Troubled Waters

Our basement was filled with ocean water, almost up to the ceiling. In the water was a whale. I was a little confused as to how the whale got into our basement ocean, but I still swam with it. We became buddies, and it was very nice. My Father had a boat. There was an emergency with my Mother, and we had to take the boat across the ocean/basement. The whale was swimming below us. My Father took out a giant metal mallet, because he didn't want the boat to go the wrong way. I was worried about the vibrations the sound would cause, but there wasn't anything else to be done. My Dad hit the side of the boat two times, and I could see the violent sound waves traveling through the water and hitting the whale. Then the boat bumped into the wall of the house, and it made a monstrous noise. But the boat started moving - the whale tried to keep up, but its head hurt. Later, Dad hit the boat again because it was going crooked, and yet the boat still ran into the wall, and made the noise again. The whale started crying, and I dove into the water.

In the water, it was clear but dark, like a pool at night - only a pale illumination lit the area. The whale couldn't move - it was dying. So I wrapped my arms around the side of the whale and pulled it towards the surface. We hit the surface, and the whale inhaled and we went back down. I was talking to the whale, but I don't remember what I was saying, except that I was begging it to be alright. I could feel its skin growing cold and clammy under my hands, and it stopped moving. I heaved it to the surface again, but it did not breathe. I was panicked, and refused to believe that it was dead. I reached the stairs of the basement, and I left the whale there, promising to come back in the morning.

The next day, I went down the stairs to find the water had been drained out. The floor was littered with bits of fat and whale pieces. I was shocked. My dad was vacuuming up the water, and told me to look for pieces of ambergris to sell. This I did - there was no point in letting things go to waste. I was still sad, but there was a practicality settling in.

* I woke up at this point - approximately 430 am - really sad and a little frightened. My phone had just messaged me spam about the new iphone. I forced myself to sleep again*

*******

I was in the Netherlands? Or Norway - maybe Iceland. A place where there was a sardine harvest. There was this quaint little town on the sea, where the sky was grey and everyone wore coats. The harvest was terrible - there were only a couple of dozen tiny sardines on the shelves. People were very worried, and wondered where all the sardines were. I found two and bought them, taking them back to the family I was staying with. My brother came to visit this family, as did J. and the two of them had a potato sack race. I ate a sardine - and it did not taste like a sardine, but a little bit like a savory peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

Along the town was a short cliff face. I found a cave there, and crawled inside. It was more like a cavern. There was a man who swam up to the cave entrance, carrying a mandolin. He started to sing, stopped, and left his mandolin on the rocks. There were other people who came to look into the cave, except they were walking because it was low tide. There were shells in the cave, and I looked to take one, except they all had hermit crabs in them and I didn't want to kill anything. The cave was part of a legend about a mermaid who helped the town with the sardine harvest, except no one knew where she had gone to. The storm returned, and I was walking back through the streets in the wind...

Suddenly, I was back home. I was in a pool with D, and we were deep under water. He was smiling, but he didn't know he couldn't breathe. So I started kicking us to the surface, which seemed a long way away. D smiled and helped. The water got lighter and lighter and soon we were on the surface. I didn't know how I got there. I realized I had never said goodbye to my brother, or J, or my family. I didn't have my passport or my luggage.

So then I was reentering the country from before. I didn't know how I was going to go get in without my passport or anything. I followed the people from the train station to the turnstiles, and then to immigration. My Dad was with me. There was an old man at the turnstile, who smiled at me and welcomed me back. I asked him if I'd been here before. He said yes, about a week ago. I asked about my brother. The man said he had left. I asked about J. The man said he had left six days ago. He looked at my wallet briefly, then let me back in, smiling. There was a hotel, and I went running to find my things....


*****

I have had dreams of whales in the past - my dad's side of the family has a belief that our loved ones speak to us through whales. At least, I was told that my Great Grandmother appeared to people in dreams as a whale. And I accepted that belief while the whale images were positive. Which they've always been. This was the first time the whale died - I wonder what that symbolizes? And I was emotionally invested in keeping the whale alive.

Then that whole business with the sardine harvest and the sad fishermen and the happy family - I did have smelt for dinner. I wonder if that explains my nautical themed night.