Of Poseidon

Goliath. “Talk to him, Emma.”
    “What do I say to a whale, Galen?” I hiss.
    “Tell him to come closer.”
    “No way.”
    “Fine. Tell him to back up.”
    I nod. “Right. Okay.” I lace my fingers together to keep from wringing my hands raw. Even more than terror, I feel the insanity of the situation. I’m about to ask a fish the size of my house to make a U-turn. Because Galen, the man-fish behind me, doesn’t speak humpback. “Uh, can you please back away from me?” I say. I sound polite, like I’m asking him to buy some Girl Scout cookies.
    I feel better in the few moments afterward because Goliath doesn’t move. It proves Galen doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It proves this whale can’t understand me, that I’m not some Snow White of the ocean. Except that, Goliath does start to turn away.
    I look back at Galen. “That’s just a coincidence.”
    Galen sighs. “You’re right. He probably mistook us for a relative or something. Tell him to do something else, Emma.”
    “Galen, can’t we just—”
    “Tell him.”
    Goliath has put some distance between us. Now he only looks as big as a single school bus instead of three. The little movement it takes his enormous tail to fan him away reminds me of a flag swaying lazily in a gentle breeze. “Wait,” I call out. “Come back. You don’t have to leave.”
    When that whale stops, when he turns around, when he lumbers toward us again, the doubt leaves my body like water from a busted hydrant. Goliath comes so close that if he opens his mouth we’ll be sucked in. He’s ugly. His giant noggin makes him look like a bobble head. And he forgot to floss; there’s a squid tentacle the size of my arm flapping out the side of his mouth. Hopefully it’s not still alive.
    But I’m not afraid anymore. Galen is right. If Goliath wanted to eat us, he would have done it already. Those huge eyes seem gentle, not like the feral emptiness I expected to find. Not like the blank, mechanical stare of a shark.
    “Talk to him,” Galen murmurs again, tightening his hold on my waist.
    I do more than that. Galen lets me ease from his arms but holds my wrist for safekeeping. With my free hand, I reach out and touch Goliath’s nose—or at least, the vicinity of his nose. “I was afraid of you, because I thought you would eat us,” I tell him. “But you won’t eat us, will you?”
    While I’m not expecting Goliath to start speaking with a French accent or anything, a small part of me expects him to communicate back to me somehow. Still, the way he shifts quietly with the current speaks decibels. He’s not tense or still, like a cobra ready to strike out. He’s calm, curious, serene.
    “Listen. If you can understand what I’m saying, I want you to swim away in that direction,” I say, pointing to my right, “and then come back here.” Goliath does exactly what I tell him to. Nofreakingway.
    My new friend follows us to the surface when my lungs get tight. On the way, Galen points to different fish to see if they all understand. As we pass, I call out my instructions. “Swim that way, swim in a circle. You swim fast, you swim slow, you swim straight down.” They all obey.
    By the time I—and Goliath—refuel on oxygen, enough fish surround us to fill a swimming pool from top to bottom. Some jump out of the water. Some nibble at my toes. Some swim through my legs or between me and Galen.
    They follow us until we reach shore. There are so many fish flitting in the shallow water that the surface looks like it’s getting pelted with rain. We sit on the beach and watch them play. When the seagulls start to take notice though, self-preservation wins over curiosity, and my fan club dwindles.
    “So,” I say, turning to Galen.
    “So,” he returns.
    “You said I’m special. How special am I?”
    He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. “Very.”
    “How long have you known I’m a fish whisperer?” He doesn’t get my joke. But at least he understands what I’m asking.
    “Remember when I told you Dr. Milligan saw you at the Gulfarium?”
    I nod. “You said he recognized my eye color and thought I might be one of you.”
    Galen rubs his neck, won’t look me in the eyes. “That’s pretty much true. Your eye color was significant. Especially since Syrena aren’t supposed to be consorting with humans.” He grins. “But he really got excited about the way you interacted with the animals there. He said you bonded with them. All of