Makoona

by John Morano

  “Oh, yes you have.”

  “Have not.”

  “Have too.” Ebb smiled.

  “Who then?” Binti demanded. “Name names.”

  “Hootie. How’s that for a name?”

  “I never brought Hootie here.”

  “That’s open to interpretation, my friend. You came to see me, and Hootie followed you. Now he comes here all the time.”

  “But I didn’t bring him. You said it yourself. He followed me.”

  “I’m the last fish to split scales, but isn’t that bringing him? I mean, if he follows you, then wasn’t it you who brought him here?”

  “He follows me everywhere.”

  “That may be true, but it’s not really the point at fin. Allow me to explain more simply . . .”

  Binti was annoyed at the implication of the statement. She didn’t enjoy condescending damselfish. Ebb knew this, which was precisely why he made the statement. The farmer continued cultivating Binti’s ire.

  “You were, in effect, the one who led him to this place. Were it not for you, he would not have come here. Hence, you are guilty of bringing, perhaps unwittingly, another here, yet guilty nonetheless.” Ebb smiled, proud that he could point out what the brainy octopus had missed.

  “But you love Hootie.”

  “I think the word ‘love’ is a tadpole strong. I like Hootie. But again, not the point.”

  By now, Binti’s pride was bruised. She flushed a deep pink with wisps of pale blue. As one of the most intelligent creatures on the planet, it was disconcerting to be intellectually toyed with by a farming fish. How could a scale-covered creature who spends all day tending algae growing on sponges and rocks talk whirlpools around her? And then it happened. The mollusk’s monstrous mantle went to work and found an idea Ebb hadn’t considered. She returned to a confident rusty brown color and went on the offensive.

  The octopus queried the fish, “Ebb, didn’t you say—and correct me if I’m wrong, I know you will—that visitors always return with others? And that they never leave your farm as they found it?”

  “Yep, those were my words.”

  “Well, let me ask you . . .” Binti paused for effect and took a slow, deep breath, releasing the water through her siphon beneath her mantle, which she aimed directly at Ebb’s face. A stream of disorienting bubbles popped all around him. “Who has Hootie ever brought here? And when has he ever disturbed your field?”

  Ebb leaned over and trimmed some algae below. He looked up and replied, “But that’s exactly why I like him so much. He doesn’t eat my algae or disturb the sponges. And unlike yourself, he’s a brilliant conversationalist.”

  “Now who’s avoiding the issue?” Binti teased. “The larger principle is, I believe, that visitors are not inherently trouble. Some, like Hootie, may actually turn out to be friends. Rather than a hindrance, visitors could, in some cases, actually be a benefit.”

  “Maybe,” Ebb mumbled. The farmer, suddenly quite interested in his chores, looked up at the octopus and smiled sourly. “But some friends can turn out to be a real pain in the anal fins, if you catch my drift.”

  Binti did, so she moved on to another topic, asking, “Have you seen it?”

  “No, I haven’t. But you’ve got half the fish on the reef out searching for your shell, and none of us are really sure what it looks like.”

  “If I knew, I’d find it myself. But when I see it, I’ll know.”

  Ebb pointed a stout fin as some loose rocks rolled onto his algae. The friends froze for a moment and looked for danger. Seeing none, Binti stretched out one of her long arms and brushed the stones away.

  “Thanks,” Ebb said.

  “Don’t mention it,” she replied. “Now, where were we? Yes, it’s important, Ebb. At least to me, it is. Just as the spirit-fish showed you how to find your harmony, I need to find mine.”

  “And you really think the shell is the answer?”

  “I think so. I’m a mollusk without a shell.”

  “So?”

  “Imagine if you were a fish without gills,” the octopus suggested.

  “Well, maybe the spirit-fish will tell you where that special shell is.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice? But maybe I need to find it myself.”

  “To hear the blowfish tell it, sounds like he might’ve found it for you.”

  “He’s supposed to take me to it tonight.”

  Ebb looked skeptical. “How many times has that blowfish told you he’s found the shell? I hope he’s not just blowing water up your siphon.”

  “He’s trying to help.”

  “Just don’t get your hopes up.”

  The octopus clammed up, feeling disappointed before she’d even seen the shell, remembering how many times she’d already been disappointed. But really, it didn’t matter how many times she was led to the wrong shell. When the right one washed up, that would be it, once and for all. It only had to be right one time. Yet something was becoming obvious to Binti: she might have to find the shell herself.

  Like a lizard clinging to a log, Kemar floated with his cooler. Half asleep and getting cold, the boy rolled with the gentle waves, prepared to go wherever they carried him. Perilous uncertainty was fast becoming a way of life for the young Cambodian, who gazed at the crisp stars overhead.

  Again, something large and solid bumped up against Kemar’s thigh. It felt like a fish, but not one with large scales. It had smooth skin. Whatever it was, Kemar hoped it would take no notice of his precarious position and continue on its way so they could remain just two things that go bump in the night.

  But the fish continued to nudge the boy. Something splashed behind him off to the right. On his left side, a few feet away, he spotted a triangular gray dorsal fin crease the sea and then disappear into the dark. With only dim starlight and a sliver of a moon, Kemar couldn’t tell whether he was in the company of sharks or dolphins.

  The boy’s heart jumped when he felt something grasp his foot in its mouth. He whipped his leg away, avoiding an actual bite, but he could feel teeth against his ankle. Lifting his foot out of the water, he was terrified by what he saw, a slight, steady trickle of blood dripping into the sea. Although the injury itself wasn’t going to kill him, it could easily cause his death. It might also explain the increased presence of the gray visitors and their apparent interest in him.

  Kemar tried to keep his foot out of the water, but his blood still found its way into the sea. The boy thought about wrapping the wound in his kremar, but it was too late to do anything about the cut. The damage was done, the blood had found the ocean, and it seemed the ocean was about to find him.

  Suddenly, Kemar was thrown sideways. His cooler popped several feet into the air. The lid flew off, and the box took on sea water. It began to sink. The boy scooped up the lid and frantically swam to the cooler, knowing that without the buoyant box, he wouldn’t survive. When he reached the topless cooler, he threw his arms around it, drained the bilge, and snapped the lid back in place.

  Then he realized why the fish might’ve been so interested in him. Several dried flounders, a smoked perch, and another salted fish of some sort were in a bag, semi-submerged next to a plastic gallon jug filled with what he assumed was fresh water. Son Ba had obviously stolen some food and some very valuable water for her friend. Kemar figured that she must’ve grabbed the goods while Phan questioned him. It was an act that could easily have cost Son Ba her life.

  Kemar grabbed the jug, which was still capped, and the bag of fish. He spotted an old blue coffee can floating near him. As he placed it into the cooler, he reasoned that it was the object Mir Ta had added to Son Ba’s survival kit. Kemar found the old bungee cord dangling from the one handle. He stretched the cord around the cooler, secured the lid, and held on, wondering if he’d ever see his two friends again.

  His thoughts drifted back to his mother’s words, “Good friends are hard to lose.” And the boy reflected, Unless they’re my friends. He’d already lost so many in his yo
ung life. Once again, he was alone, without direction, family, or companions. But the boy smiled as he considered that perhaps he did have one other pal, the octopus who’d earlier helped him retrieve the cooler. He noted, ironically, that this would also be a friend he’d probably never see again.

  A high-pitched laugh jolted Kemar from his thoughts. It startled the boy. Right in front of him, a large, gray dolphin emerged from the sea, looked him over, and laughed its squeaky, whistle-like giggle before dipping beneath the surface and swimming below the boy. Although Kemar didn’t perceive it, the dolphin was telling the boy its name.

  Again, the cooler shot into the air, the lid popped free, and a dolphin swam off with one of Son Ba’s flounders. Gathering the cooler and its contents once more, Kemar was relieved to see that he was surrounded by mischievous dolphins rather than dangerous sharks. In fact, the dolphins might actually be able to keep the sharks at bay.

  Kemar watched the beautiful creatures as they swam, ate, and cavorted all around him. The night air was filled with their chuckling, clicking, and splashing. They seemed so happy. Kemar had always liked dolphins, but he did get a little nervous when one after another rubbed up against him. The boy didn’t know if it was accidental or whether they were merely having fun or perhaps planning something more sinister.

  At one point, he reached down and stroked a large adult who floated next to him. In the shimmering moonlight, he could see lines on its smooth hide where others had run their teeth across its skin. He scratched the lines, hoping to soothe the dolphin, then ran his hand along its back, tracing the outline of white spots and brown patches.

  He reached out and gently grasped the prominent dorsal fin, and as he did, the dolphin began to tow him slowly. The animal didn’t dive or try to shake the passenger free in any way. It seemed to the boy that the dolphin was leading him somewhere.

  Kemar couldn’t decide whether or not to let go. Another smaller dolphin appeared on his other side and nudged up against him. The human understood that he was at the mercy of these beasts. It was clearly their ocean. But he reasoned that as long as he held on and allowed the dolphins to pull him, he could save energy and wouldn’t drown.

  So Kemar held one dorsal fin, slipped an arm through the bungee cord wrapped around the cooler, and grasped the other dolphin’s fin as well. He felt the power of these mammals as they cut through the water, ignoring currents and waves. With some of them almost ten feet long and several hundred pounds of muscle, the dolphins commanded the human’s respect.

  Moving along effortlessly at a steady clip, Kemar fell into a light sleep. In his restless dreams, he returned to memories of Japanese and Korean tuna boats. He recalled the massacred dolphins hanging from enormous fishing nets, raised by cranes above massive decks. It reminded him of Cambodia’s killing fields and, in a strange way, helped him bond with his finned friends. Both were very familiar with terror.

  But then the boy began to worry. Were these dolphins holding him responsible for the carnage of their species? Could they actually be dragging him somewhere to enact their own vengeance upon him? They certainly could do it if they wanted to. They had the brains and the brawn to accomplish such a dark design. Still, the boy didn’t relax his grip, yet he was unsettled by the thought that something horrible might be in store for him at the end of this journey.

  Truth be told, the thought of his own death didn’t move the young Cambodian the way it once might’ve. At a tender age, he’d witnessed too much death. Before he’d escaped, he’d seen his countrymen execute many of his family and friends. Some were dispatched quickly, others died more slowly, and still others just disappeared.

  As far as Kemar could understand, no one had ever been killed with good reason, and many who continued to live under the Khmer Rouge might’ve been better off dead. That was the realization that had caused Kemar to plan his escape. His family and friends were gone. His home was gone. He no longer went to school. He was a starving child slave in a rice paddy, waiting for his turn to collapse or be escorted for a final journey into the bush.

  By the time he left Cambodia, Kemar felt he was already dead inside. For him, life ended when the Khmer Rouge was born. So if he actually perished escaping or on the boat or out at sea with the dolphins, it really didn’t mean so much to him. Kemar would fight for his life because instinct dictated he should, but if he lost the fight, it wouldn’t matter.

  And so he held on to the dolphins, numbed by the cold water, numbed by the threat of death, numbed by being alone on a dangerous sea. He closed his eyes and tried to rest, wondering what he might find when he opened them again.

  It was night on the reef. Just as Binti would be difficult to see, the same was true for those who hunted her. And there were many predators who didn’t need to rely on sight to hunt. In fact, the night signaled the release of an entirely different population of hunters.

  Dolphins and whales use a form of radar—echolocation—so light or dark doesn’t really have an impact on their ability to feed. Other creatures sense movement in the water or in the sand. Still others are able to pick up minute electrical impulses that flow within a prey’s body, an ability the hammerhead shark has more or less perfected. Many species combine several senses with their own unique forms of cunning and stealth. There was no end to the way prey could be identified, and so, day or night, one had to be careful.

  Without question, the most dangerous times on the reef were dusk and dawn, the times of a thousand shadows. When the sun rose and fell, predators embarking on their hunt crossed paths with predators concluding their feeding. The result was twice the number of predators on the prowl, many of them quite famished.

  By the time the sun began to breach the horizon, Binti hadn’t made it all the way to her home. She’d shot the current with Ebb much longer than she should’ve. As she ducked into a coral crack near her den, she saw that it was occupied. A parrotfish, covered in mucus, was breaking out of its bedtime bubble to start a new day.

  The bubble was an interesting defense, Binti thought. It wasn’t strong enough to keep a shrimp out, but it did seal up the parrot’s scent, masking it from would-be predators. It probably also provided the creature with a relatively silent slumber.

  The nautical napper looked up at the octopus and yawned. “I’m just leaving. Feel free to use the crevice until I return.”

  “Thank you,” Binti replied. “That’s very kind.”

  “Yeah, I’ll probably have a bite to eat.” The parrot yawned. “OoouuuAHHHhhhh. Then I’ll lumber off to, ooouuuAHHHhhhh, the cleaning station for a while. Have `em take a little off around the gills.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen you before. You get trimmed at the goby cleaning station over by the purple sponges, right?”

  “I do. Nobody cleans like those little gobies. No, indeed . . . aaaAHHHhhh . . . Well, maybe I’ll go a little later. Why be first in line?”

  “What’s the rush?” Binti agreed.

  The parrotfish picked up what was left of his mucus sack and slipped it back over him, saying, “I got a lot to do today. Most fish think that means you better get an early start. But the way I see it . . . aaaAHHHhhhh . . . when you have a lot to do, the best thing is to go to sleep. Then, when you wake up . . . aaahhhaaa . . . you’ll have enough energy to take on your chores with vigor. Maybe I . . . aaaAHHHhhhh . . . Maybe I better rest up a little more. Got an ocean of work ahead of me.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you at the station sometime,” Binti said as she abandoned the cozy crack.

  “Save me a place in li . . . AHHHhhh.” The parrotfish was back asleep before the octopus cleared the opening.

  Binti’s lair was close by. She wanted to dash for her entrance, but two seemingly minor details prevented her from doing so. The first was that the brown sponge that she always placed in the entryway after she left was lying in the sand a few fins from the rocky recess. This wasn’t a good sign. It suggested visitation. And that worried the mollusk.

  But even more distracting was the pa
ssing of a nudibranch. The wonderful creature was swimming right at Binti, who froze, adjusted her camouflage, and watched. The small animal rocked and flailed her decorative fan-like lungs for all to see. It was an elaborate display of color and grace, one that Binti would never dare make. The nudibranch swam in the open water, bright, bold, breathtaking, and without any fear. Indeed, her defiant colors demanded attention.

  For a creature with no teeth, no spine, no speed, and no camouflage, it had a very potent defense, one that enabled it to travel anywhere on the reef with impunity. The nudibranch had no food value, and it couldn’t be eaten even if it did. The prancing dancer was packed with poison. Its bright colors warned all others to treat it with respect. Look, admire, even joke—but don’t touch.

  Binti loved nudis for their attitude. They grimaced at groupers, smiled at sharks, and blew kisses to barracudas. They lived on the edge confidently. It was a concept that was totally foreign, totally exciting for the octopus who, quite literally, turned green with envy.

  The sunlight disappeared momentarily while a fifty-foot-long, two-ton whale shark lumbered overhead. As the gentle giant continued on its way, the sunlight returned, and the coral shimmered once again.

  Intoxicated with the bravado of the exotic nudibranch, Binti burst into her lair, prepared to meet whatever might be there. It was a foolish thing to do, but the octopus was feeling surfy. Luckily, her home was empty. Binti quickly slapped a sucker on the brown sponge and sealed herself from the rest of Makoona.

  With an entrance only a few suckers wide, her lovely little lair opened into a more spacious abode once she was safely inside. It was the perfect place to lay her eggs and protect them, the most important part of any female octopus’s life.

  Binti glanced at the brown sponge she’d stuffed into her doorway and tried to remember when she started using it. As she strained her mantle, furrowing it with deep lines of thought, even though her powerful brain was located closer to her neck, she realized that she’d never consciously decided to use the sponge.