FSE

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Four days had passed since the man's ship sank. Suffering from heat exhaustion and starvation, he was a terrible sight to behold. He staggered about the island, crusted eyes on the horizon, dazed and gradually dying. We watched him with growing curiosity. The meager food supplied proved beneficial. Now he could sweat true salt, not the byproducts of his bodily fluids.

At first, his hydration puzzled us. While the man slept we took turns studying his layout. I noticed an odd sunken tent stationed between the sand dune and his shelter. It sat in a trench large enough to fit a bull dolphin like myself. An hour later, I noticed his bulbous rear sticking out from underneath. He emerged sipping cloudy water from a small plastic cup. After a moment of perplexity the water investigation seemed hopeless.

We moved onto his means of cooking. Eating raw fish works in a pinch, but it'd be unpleasant and possibly dangerous- what's dirtier than the scales of a sea creature? Isthia suggested he cooked the fish on rocks, but he hadn't moved any to the sun, and the majority of were no larger than a fist. Now that we were allowed to interact with the man, his tenacity and survival methods piqued our curiosity, Isthia especially. More and more she went out to hunt for fish, calling "I want to find out how he eats!"

While she was away, I surfaced near the shore to study his living space. With his scarlet shoulder blades facing me, engrossed in whittling driftwood, I could survey the area in peace. His shelter was a lean-to, consisting of aluminum roofing propped along the sloping palm tree. The entire western side, the one facing the sand dune, was covered similar shingles minus small cracks to allow air flow. The fronds allowed air to escape in the heat, but locked in heat during the night. He piled sand along the eastern side towards the base but dug a trench to sleep in, creating a convenient pocket of cool air.

I wondered why he chose to sleep under the palm tree and not his tent. Sure, the tent was nothing more than a spare poncho, but if he curled up it could hold him. Century-old groundwater and day's old rain had muddied the sand below the tent. With the midday sun glaring down, the man resumed whittling in the shade of his lean-to. Now I could wholly see the contraption. At the lowest point of the trench, in the dead center, the cut-off bottom of a water bottle poked up from the mud. Directly above it, a stone rested on the poncho and pulled all sides down. Droplets formed on the underside, condensing and running down the plastic, dripping off into the cup. In a few moments, a trickle of water fell into it as if the stone above sprung a leak. He had actually filtered the salt from water, resulting in a drink just adequate for survival. It all made sense! I stared at the dwindling trickle with newfound respect. If rafts could be made with aluminum shingles and rocks, he'd be the one to do it.

I relayed all my information to Isthia, trailing a plump mackerel stunned and gaping in her jaws.

"Well, whatever keeps him comfortable," she replied, conceding from my lecture on thermoregulation and water filtration. She approached the shore and tossed the dying fish far up onto the sand. The man sat in the shade sucking the blood from his thumb and cursing.

"He probably isn't hungry," I surfaced next to her, "I wonder what he's building?"

"No wait! Keep talking! I think he heard you!" A giddy tic took a hold of her. Had she not weighed a quarter ton she would've been bouncing from the water.

Sure enough, I saw the man scanning the horizon. An air of expectation hung heavily about him.

I kept quiet. Up-close observation didn't concern me as it did Isthia. I preferred watching him in a "natural" setting. Isthia popped out of the water and vocalized, mixing clicks and whistles in an inviting, almost comical, burst of energy. My heart sank, weighing me down onto the sand.

From below, I saw his towering stature stagger towards the surf. The sun had changed positions now, illuminating every detail of his frame. His shoulders swung freely with every step, his eyes relaxed and welcoming. The stagger had gotten perceptually worse, yet was far more precise and oriented than it was the day before. Either boosted spirits or sodium levels were the culprit, I couldn't be sure.

"Well hello there!" Even the grit to his voice had moistened, allowing a subtle bass to come through. "Where's your friend?"

Isthia's flippers shook violently beside me. If that was her cue, I pretended to miss it.

The man squatted down, a ripe berry of a face no more than ten feet from Isthia. They shared a moment of examination before he noticed the dead fish at his feet. Two rows of off-white teeth beamed down at her.

"Say, did you bring this for me?" That high pitch of his felt unnatural. What were we, his dogs?

"Gregory," she whispered below her breath, out of his hearing range, "What's he saying?"

"I don't know. I wasn't listening."

"Gregory!"

"Alright, alright...he asked if you brought him the fish."

Isthia took this cue. Her great jaws distended, displaying her tongue and gullet to the man. A moment later she pointed her rostrum at the fish, sending out an ear-splitting blast of sonar. Her jaws snapped shut like a mousetrap, ending the burst with a chomp. The man grimaced, cupping his ears and laughing.

"Isthia," I whirred, "What are you doing?"

She chuffed, blasting the man with a spray of water and hot air. He jumped back and fell, spitting and choking on his giggles. She turned to me and replied, "Just lightening the mood."

"It's embarrassing. You're acting like a child."

Her eyes narrowed but her blowhole stayed closed. The man, wiping tears from his eyes, approached us again, managing to wade in up to his ankles. He squatted down in front of Isthia, no more than a foot or so from her rostrum.

"Well, you're one wild lil' guy."

'Seriously?' I thought...

"I tell you what; ask me two days ago if I'd be laughin' on this island and I'd BET you I'd said no!" Isthia turned on her side, one eye out of the water, trying to listen and watch him at the same time. Hesitantly he extended his hand and placed it beside her fin. Her skin rippled as his shaking hand moved back and forth, from pectoral to eye and back again. Isthia made no movement and the edge melted from his face. He admired her, smiling. "They say you dolphins are smart creatures. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you can understand me."

"Gregory, what's he saying?" Her words were lame and stilted. Apparently the man knew better.

I murmured, "He said 'thanks for the fish, bull dolphin.'"

"BULL dolphin???" Her eyes bugged out and she snapped her jaws, dousing the front half of the man in the process. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his eyes, laughing like he'd just learned how.

His infectious laughter spilled over my way, and watching Isthia's indignation only made it worse. My warbling mixed with his laughter and she glared at both our faces. I needed air before I could speak again. "Relax, Isthia. Most people can't tell the difference from that angle," After a moment I added, "Don't even THINK of flashing him your slit!"

"But...the shape of my head! The shape of my dorsal fin...I mean, I'm pregnant for God's sake! Is he blind?" She reacted as if he'd asked her what ocean this was. I surfaced for another breath, warbling as I went.

"Well, hi there," I glanced up, a sudden object of attention by lobster-face. "Where'd you come from?" He grinned expectantly, as if we were a traveling comedy duo. Well, no tricks or gags from me, I was the straight man. He leaned in for a better look and I sunk from him.

"That was you watching me earlier, wasn't it? Yeah, I recognize you. You ain't got that many scars; plus you're darker than your friend here. I knew you were watching me, but you ran off last time I tried to get near you. I didn't want to risk it this time."

Isthia bumped into me with her rostrum, hoping to share my point-of-view, "Gregory," her pitch raised several octaves, "What's he saying to you? Tell me what he's saying!"

I ignored her, staring directly up at the man. "You know," he prattled on, "It looks like YOU understand me too...kinda like your buddy there. But..." he trailed off, his smile devolving to a slack-jawed stare. He tried grasping a thought just out of reach. Suddenly the smile returned, "Aww, look at that. Your friend really likes you. He looks like he wants to play."

Isthia was butting me with her rostrum and slapping my tail with hers, "Gregory! What is he saying? Tell me!" There were no waves or dolphins hitting me anymore. My blowhole opened and closed, opened and closed, fueling my reflections. Was he a mirror? Was that lingering humanity from my gut, curled up and crying, up inside my brain? Was it sitting in a chair, arms folded, with one leg bent over my knee, looking at this man the way he looked at me? It was as if he saw intuitively in me what I could visibly see of him. It was as if he saw that humanity in my eyes. But he couldn't KNOW, could he?

My mind snapped back when he raised his arm. Instincts kicked in for lost time and I darted back a few feet, splashing him in the process. I snapped my jaws and warned him with a slur of threats to his mother. Isthia stared at me with gaping eyes.

"That's a HORRIBLE thing to say! Really, Gregory-"

"Relax. We're people. We like insulting each other's mothers."

She clicked a few times, taking this in. "Well, it's still not very nice. And what's with you? You're acting strange."

It took me a few heavy blinks and a shake of my head to return to normalcy. My loose tooth ached in my jaws. "I'm sorry, Isthia. This is all so new to me. It's weird to hear him talking."

The man rose dejectedly, returning to his shelter with his heavy gait, swinging the fish in his hand.

~~~~

It was day five. A low front brought wind and benign clouds to our cozy little sandbar. The man, fresh with energy and a break from the sun, wandered absent-mindedly about the beach for hours at a time. He skipped rocks with little luck; he dug a large hole using driftwood; he relieved himself on the far side of the sand dune and dozed off in his shelter. Meantime, Isthia and I studied him from a distance. The shuffling gait we'd seen initially hadn't gotten worse. Isthia credited that to his influx of food. Even though he did menial things like stacking stones and building sand castles, his boredom didn't appear unbearable. He moved about in his confined space with a placid smile and hardly looked out towards the sea. Either his confidence in survival had increased with our help, or he truly was blissfully ignorant.

It was on this day we discovered how he ate.

With curiosity at an all-time high I delivered two Atlantic Croakers without protest. Isthia's beloved 'coast guard' accepted them and, after yet another failed attempt to touch me, stopped by his shelter and returned with a bowie knife and a large, flat rock. Talking frivolously towards us, he sat at the edge of the surf twenty feet away and started preparing his meal. He laid the rock across his lap grabbed the first fish and his knife. He sliced off the serrated fins first after they'd created considerable cuts on his palm (I had some on my tongue), then sawed a line down the gut.

"... Boy Scout back in th' day, didn't last long, but I learned..."

He cut off the head and, with a knowing grin, tossed it towards the two faces poking out of the water. I sucked it down while Isthia, engrossed with the odd ritual of fish cleaning, didn't notice. He pulled the entrails and organs out, using his knife-tip to dislodge the bladder, and tossed them out to us again. I didn't pursue.

"...got caught with a joint 'bout junior year. Dad was pissed, talked about the Army..."

He lopped off the tail and set to work on the scales, taking considerable portions of flesh along with them. The smell wafted towards us and overpowered my senses. I found myself staring at the other fish he'd left by the shore. In two thrusts of the tail I could reach it...

"...and I gotta say, when them boys up in Congress run the country to hell..."

With most of the scales and fish discarded in the sand, he set the rock down and pulled a small black bag from his pocket, unzipped it, and extracted a plastic bag containing a green Zippo lighter. Of course! The possibility of a fire was nil with so little firewood and the occasional spray of choppy seas. But the bag contained, I assumed, a few basic survival tools. It looked large enough to fit the knife he wielded as well. The sudden urge of snatching it and rooting around overcame me. Suffice to say, the man might not have been as dumb as I'd thought.

"...gonna be in BIG trouble when this bad boy goes dry, but hey- raw fish's better than starving..."

He removed the lighter from its bag and placed the rock back on his lap. With a steady hand he sawed the fish into quarters. By now Isthia's wide eyes were centered in on the man, her sonar running frantically in attempt to understand what he was doing. Meanwhile, I could swear my mouth was watering. What I wouldn't have given for some nice smoked fish right there...

"...said 'I won't be havin' that in my house!' and I said 'Listen, you sonnofabitch'...boy, I got it for that..."

With the wind picking up the man hunched over. The wind was at his back and we could see him better than before. With pinpoint accuracy he stabbed the largest chunk, making a subtle 'tsnk!' as it hit the rock. He held the knife up at an angle, so the fish could only slide down the blade and not off it. Wetting his lips, he flicked the zippo open and on in one quick motion. The flame caught the wind and groaned, flickering but holding strong. The man leaned farther forward and brought the flame in close to the knife and the scent of burning fat filled the air. Isthia sat visibly revolted.

"He's not going to it now, is he?" her eyes fumed with repulsion, enough to see the whites. She snapped her jaws and submerged, away from the aroma.

I stared at her, momentarily stunned by her reaction. "He couldn't eat it raw, love. It'd make him sick."

"It's making me sick!" She turned and pushed off, aghast by the scent of butane and flesh, "People and their cooked meat...sheesh, to mix FISH into it all! I'm leaving."

I suppressed my warbling until she was out of earshot. Apparently the thought of cooking fish never registered with her. I recalled, with a shudder, the filet of fish at a restaurant the day before I turned into a dolphin. Empathy came a tad easier after that memory.

The man on the beach made a low chuckling groan and killed the flame to his lighter. He sat back and hoisted the half-charred morsel up to his face. I stared at the undercooked hunk of meat, both hemispheres of my mind running rampant with hunger. He glanced towards me and made a toast.

"Down the hatch, ol' fella." He bit down at the tip of the knife and sat back- the meat was gone. After an intimate moment savoring it, he set to work cooking the next piece of meat. Unable to bear repeating that temptation, I turned and left the man with his food, whistling loudly and out of key.

~~~~

At the one week mark, wind stirred the water up something fierce. Ten foot swells ravaged the shallows like hordes of elephants, dousing the island with lukewarm saline and flotsam. Isthia assured me it was only a storm, not another hurricane, but to avoid stranding ourselves we retreated to open water. We left the man buried into the side of the sand dune with his front half covered in a poncho, meager protection from the gale and spray.

Once the excitement of meeting our catch had disappeared, Isthia's concern of his rescue returned. Now and again she would pause in our playing and shoot bursts of sonar in every direction, hoping to detect a ship nearby. She leaped from the water to escape my nipping teeth, but sometimes while resting she would jump just the same. 'She's looking for helicopters,' I realized, 'She's still worried about him.' By now my luck was thinning. Even if I had agreed to take care of the man days earlier, my attitude towards him hadn't exactly changed. Whenever the man was near us she kept one wary eye upon me at all times. She studied every subtle gesture and kept track, a contemplative shadow growing in her gaze with every visit. After seven days alone on the island, her confidence in my story had diminished. She appeared to be watching me harder than she watched the skies. In all honesty, I'd been sincerely optimistic of his immediate rescue when Isthia first mentioned it, enough to stretch the timeline far past my expectations. Deep down, I envisioned him stepping onto the boat or hoisted into the aircraft with a mild sense of longing. I feared, out of genetic empathy, his spirits would not stay high for long.

"Isthia?"

She rolled to look at me, smiling faint and reproachful, "What is it, Gregory?"

Shoot. Could I tell those eyes the truth? Those midnight gemstones concealed the desperation she thought she bore alone. Could I ease her angst by admitting to share it?

A lone fin trailed along my side. "What is it, love?"

I shut my own eyes. With every ounce of conscience strangling me, I conceded from my will. "Adel was the alpha of that pod. He wanted us to join them on the trip up north."

She lolled farther onto her side, pretending not to hear me. "I'd love to go up north." Bubbles emphasized her words 'up north.' I took the sight with some concern.

"Well, we have the..." I began, but my choice of words held me back. My conscience stamped its feet on my noggin, demanding my next word to be the correct one. In my mind my humanity stared at her through my eyes, glossy windows level with its curled knees. It rocked myself as it stared at her, fingers drumming on the salt-stained jeans it'd secretly worn for years. My conscience, my minds, my body....why couldn't they unify? The salt-soaked jeans of one mind rocked on top of the other, folds of gray matter jostling on the belt loops. I heard humanity drumming its fingers, staring out through the portholes of my body, at the creature revered highest by the both of us. It muttered, say 'man.' We have the man to save. The plane it sat on, a gray mass calculating the breadth of each tail stroke, the duration of oxygen use, the depth of the sea below and above, hummed in response. 'Opportunity,' Gregory. Tell her, 'opportunity.' Remember, there are sharks in the water. There is Isthia and your daughter to protect. 'Five females for every male!'

"'We have the' what, Gregory?" Her voice trailed in and out from nowhere. Yet, it was enough to bring me back. My eyes were my own again.

"...whole day to ourselves. Come on, love. Let's stop worrying about all of this- the man, his rescue, going up north. We should enjoy the day."

"I wasn't worried about-"

I buzzed my rostrum against her melon. "Yes, you were...but it's alright. We can wait a few more days and, when the man is back on land, we can head up north." My own bubbles emphasized the last two words.

The spark to ignite her mood didn't catch. She stared vacantly into me. "But there are sharks, Gregory."

I had to slow down to ease my racing heart. "What did you say?"

She replied slowly, "I heard you and Adel talking. And you two said I was crazy for wanting to save this man."

This thirty stone mate of mine stared deeper into me. It wasn't necessarily pleasant.

"You said," She continued, "you hoped he died during the storm. That I was the reason you wouldn't join the pod. You even turned him down after he mentioned all the females. Cute," she righted herself and stared at the sea floor, "Real cute."

"Isthia...I-"

"I know you don't like him, Gregory," she responded sheepishly, as if I had never spoken. "You told me. And yet you defend him every time I want to leave," Isthia pointed her rostrum at me, eyes fogging over. "I just want what's best for us, Gregory. How can I be happy when you're playing these games with me?"

My loose tooth throbbed with pain. Humanity was fighting me.

"This man isn't going to be saved. You know that, I know that. But you convince me every time that he's going to be. You're exploiting my curiosity as well as your own. Every time he's near us I see that wanton longing to be like him- to be human again. I knew it when you became jealous. I'm curious of this man, but you're jealous of him. Yet you gave up hope before the storm had passed. But when I gave up hope, you instilled it again, just so you can let him die slowly. And every time you promise me to accept him, to side with me, you go right back to resenting him."

My voice cracked weakly, "Isthia...I want him saved too. It's horrible watching him suffer like this. I didn't care about him at first, but I do now."

She searched the sky again. "No, you don't. You're torn between human interaction and making me happy. That's why you won't let him touch you. Once he does, you think it means you won't want to be a real dolphin."

How many times did I have to go through with this? Life with Isthia was bliss. It was my destiny. But even on the verge of being a father, something I didn't have as a person, I found myself wanting another chance on land. Hadn't I learned my lesson?

"I wanted to save him, Gregory," her voice deepened, "Because I thought we could save him- together. But from the start it was just me. You wanted him to be there to mock him, like he could finally solve your dilemma between life as a person and life as a dolphin. But it all backfired. Now you're more conflicted than ever."

There was a moment of silence. I broke for air several times, but could not find the right thing to say.

"I thought we could save him," she continued, calmer than before, "To prove we could work together to raise our daughter. But he was a test. I didn't plan for this, all this proximity and its effect on you, when we first pushed him back to land. I would've let him drown if I'd known. I was curious, Gregory, but when I gave up I gave up. I was honest. You were not."

I shut my eyes, refusing to scan, hoping to hit whatever was in my way and knock myself out cold, sinking to the bottom.

"Gregory, be honest with me here. No more lies. Tell me everything and to hell with my feelings. You can't hurt me any more than you have."

The deluge had arrived. Pressure from the past week had broken its flood gates. I had to let Isthia know. Damn whatever my minds told me. She deserved to know.

"Isthia...you're right. Whenever we're around the man, I hate it. It tears me up that I can understand him, that he's talking to me but I can't talk back. It's like being in a coma. And yes, this makes me want to become human again. The problem is, I absolutely DON'T want to! I knew this would happen- that's why I tried not to help him out! You see a human...I see another man! At first I hoped he died, so I wouldn't have to confront him. But after we began caring for him, I wanted him rescued so he'd be gone! I WANT to be with you, Isthia! I love you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, even if it meant lying to make you feel better. And Christ- that's a terrible thing to do. You don't deserve it and you never did. The hurricane, the man on the beach, my lies...you don't need this sort of stress. And it's my fault for putting it all on you. You seemed so attached to him that I didn't want you to know. He's not a coast guard, Isthia. I knew his ship had no tracking device. But I BELIEVED he'd been rescued soon! And...I just wanted to ease your stress. If I'd known he'd be here for so long, I would've been honest. That day you finally realized it, I panicked. I thought you'd be happier interacting with him. You do like people, after all. But it's the truth- if he hasn't been rescued yet, he won't be anytime soon. You were right...we're just prolonging his suffering. All I can say is...I'm sorry, Isthia. You mean everything to me, and it was selfish of me to do this to you. But...MY mind hasn't been right either."

I felt my mate nibbling tenderly at my rostrum. Her empty eyes had flooded with emotion and sentiment.

"We just haven't been ourselves this week, Gregory. Neither of us has been entirely honest. It wasn't fair to pin all of it on you. There was so much I could've told you sooner but didn't. I did get a bit drastic when I realized he couldn't be saved, saying I shouldn't be allowed to raise our daughter...you had a good reason to panic. And maybe I let my curiosity blind me from your wanting to leave. It's been ups and downs all week, Gregory. First you say you hate him, then you like him, then you hate him again. I never could catch you until you were too far one way."

I opened my eyes and continue swimming.

"If you want to leave, Gregory, maybe we should leave. It isn't safe with the two of us like this. I don't want this man to die, but if he isn't rescued soon he will. He wasn't made to be on the island."

I sighed. "Isthia?"

"What is it, Gregory?"

After a pause, I blurted out, "I want to see him on a boat or dead. I still don't like him, but if we leave at this point my minds are going to keep butting heads. That can't happen once our daughter is born."

She licked the tip of my rostrum and welcomed my smile. "I'm glad."

~~~~

By day nine the seas had calmed, turning the ocean into a molten sheet of glass as far as the eye could see. By now the man had exhausted the well he'd dug. He spent half a day digging another but his movements had become lethargic, slow, lost. By noon a blanket of haze set in and he retreated to his shelter in the nude, fanning himself with a palm frond.

Some faint glimmer of hope resonated within us, unspoken, that he'd be off the island before he died. We'd cut out the possibility of him starving to death. If we stopped feeding him he'd linger for two weeks, or fashion a harpoon and eat back-stabbing dolphin for a while. It was a cruel plan that didn't sit well with either of us, so we agreed to keep feeding him. Dehydration would be a quicker death, yet this was unlikely; he'd mine the entire island of groundwater until he resorted to desalination. Finally we came to the morbid agreement that illness would kill him off. One tainted fish or one parasite in the water and he'd wither away, succumbing to the elements.

That night, our fantasies came to life. Shortly after sunset the man awoke, tore out of his shelter and scrambled to the sea where he vomited a meager heap of fish meat and water. Listening to him gurgle out nothing and whimper struck a sour chord between us. Throughout the night he moaned in his sleep, rising sporadically to retch into the sea. In the morning he lay on his back in the sun, wet shorts spread over his face, trying to cook the illness from his system. Our offerings of two baby mackerel were met with queasy silence. By nightfall his body had nothing left to expel and he sat by the shore heaving and moaning. We bore witness with heavy hearts. Illness may've been the most likely death, but far from the easiest.

Then he emerged the next day, vibrant and whistling. Whatever toxin he'd ingested had successfully wormed its way out. The mackerels from yesterday lay bloated and graying on the beach, each sporting a mask of flies. He observed them in silence, scratching empathetically at the bites on his shoulder. Several gulls circled above, drawn by the stench of rotting fish.

Isthia and I separated that morning to find him food. I'd brought, as an esoteric peace-offering, a large spotted Sea Trout. The man heard me surface and smiled.

"Hey there boy...Whaddya got there?"

I spy-hopped, the fish flopping on both sides of my mouth like a moustache. He whistled at the bounty.

"My, that's a catch. You sure you don't want none for yourself?"

I answered with silence. I stared like a wild animal, pretending not to understand. He shrugged and waded out to accept my offering. One hand took the fish and the other reached on impulse to touch my forehead. I jumped back and showed off my teeth.

"Ohh, you're the one that don't like being touched. Sorry fella, I keep gettin' you and your friend mixed up." He wiped his hand on his shorts, erasing his faux pas. I lowered my body and approached the shore, rolling over to watch him.

The man sat at the shore with his implements of nutrition. Noticing my curious gaze, he began to speak.

"You know something," he muttered. "I've been doing some thinking."

"Oh? Is this your first time?" I replied. He smiled without looking up.

"Yup, thinking. You know, I can't understand what drives you two to help me. I was bein' a right fool, taking the boat out in a hurricane."

"Good, I'm glad we agree." The man didn't seem to notice. It's amazing how concise it all sounds through vocalizations. He tossed me the fish head and discarded some guts stuck on the side.

"Usually, I'm the one saving you," he stopped sawing the fish and turned to me. "I work in wildlife rescue. Only been there two months, but hey- it's a paycheck."

The sun started drying me out. I submerged and rolled over, watching him from the other side.

"Not MUCH of a paycheck, but thing's being the way they are I can't complain. Awful lot of traveling though. Last week I was..." His words trailed off, disrupted by a stubborn piece of meat stuck to a bone. A lone seagull paddled up, enticed by the scent of fish. One sudden snap of my jaws and it was off. He smiled and cut me a reward.

"Anyway, last week I was over in...ah hell, like YOU would know city names."

I blinked a few times. That was incredibly accurate.

"Anyway, I was here along the coast helping to prepare for the hurricane. Category four, they said. We were doing the usual stuff- you know, securin' animals at the zoos, shuttling critters to the vet for last-minute exams, removing tagged animals from the flood zones on land, puttin' nets in to keep animals from the shore. The cities pay us to do these things, it makes them area look more eco-friendly. S'pose I can thank those left-wing activists for my job...nah, I'm not that delusional yet."

The first chunk of meat was nearly cooked. Absent-mindedly he tossed a raw piece my direction and, inevitably, down my gullet.

"So this big evacuation along the coastline just begun- when all the people headed up north when I tried to return to Mississippi. You probably never heard of it..."

"YOU probably can't spell it!"

"...but that's where I live. My fiancée runs the shelter HQ there. At first she didn't want me to go down in the first place, said I'd end up capsizing. Heh," he chewed on the meat, "Women always know what's best, am I right?"

I shut my eyes and stayed quiet.

"But during the evacuation I figured the boat'd be a bad idea. Luckily there was this girl at the rescue center who's from Mississippi too. 'Said she'd give me a ride, and in less time than everyone else. Cause she knew all th' byways, see." Another gull fluttered down by him, poking its head with every step at the fish. He swatted it with his knife, sending wings and feathers into the sky.

"But us people, see," he continued, ignoring the gull strutting back up, "We got a knack for the weather. Step outside and I coulda' told you the storm was rolling in, how large it was, where it was coming from and just what it'd be carrying when it DID come. Us people, we KNOW these things." He took another swipe at the gull. "But them MACHINES we build, well... when it comes to weather, they don't know shit. Called the hurricane to make landfall two days too late...Serves me right for trustin' 'em."

The wind picked up, rocking me on the incoming waves. I took a short recess to swim in the calmer waters before returning. I dropped my tail like an anchor, watching him cook.

"So, the storm hits. Cars turn into boats, boats sink like rocks, and newscasters lose cameramen- you know, the usual stuff. We're all holed up at the rescue shelter downtown, hid in the backroom to escape the all howling- both outdoors and inside the kennels. We lost power at hour four and spent the rest of the night playin' cards and waitin' to die."

Two seagulls sat perched on the sloping palm tree, legs tucked up close, staring dumbly at the man. The others flew small circles in the sky. The man glared back at them, grunting. "Figured they'd find me sooner or later; greedy bastards, never get a peaceful meal with them hangin' 'bout." Just then a flying gull landed nearby, kicking up sand as it hit the beach. It examined the fish remains, twisting its neck with every step. I submerged momentarily, collecting water in my blowhole. When the gull paused to stare at the fish I surfaced and coughed, smacking the bird with a jet of cold water. It dizzily got to its feet, screamed at me and flew off, struggling to keep its balance in the air. The man was beside himself in laughter.

"Hey, nice shot fella!" He turned back to his fish and paused for reflection. "You know somethin', I'm still a might queasy from yesterday. Why don't you finish this bad boy off? Hope you don't mind I took out the bones and guts." He scooped up the raw fish meat and tossed them to my open jaws. It slid down my throat, salty and slimy like Spam. For added effect, I opened my mouth and begged for more.

"Heh, sorry buddy. Fresh out." The man folded his legs and faced me directly. "It's amazing. Everybody's always goin' on about how smart you're s'posed to be. Can't say I believed it, but watchin' you and your friend changed all that. It's like y'all know what I'm sayin' and doin'. Hell, you 'specially." A content smile spread on his face. "But you're probably just curious, what with me talkin' and all. It's probably somethin' new for ya, but there's no way you can understand me."

I shut my mouth and submerged, gazing up at him, my mind working over what he'd said.

"You know," the man continued, "I left the animal shelter when I heard there were two dolphins in distress a few miles out. One of th' coast guards stopped by when the eye hit, saying he'd seen these dolphins separated from their pod and stressed out. Everyone thought I was crazy. Well, maybe I am. I didn't expect to get so far out from shore, though. I'd been out there an hour and a half when I thought to turn around. Next thing I know the sea's pickin' up and I start takin' on water. So I just started shouting 'help! Help!'" he chuckled, shaking his head down at the sand. "But I knew I'd die. Was wearing boots and can't swim worth a damn."

He pulled his shoulders back, cracking them, and scooted closer until the incessant pulse of the surf washed up over his toes and past his ankles. "You know, my fiancée would've been proud. She loves dolphins more'n she loves me. Can't quite tell me why, though, she said somethin' about an encounter she had a year or two ago."

At that moment I grew nervously aware of how focused I was on his words. Every inflection became clear to me. His sophomoric vocabulary, the grammar his accent chose to ignore, his concrete revulsion of the letter 'G'. My eyes clenched shut when my injured tooth started to throb. Humanity tapped his fingers upon my dolphin brain, humming a line from some old rock song. "I can feel one of my turns coming on." The tune reverberated in my head.

"She said," he continued, staring thoughtfully towards the horizon, "A dolphin saved her from killin' herself. Wanted to throw her body into the sea, but a dolphin kept pushin' her back up...Said it meant business."

My eyes flew open, both sets of them. Both were cemented into the tip of the man's nose; watching it transform, watching it take new shape.

"Must've had a rough year too... Her dead-beat husband ran off, lost her baby, called for help and got slandered by the media. Hell, I don't know how she lasted so long. Anyway, she opened a rescue center near the Mississippi coast because of it. Heh, funny, isn't it?"

My tongue brushed my loose tooth, busted from that day he'd so poorly described. Blood poured from the wound, a sharp and dusty taste. But it was not my blood I tasted; it was his, and I knew it. He grimaced when the sun moved from behind a cloud, but all I saw was an evil grin. It laughed at me, for it knew who I was. His toes curled in an oncoming wave and once unfurled grew scales and fish eyes. His feet grew fins and scales yet looked soft and pink like the morsel he had tossed me. Even the seagulls glanced over hungrily.

"That dolphin treated her better'n anyone. Said she'd been happy till her husband left her all alone and pregnant. Probably off with some plastic hussy with more money. She'd been a wreck when I met her, all thanks to him. I tell ya, when women are at their lowest it's a hell of a lot easier to nestle on in. Yeah, I love her, but doin' easy work for easy pay says something too. I mean, I DO 'know the owner'!"

Bolts of pain erupted from inside of my skull. My humanity, that parasitic worm, pounded his fists upon bone. 'It can't be him! he screamed, 'He can't be the one!' I saw the note I'd written to Aimee, urging her to move on and find another person. This man couldn't be it. My promise to Isthia replayed through the dolphin mind: 'I want to see him on a boat, or dead.' Humanity peered through my eyes, seeing nothing on the horizon.

I hoisted my body into an incoming wave, rocketing towards those fish-like appendages. Sand tore my stomach and sunlight cooked my exposed skin, but nothing registered. The man, groggy with lingering illness, hopped back two seconds too late. My teeth slammed shut on the scales of his heel. I felt his pulse and the ensuing blood on my tongue, a fresh kill. The prey screamed into vacant skies and pulled, leaving a piece behind. He shot onto dry land, muscle visible from the gash on his foot, wounded eyes aimed at me.

"Get back here, you bastard!" I shouted, mouth locked open for another strike. "Come back and finish this!"

I hurled a string of curses at him. My vocalizations began mixing with English and grew incomprehensible. Up on the shore the man staggered, fell, hopped up and fell again, staring at me with wide eyes. There was no color in his face.

"She's mine, you son of a bitch! Don't you touch her again! She's mine!" I screamed, my voice popping and warbling as if I were dying. No dolphin or human could understand the fury I spewed at him. "I'll tear you pieces! I'll pull flesh from bones! I'll grind your hands to dust, you bastard!"

In the midst of this, a detached serenity filled my mind. I only knew what came out of my head, what I saw out of my eyes. My brain and my humanity were finally working as one.

"Awh..whuh...why'd ya do that?" The man fell onto his rear, staring directly at me, his face the color of his white eyes.

"She's MINE you son of a bitch!" I screamed in garbled and noisy English. "You'll DIE before you see her again, I promise!"

As I shouted, he froze in his spot. When I finished his eyes fluttered, then widened again. His lips started trembling. He dug his hands into the sand crawling farther onto shore, unsure of what he thought he heard.

"You're DEAD! Do you hear me? DEAD!" I snapped my jaws rapidly, shredding the tough, leathery patch lodged in my teeth. The salty pieces of callus and dead skin drifted down into my gullet.

He moaned at the morbid display, inching farther back. A neat trail of blood washed down the sand and into the sea. Blood would mean...

Sharks...Adel had mentioned sharks. There were sharks in the water. They were as much a threat now as they had been. Let them kill the man, I told myself, I'm finally finished with him. I turned around, facing southeast, thinking only of my direction and speed. Little else registered. I took a breath and submerged, leaving the crashing of waves and screeching of gulls to shrink into the distance.

I'd gotten a mile away when Isthia swam up. She approached me, calling my name. I didn't reply.

"Gregory! Sorry I took so long. Where are you going?"

"Down and out of the gulf," I snapped.

She clicked, detecting something amiss, "But, what about the man?"

"He's dead. I killed him." Isthia continued following, looking over at me as if waiting to hear my response. "I said, I killed him...Let's go."

Her eyes widened. "Gregory, why are you doing that?"

I didn't respond.

"Your voice...it's so strange. I...I can't understand you."

What should've been vocalizations were a sloppy, feral form of English. I didn't know I'd been talking any other way. It felt too natural.

"I'm leaving, Isthia. You should too. There are sharks on the way to finish him off."

She bumped me with her rostrum. "Stop it, Gregory. You're starting to scare me."

Talking was useless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find a stable voice. Nothing but pops, snarls, grunts...nothing dolphin.

Isthia spoke again, only this time she spoke nonsense. An intangible string of whistles, clicks, trills...I knew what she was saying; only she wasn't saying it. We couldn't understand each other.

She moved in closer, rolling over and placing her pectoral fin against my side, continuing to question me in that nonsense language we used to speak. I shut my eyes, refusing to see the hurt and confusion in hers. I felt a tap with her rostrum and another slur of trills and clicks. She was begging me to talk to her.

"Isthia, I'm going away now. I know you can't understand me, but I'm leaving. Watch out for sharks," I felt her fin glide down my body, breaking contact near my tail. She was no longer swimming. "And...I love you, Isthia."

~~~~

When I opened my eyes once more, I saw nothing but sunlight shining through the waves, reaching for the sea-floor, never making it. I'd like to think now that I turned back, that I saw her familiar body reduced to a shadow behind me, watching me disappear. But it never happened. I never bothered to look back...