Weissenbaum's Eye - Stetten - Chapter 35
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My boat pulls over the water like an unleashed gull. The elements of its Eskimo design, the central hull, the small side hulls, the wingspan holding them together, all seem to know they are returning to the Eskimos' domain and pull with that much more determination.
Cresting patterns of bubbled lacework dress the waves. The sea is a sculptured liquid, although the ice is not much further north. Even here, eternal winter crowns the coastline, mountains with their planetary mass not budged by less than continents colliding. They, too, are waves but I will never see them move. Mara is dead, why am I still alive? A dust breathing, leaf eared mammal, with solitude as my companion.
And yet to be a hermit has advantages. I am not burdened by the worries between people. My view is not distorted, and the great congealing of experience within the whales' portrayal leaves me holding every memory.
I even know what Mara thought, alone on that dark road the night she died. There was no simultron with Mara then, just as I am not using one today. And yet I was with her just now, within her mind the moment that she died. The whales have answered the question I have asked since last spring, when I first joined their migration. For this, I thank them. Now at least I know.