The Ringing Shell
Tap. Tap-tap. Theo stopped in the warm shallows and listened. Pip's ears went up first. The water was only as deep as Theo's ankles. The moon lay on it like spilled milk. Theo lifted his little lantern and looked down. The sea said hush, and then the tapping came back, close to his foot. "Listen, Pip. Somebody small is knocking." Pip put one paw in the water and held it there.
He knelt down. There, by a ribbon of weed, sat a tiny hermit crab. His shell was cracked along one side, like an egg. He was tapping it with one claw. Tap-tap. Then he crawled out and sat bare on the sand, small and soft and pale. Pip leaned close and sniffed, gentle as breath. The crab did not run. He only tapped the broken shell again, twice. Theo held the lantern lower so he could see.
Theo looked around the tide pool. Shells everywhere — white ones, striped ones, a curly grey one. He picked up the biggest and set it down beside the crab. The crab walked up to it. He tapped it once with his claw and listened. Then he turned around and left it. "You didn't even go inside," Theo said. The crab tapped the sand. Tap. Tap. Pip watched with his ears up. The sea hushed, and hushed again.
Theo tried a striped shell. The crab tapped it. Thunk. He walked away. Theo tried a thin white one. The crab tapped it. Tick. He walked away from that one too. Then Theo understood. He picked up a shell and knocked it with his knuckle, the way the crab did. It sounded dull and full of sand. He set it back in the water. "Listen, Pip. Somebody small is knocking." Pip's ears turned toward the sound.
Theo knocked on every shell in the pool. Sandy. Dull. Cracked. Soft. None of them rang. Then he remembered his pocket. Inside it was the moon-shell, pearl-pale and smooth, the best one he had ever found. It was for his windowsill at home. He was going to keep it all summer. He knocked on it with one knuckle. It rang like a small clear bell. Pip looked at the shell, then at Theo.
Theo held it a long moment. He thought about his windowsill, empty. He thought about the crab, bare on the sand. Then he crouched and set the moon-shell down in the shallow water, close to the weed. It settled with a small wet click. "It's yours," he said. "It's the ringing one." He sat back on his heels. Pip sat beside him and did not move. The lantern made rings of light on the water.
The crab came over slowly. He tapped the moon-shell once. He tapped it again. Then he tipped it, climbed underneath, and wriggled inside until only his claws showed. The shell sat on him like a little pale hat. He tapped twice from inside, tap-tap, and set off across the sand. He did not look back. Theo watched until the weed hid him. His pocket felt light and strange. Pip's tail brushed the water once.
Theo and Pip waded back toward the dry sand. Theo carried the lantern low, so the light swung along the shore. His feet left holes that filled with sea. Small waves came in and went out. Hush. Hush. Theo listened hard, and far off he heard it again, faint as rain on a leaf. Tap-tap. "Listen, Pip. Somebody small is knocking." Pip pushed his cream muzzle under Theo's hand.
They lay down together on warm dry sand, above the line of the tide. Pip curled against Theo's side, russet and heavy and warm. The sea kept saying hush. Somewhere far out, something small kept knocking. Theo's eyes closed. He put his hand around the lantern to keep the wind off it. Pip breathed slowly beside him. The little flame leaned, and grew smaller, and went out. The moon stayed where it was.
