Inside the Whale

I had been walking a long time. I sat, dozed a while, then I heard the water and was awake again. Water was everywhere, the cavern roofs dripped with it and my feet splashed through salty shallows, but it was a deeper, threatening roar that got me on the move. First came soft, gelatinous tissue, then bony protuberances I had to clamber over. I suppose I kept heading towards the light, a yellowish glow that seemed always to be dimming but never quite went out. It was like walking through constantly parting, pale curtains.

I entered a long dry section, rising gently. A sweet voice floated down the tunnel. The tune seemed familiar but not the words:

A guitar was being strummed, simple, slow, bluesy. The tunnel turned and I came on a curly-haired boy bent over his guitar in the curve of the wall. He looked up and smiled but didn’t stop singing.

There was something irredeemably sad in the boy’s voice. I had no money for him. I smiled back but he kept on singing, so I walked on up that tunnel, his voice fading behind me. I wondered if the light would ever get brighter, if I would ever get out. I wondered how that boy had got in. I heard the water roar, even as the last verse of his song pursued me.