The Shell That Breathes

"Do shells ever light up?" Idris asked. He was wading the warm shallows, ankle-deep, with Pip beside him. Pip's ears went up. Out on the long sand bar, a tide pool glowed soft green. Then it went dark. Then it glowed again, like something breathing. Idris pointed. "That one," he said. They walked out along the sand bar together, the water warm around his toes, the moon lying flat and bright on the sea. Pip shook one wet paw and followed.

The tide pool was no bigger than a hat. At the bottom sat a grey shell, closed tight as a fist. Idris knelt down in the shallow water. He waited. The shell lifted its lid the smallest crack, and green light came out. Pip leaned in to look, and his paw splashed. The shell shut. The light went away. "Oh," said Idris. He sat back on his heels and laughed a little. "Slow hands, Pip. Slower than slow."

They tried again. Idris breathed out. He put his hands flat on his knees and stayed still. Pip lay down in the warm water with his chin on a stone. The sea said shhh. A small crab walked past them, sideways and busy. Slowly, slowly, the shell opened, and the pool filled with green light. It lit Idris's face. It lit the cream fur on Pip's chest. Then the shell closed again, gently, like a sleepy eye.

Idris stood up and looked down the sand bar. At the far end, under a shelf of rock, was a deeper pool. The moon did not reach it. Something in there was glowing too, bigger and slower and warmer than the first. Idris watched it fade and come back. Fade, and come back. "I don't like the dark part," he said. Pip's ears stayed up. He did not move away. Idris looked at the dark water for a long time.

"We can go slow," Idris said. He took one step. Then he waited. The water came up to his knees, and it was warm, warmer than the air. He took another step, and waited again. Pip swam beside him with his tail trailing out behind. Nothing hurried them. Idris went as far as felt easy, then a little further, then stopped to listen to the sea. The rock shelf came closer. The dark was only water, and the water knew him.

At the deep pool Idris knelt until the sea reached his chest. The big shell lay below him, closed, its ridges like the ribs of a little boat. He did not touch it. He put his hands under the water and held them still. "Slow hands, Pip. Slower than slow," he whispered. Pip floated beside him and went quiet, nose just above the water. A fish the size of an eyelash swam past. Idris waited.

Waiting was full of things to notice. The moon shook and mended itself on the water. Pip's breath went in and out against his arm. Weed moved below like hair. Then the shell sighed open, wide as two hands, and light poured up through the water — green, then gold, then green again. It climbed the rock shelf. It lit the sand under his knees. It lit Pip from whiskers to tail. Idris did not say a word.

He looked for a long time. He did not pick the shell up. He did not need to. When he had looked enough, he backed away slowly, so the light would stay open behind him. Pip swam at his elbow all the way. The sand bar rose under Idris's feet, step by warm step. "Slow hands, Pip. Slower than slow," he said, and Pip's ears flicked. They climbed up onto the dry sand above the tideline and lay down.

The sand held the heat of the whole day. Idris curled on his side with one hand in Pip's fur. Far out under the rock shelf, the green light stood in the water like a small door left open. It dimmed. It brightened once more, for him. Then it folded itself away, slow as a shell closing, and the deep pool went dark and quiet. Idris's eyes were already shut. Pip's chin settled on his arm, and the sea said shhh.