The King of the Ocean

Yesterday, we drove an hour south of Chennai to go swimming, eat French fries  and drink watermelon juices (as well as a Kingfisher or two) poolside at Fisherman's Cove.

After spending many hours in the sun, we drive home. No one napped except Clem, so by 7:30 Sam was so exhausted he was moaning and writhing in his bed, despite his protests that he was not tired.

I crawled under the mosquito net and lay down next to him and in a low whisper told him about his upcoming trip to Ma and Grandad's house. 

When I was done we lay in silence for a few minutes before Sam asked me in a whisper, "Which is the king of the ocean? A whale or a shark?"

I was genuinely confounded. I didn't know. Eventually, I replied, "A whale. Sharks can't eat whales." I'm not sure if it was the right answer.

"Not unless they're already dead or injured."  Sam qualified.

"True," I agreed. "Or a baby."

"I think the Kraken is the king of the ocean," I added a few minutes later.

"Oh yeah!" Sam agreed, "But they don't exist for real, right?"

"Right. They're just mythical." 

A few minutes later he was asleep, satisfied.