Cerulean (One Thousand Blues) (5 page)

He hands me my flipper-fins, and I slip them on. When he clicks his readiness, I dive deep, kicking my legs forcefully to push me down… down… down.

The pretty turquoise deepens into a more ominous navy. The colorful reef fish disappear, the little darting rainbows replaced by their larger cousins in the greys and blacks of the Deep.

We swim so low that the Surface disappears, so low that the indigos of night surround us during our awake time. My heart pounds, the normally steady thump accelerating in excitement, anticipation, at the novelty of this experience.

Except for those who specialize in food acquisition, we rarely venture into the Deep. We all train on how to make the dive. When given our tail prosthetics, we attend a class on proper technique: the slight squeeze on the nose, the outward shove of air—so hard when gill-breathing, but necessary to tolerate the deeper pressure.

There are reasons that humans have remained so close to the Surface, and not just to look up and dream of what may have been… or what could be. The pressure of the Deep becomes too intense to tolerate for any more than brief periods of time. But even this pressure, as uncomfortable as it is, helps eradicate the dull disinterest of the masses.

Finally, we arrive. Hundreds of Maluhia’s residents float, huddling together in a half circle. Professor S. guides me to the front where I stare in the darkness, watching. I struggle to wait patiently when I am eager… so very eager.

“Thank you.” I turn to Professor S. “If you did not agree to accompany me, if I had to miss the Giants, I don’t know what I would have done.”

He tousles my hair, causing black strands to float in front of my face. “Chey, you have been through a lot… too much for someone your age.” He stares at me, so silent I can only hear the ever-present sound of the waters. “I wish we had kept more of the old traditions.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the A.W.,” —he sounds as though he is front of his class— “our ancestors did not allow children to go without families. If parents were unable to fulfill their role, others would step in to care for the children and provide substitute families.”

I stare at Professor S. What is he saying?

He breathes out slowly, bubbles rising from his gills. “I wish we still allowed this custom. I know that no one can take your father’s place, but I would have liked to… not leave you all alone.”

He thinks of me as a daughter? I blink back tears. It has been so long since I have heard someone say they care for me, aside for Haku. Despite my fondness of the languages, I cannot think of a response to say or click. I simply nod.

The crowd separates as the Authority approaches, his violet Skin vibrant even in these dark waters. Dr. Cloud and the six other members of the Committee follow him to the prime viewing spot in front. The crowd quiets, clicks and whistles ceasing in the Authority’s presence.

Through the dim waters, I see the whales approaching. Not the immense bodies of the Giants, but the more compact forms of the Humpbacks, twelve in all.

I had not realized the Humpbacks would be beginning the concert today. Two different types of Whale-song. What a treat!

The whales swim in and face their audience in a semi-circle. Their hums vibrate all around me. The Humpbacks, with their steel-gray bodies and cream-colored bellies, regularly migrate to our waters, year after year. Humpback-song is regularly heard, resonating through the waters. No matter how often I hear it though, I cannot help but shiver.

The whales begin filling the seas with their haunting moans, drawn-out bellows, and rhythmic clicks. The fleshy hooks of their dorsal fins tremble with the deepening of their song. I close my eyes and let the music fill me, the melodies instantly transforming into words: another song about nature. The Humpbacks love to honor the beauty of the seas with their soul-touching lyrics.

When they end their song, I open my eyes to watch the twelve majestic bodies swim… up, up, up… toward the Surface.

Before I can blink, three enormous forms approach out of the indigo of the Deep. The cobalt bodies stop before they reach the circle, too immense to come closer. One half of a tail fluke is larger than I am. One barnacle outsizes my entire hand.

The Giants have finally arrived. I cannot help but quiver in excitement.

The middle whale, the grandest, begins the Song. A long, low groan reverberates through the waters. The other two chime in with melodic bellows, bass-laden clicks, and mournful cries. The cetaceous orchestra of sounds touches me deeply.

I close my eyes and pay attention to the complex lyrics.

The world was young, and we swam free,

Until humans turned deadly.

Friends and family, all killed,

Innocent whale blood spilled.

The ocean ran red,

Blues lay dead.

Few remained,

Swimming through waters bloodstained.

When the whale slaughter ended,

Human death descended.

Turning on each other,

Sister killing sister,

Brother killing brother.

Poisons, bombs, killing faster,

In the end, the Great Disaster.

They said farewell to the trees,

The lucky escaped to the seas.

After years, surviving underneath,

To you, our secret we bequeath:

While your kind is dying,

Those in charge are lying.

Above the Surface, on dry sand,

Poison no longer pollutes the Land.

Past deeds forgiven,

Our advice, simply given:

Go and explore;

There is Land to Restore.

All three whales disappear into the inky darkness of the Deep. People whistle their applause. Only Professor S. and I remain silent, stunned by the lyrics.

“Professor,” I pause, trying to think of how to phrase my question. “Have you… Have you ever heard the Giants sing before?”

He shakes his head. “They come so rarely. The last time they swam to our sector, I was but a young boy.”

“Have you heard of this rumor before? People dwelling above the Surface?” I keep my face neutral, as if only commenting on their song.

Professor S. grabs me by my elbow and pulls me away from the crowd. He leans close, so close that I can see each of the scales on his ash-gray Skin. “Chey, you must never speak of this Song. The Giants’ lyrics are very… dangerous. If the Authority finds out…” He bites his lip and looks around once more.

“So it is true?”

He sighs. “I do not know. I can tell you that it is the type of message the Authority would want… silenced.”

“Silence, Professor?” The Authority treads water next to us. I did not even hear him approach.

Professor S. runs his fingers through his gray-speckled hair, seeming to have trouble responding.

“Yes, we just moved away from the crowd to have silence to… think about the Giants’ lyrics,” I click quickly.

Professor S.’s gray eyes flash in warning.

“I cannot wait to hear your translations. Their song was probably far more interesting than the Humpbacks’ repetitive nature poems.”

“Actually,” the professor interjects, “they sang much of the same. It was interesting to hear about the similarities of the reefs from around the world.”

“And their recitation of the different blues in each of the waters they swim in,” I add, winking at Professor S. from behind the Authority’s back.

“Poets!” the Authority curses. “I had hoped to hear information of the other sectors.”

“Perhaps when the Fins come; they have always been more intellectually minded,” Professor S. clicks.

Most pod members have begun the slow rise back to our sector’s waters, deserting the waters of the Deep. The Authority seems to notice this, as well. “Curfew approaches, Chey. I will meet with you in one month’s time to see how your punishment is progressing.”

One
month’s
time? He expects me to last for an entire month longer on pod arrest? How can he not see that the isolation, the separation from Haku, and the torture of Dr. Cloud’s appointments only drag me down?

Or is that the point? Is the Authority
trying
to break me?

I cannot get the Giants’ lyrics out of head:
While your kind is dying, those in charge are lying.
What does it all mean? As I accompany Professor S. back to my prison, these thoughts repeat again and again and again.

I hand over my flipper-fins and am about to swim into the children’s residence when Professor S. grasps my upper arms. He leans close and whispers, “Remember: tell no one of the lyrics.”

My mind races as I pass the residence mother and swim up the flights of stairs. I open my capsule, look around my cramped sleeping space, and make a decision. I need answers now more than ever.

I cannot forget such lyrics. They might hold the cure for my people.

Tomorrow, I will sneak out of Maluhia once again.

Tomorrow, I will meet Jesse.

8

As the first band of light pierces the water, I slip out the entrance of the children’s residence. The residence mother has not even awakened. The waters are still so dark that no one paddles through the streets. Sticking to the midnight blues, I swim furiously for the isolated side hatch.

I stayed awake late into the night developing a plan to see Jesse again. So far, things have gone as intended. Nobody saw me leave the children’s residence. I hung the sign for rest on my capsule door, which should give me until our midday meal to return.

Jesse did not share a time to meet. Do we even share the same methods of telling time? Does he know of the light aqua of our waking time, the turquoise of mid-day, and the indigos of the eve?

I remember learning of the complicated time-telling methods of the A.W. and the mechanisms to keep track of it all. How odd to think of humans so dependent on mechanics, to imagine the need for devices to keep track of those archaic things: minutes and
hours
. Now, we have only the hues of the sea to guide us.

A pair of flipper-fins rests in an open storage cubby, just as I hoped. I hold the cobalt-hued flippers to my shoulder, but they only fall to my mid-arm, rather than my wrist as they should. My flipper-fins are still confiscated though, so I reluctantly pull the others on. The flippers must be forced over my heels, while my toes curl with the lack of space.

Regret fills me when I see the empty cubby; if I had a choice, I would not steal them. Theft is nearly non-existent in our sector. With no expectation of privacy and few personal belongings, missing items can easily be found. Besides, no one would risk the possible infraction—no one besides me, apparently.

I can think of no other way to make it to the shipwreck. Few would risk the long swim through the open seas without their tail. Traversing that amount of water would be impossible with only my bare legs.

I
must
see Jesse. I need to discover if the Giants were singing the truth. Are humans really living above the Surface?

A tiny bubble of hope builds for if the Surface
is
inhabited, an entire range of possibilities opens up.

After scanning the waters, I slip undetected out the hatch and into the spreading aqua of the sea. With strong strokes of my arms and legs, I distance myself from the rules and the burdens of my home.

A lionfish passes by. I watch his vermilion-and-white stripes, his small body framed by long strands of mane. It is rumored that an animal once existed that resembled this fish; larger than even Haku, it roamed the Land. How curious the Surface must be, to have contained such a creature.

Soon Mahulia is so far away, it cannot be seen. I have done it: left without being caught or detained. I only hope that Jesse shows up. With the Authority’s harsh punishment the last time, I cannot imagine what he would do were it discovered that I willfully defied him.

Finally, the massive hull of the downed boat looms over me. Larger than even the Giants, it rises from its underwater grave and brings to mind tales from the A.W. How odd it must have been, to look down into the waters from the Surface.

The ancient hull is rotted, marred with holes and other marks of time. Long strands of kelp rise along the wood, swaying in the gentle current. Schools of fish scurry about, mistaking the old wreck for the corals of the reef.

I relax upon a large rock that juts from the sandy ocean floor near the wreck. Jesse is not here… yet. I can only hope he comes.

*

As the sea brightens to turquoise, I still wait. To battle the boredom, I paddle my teal-Skinned legs in tune to the movement of the fish. Every year, on our remembrance date, we may choose new Skin. Designed to be an extra protection for our fragile human bodies, the rough scales and thin blubber-like layer serve to prevent the scrapes, scratches, and gashes that once existed above the Surface. Our protective scales come in many shades: all the blues and greens of the sea. But Skin never comes in red, for red draws the predator and begs for his attention.