Excerpt: Calypso

There is nothing so wonderful in this world as the feel of slick soft kelp gliding along your rostrum. It’s a sort of tickling, soothing sensation, and we all love it. Even now I see Raggedy, rolling like a calf at play in the tendrils of sensation. Beside me, Cappucino hangs motionless in it, his eyes closed as he savors the gentle wafting of kelp across his body. In a few seconds I will need to surface for air, but I, too, am enjoying this peaceful moment of tactile comfort. I hear a soft calling to me, and swivel my gaze to my left. Kasatka is meandering my direction. She notices my gaze and surfaces, indicating with her head that she wishes me to follow. I do so, taking the opportunity to breathe a bit.
As is customary, we first hover at the surface a few moments, establishing our kinship through mutual silence and the joy of being in the presence of a friend. Then Kasatka lets out a sigh.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, concerned. Kasatka has always been quiet, but she is normally of an even and positive disposition. I cannot recall a time in my twenty four years during which Kasatka has ever been upset.
“I just needed to get this out,” she prefaces, “I’m really tired of being alone.”
The boldness of her statement is almost more surprising than the sentiment itself.
“Alone? Is any of us ever alone?”
Kasatka dives and resurfaces quickly, presumably collecting herself.
“Let us go” she says instead of answering my question.
I dive in assent, and we travel together, our pectorals nearly touching. Our pace is slow, our dives shallow. A few of our kin give us curious stares, but a few breaking away from the many is not uncommon this time of year.

I do not regret leaving the comforting feel of the kelp bed. All of life is transitory, and we have always bent with the tide instead of fighting it. But I do feel a little silly, going off with Kasatka when I don’t know what she’s talking about. I am certain that any of the older females could explain things to her satisfactorily.
“What I mean is that I feel lonely.”
At my blank stare she elaborates.
“In the way that only a female of our kind does.”
Ah, now I begin to understand. I have not suffered from this same longing- it is not generally discussed among our kind. As I said, we change with the climate, and our numbers have been declining since before my lifetime. To discuss this longing openly would invite sorrow at the inevitable, and our unchangeable past.
“You long for a calf of your own?” I put it bluntly for her.
She slaps the surface with her tail, nodding her assent.
This is indeed a delicate moment. Not only am I ill-equipped to handle it, being young and inexperienced, I just became pregnant myself this morning. No one yet knows, though I have no doubt that the matriarchs will discover within a moon. They have a deep current of knowledge between them, and sharp eyes. I did not feel called to crow my news in the first place, it being unexpected and myself a bit unprepared for it. But telling Kasatka now would be like lording over her a victory. I wish for one desperate moment that we could exchange places. Kasatka is a lovely female, and very biddable. Yet we have a decreased number of mature males in our midst, and they have their own odd code of behavior. Kasatka has never been approached to mate. And thus, she has never carried a growing calf within her. As far as I know, this is the first time anyone has heard of this as a problem, instead of just the routine way of doing things.
I nudge her gently, offering condolences to something which neither of us has the power to change.

If there is one thing I despise above all others, it is the feeling of helplessness. We are not a passive people, but the frustration of bowing to the inevitable is a growing force within me. I send a desperate plea to the Mother of All to send Kasatka a mate and a calf of her own.
“Perhaps, this season-“ I begin.
Kasatka rolls her eyes at me. She knows as well as I do how hollow that is. No one knows why the males pick the females they do. Sometimes they go back to one female repeatedly. Sometimes they avoid an entire family altogether. They refuse to give their reasons to any but the matriarchs and, of course, the matriarchs aren’t telling.
“Lea has another one growing inside her,” Kasatka states flatly. I can sense a bitterness floating off her. It is not a bitterness of the body, but of the mind, and it startles me into silence. When did she become so angry over Fate?
“She has three of her own already, and yet another on the way. Why, Moonlight? Why is she favored?”
I have no words for Kasatka. No condolences, or explainations. I am empty.
Except, of course, for the tiny soul just beginning a slumber inside me.
“I’m sorry,” I offer her. It’s the best I can do. “Let’s go join the others.”
Kasatka suddenly lunges out of the water, increasing her speed in a powerful burst. “You go,” she calls back to me, “I’ll meet you at the feeding grounds later.”
Leaving Kasatka to her solitude, I turn back to rejoin my family.