How to Speak Dolphin Page 7

  “That poor thing has got to be dying of boredom,” Zoe whispers to me when she comes back to where we’re standing. Her right hand is a mass of tiny blue paint chips that came off as she guided herself around the tank.

  Don gives me the dirty look that would be wasted on Zoe, but his expression goes blank when Zoe turns to where he and the vet are standing. Maybe she heard him mentally snarling.

  “They communicate with sonar, you know,” Zoe says, louder now. “If she tries to use it in that tank, the sound bounces off the concrete. There’s nothing for her to see, no picture for her to create in her mind except wall, wall, wall.”

  I glance at the vet and then at Don.

  “I’m sure they have her isolated for a purpose.” Don’s voice is flat.

  “This is the tank we had free.” The vet’s tone is defensive.

  Zoe homes in on where the vet’s standing and walks over. “Imagine yourself recovering from an illness completely isolated, sealed into a concrete container. She might as well be in the bottom of a well. She can see walls and the sky and nothing else.”

  Don gives me a threatening look.

  “She’s cut off from the world.” Zoe’s tone is so full of passion that I think this is as much about her as it is about the dolphin.

  Don clears his throat in a way that suggests his tolerance for her interruptions is at an end.

  Since Zoe can’t see people’s faces, she can’t know when to shut up. “What’s her name, again?” I say, hoping Zoe will take the hint and hush.

  The vet flips the pages of her chart until he finds the answer. “Her name is Nori.”

  Zoe leans over the wall, calls her name, and lets out a series of whistles and clicks.

  Adam begins to hop up and down, flap his fingers against his palm, and squeak.

  Nori upends and blows a long call through her blowhole.

  Adam tries to scale the wall of the tank. I catch him and lift him so he can see Nori. I have one arm around his waist and am holding tight to the straps of his harness with my right hand. Adam swings his arms and starts kicking his feet. If I dropped him in the tank, he’d be swimming.

  “Your son really does like dolphins,” the vet says. “I don’t see any harm in letting him get on the raft to pet her. Maybe he’s just what she needs.”

  Don doesn’t hesitate. “That’s nice of you.” He says to me, “You go down first and I’ll lower Adam to you.”

  I look at Zoe, then at Don. He shakes his head, then reconsiders. Better to have her down there than up here bugging the vet. “Zoe, would you like to go, too?”

  “Oh, yes.” She heads straight for the ladder, the steps of which her cane hit when she first circled the tank.

  She feels the railing and counts the steps, then leans her cane against the wall, climbs up the side of the tank, and starts down the other side. I tell her when she’s reached the last step. The raft is wobbly, so I wait until she’s on it and lying on her stomach before I start down the ladder.

  Zoe makes clicking sounds.

  “She’s on the far side of the tank, watching you.”

  “Come here, Nori.” Zoe stirs the water with her hand.

  Nori makes a sweeping circle of the tank, and turns sideways to look at us when she passes the raft. She’s quite a bit smaller than the dolphins at the Largo Center. And maybe because she’s been sick, her skin isn’t as tight and slick as those dolphins’. Her wake creates small waves that wash over the raft, wetting Zoe’s shorts and T-shirt and my flip-flops.

  Zoe laughs. “Yikes, that’s cold.”

  “Ready?” Don balances Adam on the rim of the tank. When I nod, he puts his hands in Adam’s armpits and lowers him until I can get my hands around his waist.

  Adam flops down beside Zoe and holds his arms out, too. I sit beside him and hold on to his Kid Keeper harness. Just in case.

  Both Adam and Zoe are creating a chorus of clicks, squeaks, and whistles no dolphin could resist. Nori tail-stands at the edge of the raft, directly in front of Adam.

  “She’s on your right,” I say to Zoe.

  Zoe swings her arm and whacks Adam in the side of the head. He’s too focused to notice.

  Nori squeezes air through her blowhole, making a sound like a human fart. Adam imitates it; Zoe and I laugh. Nori does it again, only longer and louder, like a foghorn. Adam mimics her.

  I remember from the article in the paper that she came from a pod of wild dolphins that visited handicapped children. I wonder if she knows Adam is like the kids who came to see her in the Gulf. I glance up at Don, who’s leaning on the side watching. He smiles down at me.

  I turn when Zoe giggles. Nori’s snout is an inch from her left eye socket, then moves to the right one.

  “Isn’t that amazing?” Zoe laughs. “She knows they’re not real.”

  Nori sinks away, then swims the pool in a series of tight circles, which rock the raft and create waves that wash up the side of the tank and splash us. The water is icy cold on our hot skin. Adam shrieks with laughter, then mimics the raspberry sound, trying to lure her back.

  I tell Zoe everything Nori does and warn her when another wave is coming. When Nori dives, I tell Zoe I can see her circling the bottom and I think she’s going to shoot to the surface and do a flip or something, but her blowhole opens and a bubble of air escapes. She touches it with her snout, and it becomes a ring of air. She pushes it toward the surface, but keeps it from reaching the top and bursting. Every time she touches it, it breaks apart, leaving a smaller ring.

  “Adam, do you see what she’s doing?” To Zoe, I say, “She’s blown a bubble of air like a smoke ring and is playing with it.”

  Adam pulls himself forward on the raft, and I tighten my grip on his harness. He puts his face in the water and blows bubbles. Nori floats toward us. When her blowhole is just beneath the surface, she opens it and a huge bubble of air explodes on the surface.

  “We need to get going,” Don says.

  I look up and he taps his watch.

  This will be fun. “You tell Adam.”

  “Another five minutes, then we have to go.”

  “What’s she doing now?” Zoe asks.

  “Blowing bubble rings and bringing them to Adam. He’s trying to hook one before it bursts on the surface.”

  “Poor thing. Isn’t there anything in here she can play with?”

  “No. There’s nothing.” I put my hand on Zoe’s arm. “When we go back up, be careful what you say. Don wants Adam to be allowed to come see Nori while she’s here, so don’t say anything more about how awful this tank is, okay?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I stand. “Adam, we have to go home.”

  Of course, he doesn’t budge, but I know he heard me, because the level of his squeaks, squeals, and raspberries goes up.

  “Lily, I really am sorry. Pinch me or something when you see me talking too much. Please. I don’t want your stepfather mad at me. I want us to be friends.”

  “Me, too, but I will pinch you next time.”

  I take her hand to help her stand and guide her across the raft to the ladder. “You go up first. It’s going to be a fight to get Adam away from Nori.”

  In that second my back was turned, Adam launched himself off the raft.

  “Adam!” Don shouts. “Lily, get him.”

  Adam can swim, but this is a wild dolphin, and she’s zooming straight for him.

  I step to the edge of the raft, ready to dive in, when Nori comes up under Adam, drapes him across her forehead, and pushes him back to the raft. I lift him out and, before he can stop giggling, I carry him to the ladder and lift him high enough for Don to grab him. As Adam screams and kicks, I turn back to Nori, kneel, and hold my hand out. “Thank you.” She nudges my palm.

  Don carries a shrieking, sopping-wet Adam toward the back gate. Zoe waits for me, but when I hear Nori whistling, I go back to the rim of the tank. Zoe hears her, too, and comes to stand beside me.

  �
��What’s she doing?”

  “Trying to get us to stay longer.”

  Nori dives. I see her blow a bubble ring and push it toward the raft.

  “Oh.” I grab Zoe’s arm.

  “What?”

  “She made another bubble ring.”

  “Oh, Lily.”

  “I know. She’s lonely.”

  On the other side of the wall, a loudspeaker announces the start of the dolphin show. I hear applause and children’s voices.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say to Nori. “When you get better, you’ll go home to your mom.”

  “I bet they keep her,” Zoe says.

  “No, they won’t.” I want to pinch her. “They can’t. She has family in the Gulf.”

  “Don’t you think all these dolphins had families?”

  I don’t want to think about that, and I’m tempted to remind her that this place took Nori in and treated her cancer. She’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for them.

  Every week, Nori hears a motor like that of the boat that used to bring the little humans to swim with her family. Instead, the sound means the water level in this tank that walls her off from everything she’s ever known will drop, sucked out through the frightening hole in the bottom. When it’s empty and she’s lying on the hard surface with the sun beating down, three or four humans put on masks and climb down into the tank. They wear white boots, like the fishermen on the Gulf used to wear, and they carry the same white buckets, but these are full of bitter liquid instead of the seawater they scooped to wash the fish blood off their decks. These men carry long wooden poles with thick bristles at one end, and hoses. Nori was terrified the first time, and slapped her flukes against the hard concrete, calling frantically for her mother.

  One of the humans keeps her skin wet, while the others dip the bristled pole into the buckets and scrub the walls with a liquid, the vapors of which burn Nori’s eyes and nostril. Some of it splashes on her, and it stings.

  After they have cleaned the walls and washed her bowel movements toward the hole in the bottom of the tank, the man who removed the growth from her jaw joins them. He pries her beak open, looks under her tongue, and washes her mouth out with nasty-tasting liquid. After he leaves, the motor starts again and her prison begins to fill with water to which a yellow, eye-stinging chemical is added.

  The only other human she’s seen is the one who visits twice daily and throws her dead fish. She’s learned that a group of humans means they will empty the water in her tank; a single human will feed her.

  But today, Nori is curious about this group of humans, and when one of the young females leaves the others to walk the perimeter of her tank, she follows. The girl clicks to her like another dolphin and speaks softly. She’s not here to feed her, but she’s not here to empty the pool, either.

  When the other girl helps the little boy human see over the top of the tank, Nori’s heart races ahead of her mind. Has a boat come? Is it on the other side of this solid circle? Nori now knows how a school of mullet feels when dolphins surround them with a mud-net.

  Fish, especially mullet, school together for protection. To capture them in shallow waters, Nori’s mother taught her to swim in a circle, beating her tail against the sand. The fish can’t see a way through the sand and are easy to catch. When Nori first came here, she used her sonar to look for a way out of this solid sand circle, but it bounced back to her from all directions. Nori gave up calling to her mother many days ago. All she hears is the loud, rhythmic sounds of music during the day, but at night she hears other dolphins somewhere on the other side of the wall. She whistles her mother’s name, but there is never an answer.

  She has considered dying. If she were brave enough, she could hold her breath and die, but it’s hard to let go of the hope that her mother is waiting for her. Then the young humans came and reminded her of home and her family, so she waits.

  No wonder Don called to get me excused from school. Suzanne and I are taking Adam to his first day at the Cutler Academy. Don’s not going.

  Adam, never easy to feed or dress, is horrible this morning—like he knows something’s up even though I try to keep my routine the same: I put his little diapered rear end in his high chair, so I don’t have to dress him twice, and give him a ripe banana. The riper the better, as far as he’s concerned. He likes to mash it with his fingers, and spread it all over his face. I’m not sure any gets into his stomach, which means he’ll be hungry about the time we get to the school. I wonder if it would be child abuse to tube him like they did the prisoners at Guantanamo who went on a hunger strike.

  He likes Cheerios, so I pour some on his tray; he wipes them to the floor with a sweep of his banana-slimed hand.

  “You’re a monster.”

  He bares his teeth at the two Cheerios he missed. “Grrrrrr.”

  I thought Don was doing rounds at the hospital, but when the automatic gate opens to let Suzanne in, he comes out of his office.

  “I’m going to move his booster seat.”

  I swear he was hiding in there to let me battle Adam alone. “If you’re not going to the hospital, why aren’t you coming with us?”

  He stops at the back door. “I have a surgery after lunch.”

  I’m not sure I believe him. Surgeries are usually early in the morning. I give him a yeah-sure look, which he ignores.

  When I turn around, Adam flings a chunk of banana at me. It hits me dead center on my forehead, clings for a moment to my face, then slides down my nose and plops onto the top of my left sandal.

  I put a hand on either side of his tray, lean right into his face, and snarl, “I hate you.”

  He turns his head and sinks his teeth into my arm.

  I cry out and clamp my hand over the deep white arches. “That does it.” I jerk the tray off his chair, snatch him up, and carry him shrieking down the hall to the bathroom. I throw a washcloth into the tub and turn on the water. He screams and kicks, and tries to bite me again, but I hold his arms above his head, his wrists crushed in my fist, and wash his face and chest—not too gently. His shrieks are deafening, and he stomps his feet until they slip out from under him and he lands on his butt in the tub.

  I’ve worn myself out and let go of his arms to wash the banana off my face and out of my hair. While I’m on my knees beside the tub with my face buried in the washcloth, he climbs over the side and runs down the hall, smack into Don, leaving a wet print of himself on Don’s pant leg. The print he leaves looks so fragile and small compared to Don’s long leg.

  “How come he’s not ready? You’re going to be late.”

  I reach over and slam the bathroom door.

  Nothing I try seems to distract Adam from trying to escape. I put his Little Dolphin book and the cleanest of his stuffed dolphins in his diaper bag. When he sees them, he grabs and throws them across the room, knocking over a lamp with the book.

  I resort to putting him in his Kid Keeper harness and leash, but when Suzanne sees it, she shakes her head. “I hate to see children in those things.”

  “If you think you can control him, have at it,” I say. “He bit me this morning.”

  “Did you bite him back?” Her eyes twinkle.

  I try to smile. “I wanted to.” I look at my feet, then at her, and suck on my bottom lip. “I told him I hated him. I don’t really. Do you think he understood me?”

  “No, I don’t.” Suzanne puts her arm around my shoulders. “It’s going to get better, toots. Trust me. Sending Adam to school is a huge step for Dr. Don. Once he sees the difference it makes, he’ll be onboard.”

  “You think it will make a difference?”

  “Your brother is going to be autistic all of his life. There are no miracle cures, and nothing will change that, but his life, yours, and Don’s will be better for the training he gets there.”

  Suzanne always leaves me feeling hopeful.

  The Cutler Academy is in Pinecrest, south of South Miami. We were supposed to be there at nine; by the time we pull in, i
t’s already ten.

  With Adam under my arm, his leash dragging behind us, I run toward the building while Suzanne searches for a parking place. The door is locked. I wrap Adam’s leash tightly around my hand, put him down, and knock. Elisa, the director, opens the door.

  “I’d about given up on you.”

  “We had a tough morning. I’m sorry.”

  “Not a problem. We’re having our morning snack break, and there’s a place at the table for Adam.” Elisa turns to watch Suzanne coming up the walkway. “What’s that?” She points at the diaper bag.

  “I brought his favorite book, one of his stuffed dolphins, and his diapers,” I explain.

  “I suppose this is my fault, but I’m pretty sure I told your father—”

  “He’s my stepfather.”

  “I told your stepfather, we can’t take children who aren’t toilet trained.”

  “What?”

  Suzanne trots up, looks at the expression on my face, then at Elisa. “What?”

  “He’s not toilet trained. I’m sorry. I can’t ask our teachers to change diapers.”

  There’s a railing attached to the handicapped ramp. I sag against it and turn pleadingly to Suzanne.

  “I’m his nanny. If I stay, can he?”

  Elisa looks at Adam, who is trying to pry my fingers off the grip I have on his leash. He’s dancing with frustration and begins to cry.

  My heart pounds. I don’t think I can stand it if she says no.

  She must see the desperation I feel on my face. She pats my arm where the print of Adam’s teeth is now two bruised arcs; to Suzanne she says, “If you can come with him every day, I’ll make an exception.”

  I close my eyes.

  Three children sit in a semicircle around the table where the boys were making flowers on that first visit. Daniel, Roberto, and the little girl whose name I don’t know each have a plate and a carton of apple juice in front of them. The teachers glance at us when we come in, but not the children. I can’t remember the last time Adam saw another kid his age or size.