How The Beluga Lost Its Colour: A Fable

HOW THE BELUGA LOST ITS COLOUR
~winner of the first annual Great Canadian Fable Contest, 1989~
~by Timothy G.M. Reynolds~

    He who boasts of something others have not should be wary lest the gift be withdrawn, as happens in this fable of how the beluga whale let pride colour his life.
   
    It so happened that the beluga, a frolicsome dweller of the Arctic Ocean, had been blessed with a skin the colour of the magenta of the setting sun, the emerald of the deep seas and the azure of the clear skies. His cousins the whales and dolphins were merely shades of boring grey, blue or the black and white of the orca.

    As the beluga sang with the humpbacks it was always of his own colours. When he lost races to the dolphins he said “Yes, you’re fast; but I’m the rainbow in the sea.”

    It came to pass that his boasting turned many tails to his face as others lost interest in his self-centred company. One polar bear, weary of listening to the beluga, suggested that if he really wanted to find new ears for his song, there was a river which he could follow inland to where there were herds of creatures called caribou. Caribou had never had the pleasure of hearing the beluga’s song.

    Eager only to spread his fame far and wide, the beluga followed the bear’s directions and was soon working his way up the river, singing his song and calling attention to his gift.

    So intent was he on the sound of his own voice that the beluga didn’t notice the rapidly narrowing and shallowing of the river as he neared the source. One moment he was singing his song of clicks and whistles and the next he was grounded on a sand bar in the shallow stream. No amount of tail-flipping or blubber-rolling could get the beluga back into deep water.

    He lay there, his cries growing weaker and weaker. The sun rose higher and as it did so it burned off the now fully exposed colours of the arrogant beluga. Near death, the sorrowful creature turned his head for one last look at the magenta, azure and emerald that had brought him to this lonely end, only now they were gone. Even his colours had deserted him. From tail to nose the beluga was white. Not grey or blue or even part black like his cousins --- just white.

    It was while he nursed the last of his pride that the beluga felt a nudge on his back. Looking up with dry eyes, he met his first caribou, but he could do nothing except gasp for air as the buck signalled for the rest of the herd to approach. Silently, they rolled the beluga back to the deep water where he lay for many long minutes. When he finally got up the strength to say thanks, there was no one to thank. The herd had slipped away.

    It was a much-subdued beluga that eventually reached the ocean where his cousins sang and raced. From that day forward he sang only the praise of the sea and the sky and the sunsets, for his gift had been withdrawn. Back up the river, where the caribou had discovered the beluga, a trout leaped in joy, the sun catching briefly on his new rainbow-tinted scales.

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