Drawings of Michael Damiani
Schena publisher - year 1991
winner of the National Literature Prize for Young Cento (Ferrara) and the National Prize of Literature for Children of Bitritto;

BEGINS

The caudal fin arose on the sea in a flurry of billows. He stood against the sky like a large triangular sail from the sharp edge, almost stuck in the abysmal depths, in the heart of the sea.
Then hits the surface with a large whitewashed by the mistral “splash” which spread with large echoes.
Surprised in his swing liquid between a wave and the other a seagull flew, spaurito.
On the sea, the bubbling foam soon became confused with foamy crests of the waves and all was deserted as before. A small flock of pigtails plodded tight, a bird behind the other, to overcome the resistance of the wind. Touched the waves like a live segment discarding the white crests that were announced almost by surprise. With neck stretched and the eye ready, the bird's head ritmava the pace of the flock and followed without hesitation the route mysterious from land to sea and from sea to land for millennia joined the cycle of their movement. At regular intervals, the first in line in the queue passed away the wind and another took its place, so the speed did not suffer slowdowns and course proceeded safe day and night.
In short, the little flock disappeared, distant sea. In the depths of the abyss, Hunk, the sperm whale, he felt tired. He felt like a feeling of discomfort and indolent laziness. And he did not know why docks.
The expanse ruffled by the wind, reappeared the big fin. Emerged in all its majesty in a waterfall trickles and splashes. Hung in the air and fall back to the sea with a thud that was lost on the horizon.
With the muzzle sunk into the abyss, Hunk resumed her go. The water slid along the sides, on wrinkled skin, crept into the folds carved from salt seas, flowed toward the tail agile and powerful. The large jaw was open and as a lapping dark, a bubbling deep was created at the junction of the open jaws and monstrous. Around the snout, first breather, wide scars reminded fights with giant squid.
Hunk, the sperm whale, was tired.
It was more of fatigue: a profound disinterest and restless for what was happening around him, inside him.
Even the shots tail, diving headlong into the abyss that were once carefree games, now appeared gestures tired and tedious.
How far were the times of the pack, all together, to chase and to immerse themselves in the great ocean. And where were the other, the playmates, sperm whales elderly who often followed the herd at a distance, thoughtful females with their young?
Hunk kept popping up at regular intervals. Breather side threw in the sky, every time, a spray high water and steam. It was a sign of life. The heart beat regularly and lungs gasping with perfect sync and out of the sea. Nevertheless Hunk felt a sense of danger to which he could not explain the origin.
Something was wrong. But what?…