. He warned me to stay away. But the harder he tried to free himself, the more constricting the tentacles became. They wrapped themselves around his body, pinning his fins against his shell. When Jahroo tried to roll himself over, his head became tangled. The tentacles worked their way over his face and down his neck before they started to squeeze tighter and tighter. Jahroo choked and bled.
“Finally, I swam to him. He was exhausted and just stared at me while I tried to bite through. He needed air and could not rise to take a breath… Many others were also caught in the tentacles. Most had already perished. I wondered, ‘Could the humans on that floating island eat all of these creatures?’
“Just as I was about try to bite through the tentacles a second time, they began to move. Jahroo was being dragged toward the tiny island. We called to each other as I watched my love being ripped from the sea. He stopped calling. Then he was gone. I decided to follow the floating island. It was not long after he broke through the surface that Jahroo was returned to the sea.
“He hit the water with a clumsy splash… and sank. There were no marks on him other than those from his entanglement, but he was dead. I watched him sink silently down. His head and fins were limp against the water, and his body swayed and jerked as he sank. It was movement, but it was lifeless, the empty movement of a body without a soul. My heart sank to the bottom of the sea with Jahroo. I will never forget what happened that day. I will never forget the sudden silence of being alone without my mate.”
Ping looked so sad, so broken, Lupé did not know what to say. Then he whispered, “I am sorry. I have also lost those who were special to me… It is the hardest thing we have to bear.”
“I know, Lupé,” she said. “What I can’t understand is how well you carry the burden. I’ve lost my love, but you’ve lost everyone… how do you survive the loneliness?”
Without hesitation, Lupé said, “The same way you do. I look to others, to my Lord… and I look to myself. I still have me… my memories, and the possibility that I will meet another from my flock. Besides, Pettr has a plan for me. He’s not done with me yet. I know it.”
A half smile returned to Ping’s featherless face. She said, “It seems your courage is contagious. Please watch over the little ones. I will be back.” The turtle dipped below the surface and disappeared into the murky green.
After a short time, Ping returned with food for Lupé and her young. She did this several times until all had eaten. When the little ones were through, they began to explore Lupé. Ping made sure that there weren’t many visitors to the seaweed, so it wasn’t often that the youngsters had guests to play with.
But there was another factor that increased Lupé’s popularity. Gilgongo made the mistake of telling a few of his siblings how fluffy the petrel was. Word travels fast on a clump of seaweed, so it wasn’t long before all forty-nine turtles were climbing over each other, trying to reach Lupé first. Ever so gently, and with an exaggerated laugh just in case Ping was watching, Lupé brushed turtle after turtle from his wings, legs, and rump. This, the petrel thought, is no way to rest up for the last leg of my journey.
It occurred to Lupé later that evening that Ping had not eaten. When he asked her about it, Ping explained that her appetite was not the problem. Her jaw was sore, so she thought she’d wait until morning to feed.
Lupé thought for a moment. He started to sputter a little giggle. A playful tone emerged as he asked, “Did this problem begin shortly after you tried to have one o
f my legs for a snack?”
Intrigued, the turtle said, “Yes, it did.”
Lupé nodded his head knowingly and proudly proclaimed, “I’ll bet you never bit a bird that has legs as hard as mine.”
“You know, Lupé… while I don’t make a habit of biting birds, I could have sworn your skinny leg was in my mouth. Don’t misunderstand, I’m glad it wasn’t, but I was sure I had it between my jaws.”
“You did,” Lupé teased.
“But when I snapped them shut, it was like I bit into a clam. Your legs are as hard as coral.”
Lupé puffed out his chest feathers and said, “You didn’t realize how strong these little legs were, did you?”
Ping looked Lupé in the eyes. Then she whispered, “Do you have special powers?”
Now Lupé laughed uncontrollably. In between sputters, he managed to choke out, “If I had special powers, would I be the last of a flock, stuck on a clump of seaweed… with little turtles climbing all over me?” The petrel shook another of the little ones from his tail feathers as he continued to crow. “The only power I have,” he added, “is luck and Pettr’s blessing.”
“Then how the shell did you escape my jaws?” Ping demanded.
“You just happened to bite the silver ring.” Lupé stretched out his leg, and the mangled ring flashed in the moonlight.
Now Ping laughed. She told her friend, “After I bit you, my jaws hurt and my head ached… I had serious doubts about attacking you again.” Ping grinned and confessed, “That’s why I waited so long to approach you a second time. I thought you might have powers.”
“Well, I’m glad you waited. If you hadn’t, little Gilgongo might not have shown up until it was too late for me.”
Lupé and Ping extended wing to fin and gently slapped each other as they chuckled on and on. Soon, the little ones came down with giggle fever and chattered along with their mother and guest. The strangest sound on the sea that night was the laughing clump of seaweed as it drifted toward the warm water.
As time passed, Lupé began to feel better. Using Ping’s shell for support, he would pop into the air, flap a few times, glide in a circle, and then touch down on his friend’s hard back. Ping, happy to see her friend healing so well, would nod her approval. Every day, the petrel would fly a little higher, a little longer. Once or twice, he even managed to bring some tiny fish back to Ping’s young. It was a small but genuine attempt to repay what his host had given him.
Early one morning, after Lupé returned with a bountiful beak-full, Ping began to question the petrel about flight. She asked him what it was like to soar above the ocean, to slice through the clouds, to move so swiftly across the planet.
Flight was something Lupé took very seriously, as most birds do. He looked at the turtle and said without pause, “I don’t know if you’ll understand this, Ping, but I think you might. For me, flight is God. It is Pettr and heaven combined. It is perfection… I am never more at peace or closer to Pettr than when I am on the wing. Flight is a prayer instantly heard, immediately answered… I am on the other side when I fly.”
Ping seemed to drift off a little. She allowed the petrel’s words to swim through her mind. Then, slowly, she began to nod. “I understand,” she said. “I have not flown with your Pettr, but I know what it’s like to swim with God. I have felt perfection under the sea. Gliding silently though pink coral, seeing my little ones grow larger, and feeling the warm current cut across me while I slide through rays of sunlight that pierce the chilling green… I understand.”
Then Ping had one of those looks on her wet face. It was a look Lupé had seen before. He knew enough about the turtle to be wary of it. This look usually meant Ping had an idea, a request as undeniable as the tide.
Ever so delicately, the mother turtle said, “Lupé, since I would love to be able to fly with you and I know I never will, would you consider swimming with me?” Ping’s slick head tilted slightly to one side, and her rear flipper tapped anxiously as she waited for Lupé’s answer.
It was not something the petrel wanted to do. Ping knew this but pretended she didn’t. However, Lupé didn’t want to disappoint his friend. Ping also knew this and pretended she didn’t.
The shifty turtle decided a little coaxing was in order, so she soothed, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Before he committed himself, Lupé thought he should get a better understanding of what Ping wanted. “Must I go completely underwater?” he probed.
“It would be nice,” Ping answered.
When Lupé asked, “How long would I have to do this?” the mottled brown, tan, and black skin that covered Ping’s featherless face creased with joy as the turtle fought the urge to flaunt a shameless smile. Lupé hadn’t consented yet, but Ping was sure she’d get her way. Her friend would share the sea with her.
Again, the petrel inquired, “How long do you expect me to do this?”
“Only until you are done,” the reptile replied coyly.
“And that will be decided by me, I trust?”
“Of course,” the turtle quipped. “Who else would decide such a thing?”
Lupé agreed to the swim. Then he frowned and said, “I get the feeling that even though this was my choice, I had nothing to do with the decision.”
As she slipped into the calm sea, Ping dismissed the idea, laughing. “Don’t be silly.”
Just as Lupé was transformed when surrounded by sky, Ping was transformed when immersed in the sea. She became lighter, quicker, and infinitely more mobile than she was when she crawled on top of the seaweed. Lupé enjoyed watching Ping lose herself in the ocean.
“Come, Lupé,” she called. “You will get wet, but you have been wet before. Come see what I see, feel what I feel. There is nothing to fear. I will protect you.”
Certainly, Lupé had been underwater before, but it was usually only for an instant. He would pluck a fish and retreat before a bigger fish plucked him. Now he was going to see firstwing what it was like to be one of those birds who fished like fish.
Lupé gave his oily feathers a hearty shake. Then he wondered why he did it, since soon his plumage would be soaked. He prepared himself and looked for Ping. Lupé had no intention of touching the water unless she was at his side.
His happy companion popped up right in front of him and said, “It is time to become a turtle.”
That was all it would take. Lupé thrust himself into the air and climbed high above Ping. Overhead, he flew a silent, lofty circle. Then the petrel tucked his wings to his sides and allowed gravity to do the rest. Lupé split the sea with a subtle plip, pushing himself in as deeply as he could.
The first thing the petrel noticed was the pull, the tug all around him everywhere he moved. The water felt like a heavy wind that blew in all directions. Next, he was struck by the vision. On the one wing, he was overwhelmed by the sight of Ping. She circled him, slowly spiraling her entire body. Then she rose abruptly and climbed into a golden shaft of light that shot deep into the pale green.
Lupé could not decide whether Ping swam, flew, or danced. It was undisturbed beauty, pure grace. The turtle seemed to actually attract the light. It appeared to follow Ping as she moved around and through the bending beam.
Lupé appreciated how dark the ocean could be. Beyond and below the light, the sea became pitch. While the sky looked bright and endless, the ocean turned cold, black, and confining. The petrel could not see the curve of the planet, nor did the horizon slip from view as it did among the clouds. Down here, in the deep water, it simply got dark.
For the moment, Lupé gave no thought to air. He found himself paddling, fighting not to rise to the surface, to keep himself submerged so he could concentrate on Ping’s performance. Indeed, he marveled at how she used her front fins, flapping them like wings. The rear fins barely moved. She used them to steer the same way Lupé used his tail-feathers. And she used them to design her display.
The turtle disappeared into the black below him. Sh
e rose again, up into the shaft of sunlight. Staying inside the ray, she followed it up toward the surface. The light illuminated her head and caused her shell to sparkle. As she passed the petrel, Lupé felt the urge to follow her.
When he paddled into the beam, he was struck by the blinding brilliance. The ocean had intensified and concentrated the glare. It was more than sunlight. It was the rich white of the other side, the glow of forever. Inside the beam, there seemed to be no water. Lupé tried to breathe. Then he heard it.
The voice of Pettr spoke a single word: “Sun.” As the petrel continued his ascent up the shaft of light, he heard the word again: “Sun.” Bathed in light, Lupé wasn’t sure what was happening. He felt dizzy and thought he might be drowning or perhaps imagining it all. Suddenly, he felt Ping beneath him. The turtle gently nudged her friend to the surface.
Lupé was choking when he broke through the water. He climbed onto the seaweed and coughed up torrents of salty sea while the little turtles squeaked with laughter. Soon, Lupé began to breathe without much trouble. Ping did nothing to help. She merely swam around the seaweed, waiting for Lupé to gather himself. When the petrel appeared fully recovered, Ping coyly asked, “Did you enjoy your swim?”
There was no mistaking Lupé’s foul mood when he stomped toward the turtle and said, “Oh yes, I love a good brush with death… although lately, it seems to be the story of my life.”
“So you are disappointed?” Ping inquired.
“Disappointed?” Lupé repeated. “I nearly met my maker down there!”
Lupé was about to deliver a very colorful beak-lashing when he began to recall what had happened before the water had overtaken him. His anger with Ping vanished. He remembered flying high, entering the sea, watching Ping perform some type of dance… His mind locked on the dance.
