“Bleeding from cuts on her flank. They’re not too serious, though. It’s the pressure that’s getting to her.”
“What pressure?” Conor asks.
“Once she’s out of the water,” says Roger quickly, “her own weight starts to crush her internal organs.”
Will swears softly. “How many strandings is that round Cornwall this year? ’Bout eight hundred?”
“Twice what it used to be.”
“Terrible, it is. I blame those trawlers pair-fishing.”
All the time they’re talking, they’re moving around the dolphin cautiously, assessing her condition.
“Problem is,” says Will, “could be a while before the emergency team gets here tonight. There’s a live bottle-nose stranded over at Gwithian. They’re still busy up there. Can’t leave it. Bottlenoses are rare enough, let alone a live stranding.”
So this dolphin has only got us to help her. But the tide’s rising, so maybe things are not so bad. “Won’t the sea float her off safely as soon as the tide comes in?” I ask.
“It’s not as easy as that. Soon as she’s out of the water, see, her own weight starts to damage her, like Roger here said. We don’t know what that damage may be. We need pontoons to support her and a vet.”
More lights are coming down the beach. “I hope Mal’s not roused too many,” says Will. “A crowd’s the last thing she needs. Die of stress, a dolphin will.”
But it’s only Mal and a couple of older boys I recognize from the surf shop. And another figure—not as tall, face hidden by a slicker hood.
“Sapphire?”
“Rainbow!”
She pushes back the hood. Her short, bright hair shines in the light of the lantern she’s carrying. Her smile is warm.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you shouldn’t be here—”
“Patrick told me about the dolphin. That’s Patrick over there. He’s my stepbrother.”
They’ve brought more flashlights as well as the lantern, buckets, and a bundle of what looks like cloth. Tarpaulin, Patrick says.
“Flat sea tonight, thank God,” says Will. “Heavy surf come in on her now, she’d stand no chance.”
No chance. No chance. But the dolphin mustn’t give up. I kneel on the wet sand by her head. Rainbow crouches beside me.
“Don’t touch her,” says Roger sharply.
“We’re not touching her.”
I want to shield her from the light of the flashlights and lantern. It’s too much for her. She’ll be even more afraid. She has never known a world without the strong salt sea all around her, buoying her up and taking her weight.
“Hold on,” I whisper to her. “We’re trying to help you. Please hold on.”
She says nothing, but her eye looks into mine. She is very tired, very far away. She has retreated deep inside herself, trying to survive. She doesn’t want to give up her life here on this cold, hard earth.
“What can we do?” Rainbow whispers. “She looks as if she’s dying.”
“Don’t say that. She’ll hear you.”
“I’ll get some water to pour over her skin. You’re supposed to keep a dolphin’s skin wet, aren’t you?”
It’s still raining hard, but maybe seawater would be better for the dolphin than rainwater. It might comfort her. “That’s a good idea.”
Rainbow stands up, takes one of the buckets, and heads off to the sea. She’s right; it’s good to do something practical to help. But I can’t leave the dolphin. She feels so alone. She doesn’t understand the Air and the smell of land and the way we tramp round her in our big boots. Everything hurts.
Behind me there are low, angry voices. Will is arguing with the boys. “You can’t lift a live dolphin in a tarpaulin. That’s for a dead stranding. You’ll do more harm than good.”
“She’ll die if we do nothing,” insists Mal. “Isn’t it worth trying?”
“Manhandling a dolphin like that? You’ll kill her. She’s suffering from shock as it is.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not helping, boy.”
“Call the rescue service again,” suggests Conor. “Ask them what’s best to do if they can’t get here themselves.”
The dolphin is so big and so helpless. Another squall of rain hits us, and the roar of the tide is suddenly loud. But the white edge of breaking waves is still too far away to save her. No new lights bob down the beach. No rescue is in sight. Rainbow comes back with her bucket of seawater and pours it carefully over the dolphin’s back, avoiding her blowhole. She runs down to the sea again with the empty bucket. Does the dolphin like the salt water? Yes, I think it comforts her. But it torments her too. It has the smell and touch of home. Her home is within sight, but it might as well be a hundred miles away. The dolphin is helpless to move. I feel so frustrated I want to scream. The tide’s rising, but not fast enough to save her.
Before long the water here will be so deep that I won’t be able to stand. In less than an hour maybe. Then the dolphin will float free. But by that time she might be dead.
The dolphin is so afraid. She is so alone. She is calling inside herself for the other dolphins of her pod. But they are somewhere out in the dark water, and they can’t hear her. They’ll be desperate too, trying to call her and find out where she is, but the air blocks their voices. She’s so afraid of dying alone, out of the water, among strangers.
“You’re not alone,” I whisper to her. “I won’t leave you, whatever happens.”
I lean closer. She wants me to touch her. She can’t bear the touch of the sand, and yet her weight is making her sink deeper into its gritty harshness. Roger said her own weight could crush her internal organs. That means her heart, her liver, her lungs, all those vital parts of her. The thought of the dolphin’s heart being slowly crushed makes me shudder.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Rainbow is back again. She sluices seawater over the dolphin’s back, then kneels beside me. The dolphin’s tension and fear rise in her like a tide. She doesn’t know Rainbow. Rainbow is part of Earth, and threatening.
“Rainbow.” I begin awkwardly, not sure if she’ll understand or be deeply offended. “The dolphin, she’s getting stressed with both of us here. She doesn’t understand that you’re trying to help.”
“I don’t want to be with her,” Rainbow answers, getting up. Her voice is full of pain. “It’s horrible to see her suffering like this, and we can’t do anything to help. I wish—I wish it was all over.”
“Don’t say that! Fetch more seawater.”
Roger and Will are also down at the sea’s edge, filling buckets. Rainbow wipes her hands on her jeans and picks up her own bucket again. Then, like an echo of my own thoughts, she says, “Tell her I’m sorry.”
Mal and the other boys are digging a channel in the sand, so that the rising tide will reach the dolphin as soon as possible. Should I help them? I weigh it up quickly and then make my decision. The dolphin needs the trench to be dug, but her shock and fear are the greatest threat to her life. I am sure—almost sure—that I can support her.
“What are you doing, Saph?” asks Conor quietly in my ear.
“She’s so afraid, Con. She’ll die of fear before the tide reaches her.”
“Roger said you shouldn’t touch her.”
But my Mer blood is rising, growing stronger in answer to the call of the dolphin’s desperate need. Ingo is powerful in me tonight. I know it. The touch from my hands is a Mer touch now, salt and reassuring. I am sure I feel the dolphin’s anguish ease a little under my hands. But that won’t be enough to save her. If only the sea would come quickly. If only Ingo would come to her daughter’s rescue now. I stare through the darkness at the pale line of foam where the tide is coming in. With all my heart I wish for Ingo to come. With all my heart I wish for Ingo to come.
I put my arms around the dolphin. I can feel her heart beating inside her with slow, deep strokes. Her gaze in the lantern
light is full of suffering. She must not die. I can’t stop myself. I’m crying now, swallowing tears and tasting the salt.
“Hold on. Hold on, hwoer kerenza. They are all waiting for you out there. As soon as the water’s deep enough, they’ll come in to help you. Don’t give up hope now.”
“Saph!”
I look up at Conor.
“Saph!” he whispers urgently. “Don’t let anyone hear you. You’re speaking Mer—”
“What?”
“Conor, give us a hand here!” yells Mal from the trench. Lights are coming up from the water. Roger and Will’s flashlights. They are lugging two heavy buckets, and behind them—
“Conor! Look! The tide’s coming in!”
Mal and the others sit back on their heels as the first tongue of white foam touches them. Rainbow races up the beach, her bucket swinging from her hand. A wave splashes over Conor’s boots. Roger and Will are knee deep and wading. The wave retreats, but there’s another coming, and another—
“We won’t need the trench!” shouts Conor, grabbing the lantern and lifting it high. “Here’s the tide already.”
“I never seen it come in as fast as that,” pants Will. “Near had to run, didn’t we, Roger?”
“We’ve got to keep her blowhole clear of the water now,” says Roger. “The state she’s in, she could drown before she gets free. Sapphire, Rainbow, you two better go back now. The tide’s coming in fast.”
I say nothing. Roger thinks because the boys are taller and stronger, it’s all right for them to stay. But I am not going anywhere. She needs me here. A swell of fresh seawater breaks around the dolphin’s sunken body. The seawater surges and bubbles, then drains away. Roger’s right—we’ve got to help her, support her until the tide’s strong enough to take her. Just a few more vital minutes. If we can get her through these minutes, she might survive.
But Rainbow is staring at the onrushing water. Suddenly I see that she’s afraid. The speed of the tide frightens her as much as the hard, harsh sand frightens the dolphin. Rainbow must be like Mum—all Earth without a trace of Mer in her. The shore is dangerous for her now.
“Go on up the beach now, Rainbow!” yells Patrick. “Now! This tide’ll knock you off your feet!” And she does. She turns her back after one more fearful glance at the waves and begins to wade clumsily through the water up the beach.
“No time to do things by the book,” orders Roger. “We’ll have to hold her. Get round here, boys. Mind her tail now. All on this side now and hold her, before the sea rolls her.”
There are six of them on the dolphin’s landward side now, supporting her as the water begins to surge in around her body. This is the most dangerous time, as the sea grows deep enough to drown her but still not deep enough to release her from the trap of land. I stay by her head, as close as I can. I can help better here than by trying to hold her. The sea is over the top of my boots, and the incoming waves buffet me, pushing me off-balance, even though the sea is calm tonight. Will is right. What would this be like in a storm?
“It’s all right now,” I tell her. “The sea is coming for you. Only a few minutes more, and you’ll be free. Don’t be afraid. Please don’t be afraid. I know it’s hard, but try to keep still and not thrash your tail or you’ll hurt yourself more. We’re trying to free you.”
I think she knows it. In spite of her exhaustion and despair she controls herself and allows the six of them to hold her so that the incoming tide can’t roll her over and submerge her blowhole while she is still trapped. But the battle is a terrible one. She is huge and heavy, and now her skin is alive with seawater and slippery. The water is thigh deep…waist deep. Is she going to do it? Is she going to find the strength? The lantern has gone out. Will has the flashlight between his teeth. Shadows jump crazily over the water.
“Look out! She’s starting to roll!”
“Get back! Get back, boys!”
The sea lifts me off my feet. The dolphin and I are face-to-face now. Her stupor of pain and fear is lifting. Ingo is growing strong around her. One more wave, and now another. Her body rolls, quivering like a beached boat finding the sea under its keel.
“Don’t struggle. Please don’t hurt yourself anymore. Wait for the sea. Let the sea take you.”
“Sapphire! Where’s that girl?”
“Sapphire!”
I am treading water, my hair all over my face and blinding me. My mouth is full of salt. A surge of water lifts her. She rises. Is she free? No, she falls back. Another wave lifts us both, and this time I feel the change as her whole body enters its element.
“Go now,” I say. “Go now.”
She eases herself away so gently. She turns herself into the tide, into the open water. She pauses, as if she’s listening to something. I listen too. The sea is still rising, over my head now. For a few seconds I dip into Ingo and hear the voices as she hears them. Skeins and skeins of dolphin voices urgently guiding their sister out into the bay, toward them. It’s not like human language at all, but like music, layer over layer of it, making meanings that sing to the injured dolphin of rescue, healing, safety, and freedom.
Very slowly, hesitantly, her injured body gathers itself and begins to move. She brushes past me, and for a second I think wildly of climbing on her back, as I climbed on a dolphin’s back and rode through Ingo last summer. But already she’s sliding away into the darkness. Slowly at first, and then faster, faster, as she begins to believe in her own freedom. Her tail curves, the water swirls, and she disappears.
I can’t believe that she’s gone. I stretch out my arms to touch her one last time, but my hands close on water. There’s no one. She’s gone, and I rise to the surface.
“Saph!” It’s my brother’s voice. But where is he? I thought we were all together by the dolphin, but the dark sea is empty around me. Where am I? I tread water, holding my hair out of my eyes. Everything’s dark. I can’t see any lights. I can’t see any landmarks. Where has everyone gone? A flash of pure terror goes through me.
“Saaa-aaapphh!”
The voice comes from behind me. I turn, and there, about a hundred meters away, a flashlight is flashing. Behind it are the lights of St. Pirans, up above the beach. I wasn’t lost; I was facing the wrong way, out to sea. I turn and begin to swim toward land, but I don’t call out an answer in case Conor plunges into the water to rescue me.
I’m in no danger. The November water must be cold, but I can’t feel its chill any more than I feel cold when I’m swimming through Ingo with Faro. Is it possible that I’m still in Ingo now, within Ingo’s protection, even though I’m breathing air? The feeling of Ingo wraps around me, safe and free. I could swim all night. I don’t really want to swim for shore; I want to stay out in the deep water. But Conor will think I got caught by a current. I’ve got to tell him I’m all right. I swim faster, toward the light of the flashlight.
The cold hits me as soon as I wade out of the water. I start to shiver so violently that I can barely call out to the others. They see me anyway and run toward me.
“Saph! Are you all right?”
“She—she got away. She’s free. She’s b-back in Ing—”
“Quick, Saph, the tide’s still coming in fast. Pat, get hold of her other arm. She’s soaked through.”
Everyone is soaked through after the battle to launch the dolphin. We stumble up the beach, shivering like dogs. The tarpaulin’s gone, and the lantern. The last remaining flashlight is weak and yellow. But here are the steps at last.
This is when Roger remembers that we haven’t got the house key. “Can’t go into the restaurant looking like this,” he mutters. “It’ll scare Jennie rigid.”
I am too cold to think what to do. I just stand on the steps, shaking.
“Come on, Saph, you can’t stay here,” says Conor, grabbing my arm and pulling me along. “We’re going to Patrick’s; it’s the nearest.”
“Can’t—can’t m-m-move m-m-my legs.”
“Yes, you can. Two minutes, and w
e’ll be there.”
Patrick’s home is right by the beach—part of a row of old fishermen’s cottages that overlook the water. The lights are on. The door is flung open almost before Patrick has banged on it, and there is Rainbow, her face pale and anxious.
“Are you all okay?”
“Everybody’s fine. No worries,” says Roger, “but we’re homeless. Can we come in?”
“Of course,” says Rainbow, and opens the door wide.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We crowd into the narrow porch, stripping off wet slickers and pulling off boots. Mal and his dad and Roger go on into the living room with Patrick and his friend. Charlie, I think his name is. “There’s a fire lit there,” Patrick says. My hands fumble with my jacket zip, trembling. Rainbow sees I can’t manage it and starts to help me, but to my embarrassment I start to shake so hard that my teeth chatter the way they do in books.
“You’re ill,” says Rainbow. “What happened?”
“She went in deep,” says Conor. “Are you okay, Saph?”
“C-c-c-cold—”
“Come up to the bathroom,” says Rainbow decisively. “You need to get all that wet stuff off and have a hot shower. I’ve got some jeans and a top you can borrow.”
Conor and Rainbow help me up the stairs. I can’t believe I’m being so pathetic. This has never happened to me before, no matter how long I’ve stayed in the sea.
“Do you want a shower or a bath?”
“B-b-bath.” I’m cold to the core. It’s a funny little bath—short but deep. Rainbow runs it full of steaming water.
“Will you be okay on your own? You’re not going to faint or anything?”
The steamy heat of the bathroom is making me feel better already. Rainbow goes out, leaving the door ajar in case I feel ill.
“I’ll sit on the stairs so no one else can come up,” she says, and I pull off my wet clothes and slide gratefully into the water. It’s so hot that it hurts at first, but deliciously. I dip my head down under the water, which is hard to do in a bath as small as this. The smell of the sea has gone. Rainbow has left a chunk of rose-scented soap, and I wash myself with it slowly, luxuriously, thinking of absolutely nothing at all.