Do you know the strangest thing? The other day I met a truculently obsolete whale for tea. He turned out to be a budding writer himself. He actually had written a few scholarly works, mostly on the blowhole, and one fat novel. About what, I asked. About the last gullible whale in the ocean, he said with a dystopian smile from gill to gill. You don’t even have gills, I said and told him that I didn’t believe in whale extinction. Neither do I, he said, but ever since Melville we whales have been projecting human morality onto our species like crazed fish. During our entire discussion, whaling ships were circling us like vultures but the whale said not to worry, whalers were very open to negotiation. Really, I said. Yes, he said, at least that’s what I’ve heard. And if all else fails, he said, there’s always whale resurrection. We’re sure to get to heaven because God smiles on beings with a lot of body fat. Does this mean obese people get a break later? I wanted to know. Sure thing, said the whale. At this point, he had trouble turning to look at me, because the whalers had begun to spear him. I shall have to leave now, he said, if I want to see another sunrise. He was still smiling or perhaps grinning and before he submerged in a cloud of foam, he spew Tolstoy at me: «In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you!».
#49. Text: Marcus Speh. Image: Copyright © 2012 Carlye Birkenkrahe.
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