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Søren lived in San Francisco bay. He was a young seal, a seal pup in fact. But his fur was no longer white and soft as it had been when he was born. No, it was sleek and black and the water just dripped off it so Søren never felt wet or cold.
There were many other seals in the bay and lots of them secretly wanted a coat as sleek and shiny as Søren’s. But Søren himself never really thought about the way he looked. The one thing he was proud of was his name, Søren. It was a very rare name. He had inherited it from his grandfather. Søren’s grandfather was a great Danish seal who had swum all the way to San Francisco from Copenhagen a long time ago. He had to dodge the ice bergs in the arctic circle and escape from the Polar bears in the Bering straights.
Søren was very proud of his name. He knew that it was very unusual to have a line through the ‘o’. Also, he was very proud of the bravery of his grandfather. But the seals in the bay did not see things the way Søren did. ‘Why did your grandfather have to swim all the way here?’ they asked. ‘What a waste of energy. Just think of how many disgusting fish he would have had to eat along the way. Such a profligate use of resources.’
And that was another thing: all the seals in San Francisco bay were Californian seals. None of them ate fish. They only ate seaweed. But Søren hated seaweed, and he loved good Danish herring. Unfortunately, being a seal, he only had flippers and no hands, and so he could never brush his teeth.
‘Go away Søren, your teeth are totally gross,’ said the Californian seals whenever Søren wanted to lie down amongst them on the pier.
‘What terrible fish breath,’ said the tourists on Fisherman’s Wharf who came to photograph the seals as they were sunning themselves.
One day the Chief Sea Lion summoned Søren. He was very good at yoga and he liked to show off his flexibility to the tourists. ‘Really Søren,’ he said, ‘this has gone far enough. Either you change your diet, or you go elsewhere.’
‘Seaweed makes me feel sick,’ said Søren. ‘Please let me stay here. I don’t have anywhere else to go.’
‘Your bad teeth and fishy breath are giving us all a bad name,’ replied the Chief Sea Lion as he struck another pose for the tourists. ‘You are not wanted here.’
‘But I don’t have anywhere else to go,’ repeated Søren.
‘That is not my problem,’ said the Chief Sea Lion, lowering his bulk into yet another sun salutation. The tourists’ cameras flashed.
Søren slipped off the pier and poured himself into the water like smooth black oil. He was very sad.
Søren swam slowly towards the Golden Gate Bridge which spans the entrance to the bay. As he passed under the bridge he turned round to look for one last time at the beautiful bay and the skyline of San Francisco and the happy seals sunning themselves on Fisherman’s Wharf. A salty tear hung for a moment on the end of his droopy whiskers before being swallowed up by the salty ocean.
Søren turned back round and was about to strike out for the distant blue horizon when something on the bridge caught his eye. He had to squint in order to make out the figure on the side of the bridge. Søren saw a girl in a bright red pompom hat. She seemed to be tearing up a sheet of paper. Though she was a long way away, Søren thought she looked very sad. When she had torn up all the paper she threw the pieces into the wind. Then she closed her eyes, raised her face to the sky and lifted her arms.
‘Oh no,’ thought Søren, ‘she’s going to jump!’ Like all the seals in the bay, Søren knew that people sometimes jumped off the bridge into the sea when they were very unhappy.
‘I must try to stop her,’ he thought. So he swum as quickly as he could into the middle of the channel, right underneath the girl. Then he leapt out of the water and did a somersault and a back flip and all sorts of other tricks. He smiled and giggled and chuckled and laughed and made it look like he was having the time of his life. It was not easy because inside he still felt sad.
The girl heard Søren splashing in the water underneath her and she opened her eyes. She watched for a while and Søren jumped even higher and twisted and turned even more acrobatically in the air. Then, finally, the girl smiled. Søren waved his flipper at her and she waved back at him. Then she climbed back over the side of the bridge and was gone.
*
Søren was exhausted. Nevertheless, he felt he had done a good thing. He pointed his nose out to sea and began to swim. His heart felt lighter than before.
Søren swam throughout the rest of that day, and through the night, and through the next day. He didn’t know where he was going but, like his grandfather, he decided to trust his luck. By daybreak on the third day he was very tired indeed. He thought about sleeping for a while but he knew that if he slept the sharks could creep up on him unawares. Nevertheless, he felt his eyelids closing. He tried to fight the tiredness but eventually it was too much for him and he let his eyes stay closed. He was on the verge of dropping off to sleep when he heard a voice:
‘Oi, mate, I wouldn’t kip ‘ere. The sharks'll 'ave ya.’
Søren opened his eyes and saw a disheveled man sitting on a surf board with a broken kite in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
‘Um, yes, thank you,’ said Søren. ‘It’s just that I’m very tired and I don’t know where I’m going. But what are you doing here?’
‘Got blown off course didn’t I,’ said the man, rubbing his big hairy tummy. ‘Went out kite surfing and a sudden gale swept me away. Took me right up above the clouds. Quite a rush, I can tell you. I was up there a long time and the wind just got stronger and stronger until eventually it tore the kite, then I dropped back down. I’ve been here for three days now. No wind you see.’ The man paused to relight his cigarette. ‘So what’s your business out here?’ he asked Søren.
‘Well, I’m actually a bit lost,’ admitted Søren. ‘The chief Sea Lion told me to leave San Francisco, so I decided to swim out to sea until I found a new place to live. I haven’t seen anything yet though.’
‘There’s no land anywhere near here, I can tell you. I’ve seen it all from the sky. But why did you have to leave San Francisco?’
Søren felt himself blushing underneath his sleek black fur. If the man hadn’t noticed his oral hygiene problems, maybe he shouldn’t mention them? But then he reminded himself that it is always best to tell the truth. ‘Well,’ began Søren, ‘the Chief Sea Lion said that my teeth are in poor condition and that my breath smells. But that’s only because I like eating fish.’
Søren was cut off by the man’s raucous laughter - he had thrown his head back and was guffawing at the sky. His hairy tummy bounced up and down over his swimming trunks.
‘Oh that’s a good one,’ he said, when eventually he had stopped laughing. ‘Well my friend, you should come to England. Everyone has bad teeth and smelly breath there, and no one thinks anything of it.’ The man rubbed his tummy once more.
‘Really?’ asked Søren tentatively. ‘How do you know?’
‘I know because I am from England,’ said the man. He smiled and Søren saw that he really had very bad teeth indeed.
‘But where is England?’ asked Søren.
‘It’s a long way from here, that’s for sure,’ said the man. ‘I can use the stars to get me there but the problem is that with a broken kite and without any wind, I’ll never make it.’
Søren thought for a moment. ‘Couldn’t I pull you?’ he asked the man.
‘It’s a very long way and there won’t be much to eat,’ replied the man, ‘but I like the idea. Do you think you’re strong enough?’
‘I think so,’ said Søren. ‘My grandfather swam all the way from Denmark to San Francisco through the arctic circle. I think I can swim back.’
‘Well, we can use the Panama Canal now,’ said the man. ‘If you are willing to give it a go, I certainly am.’
So Søren took the kite in his mouth and started pulling the man along behind him. Occasionally the man shouted out directions. They traveled mostly by night so that the man could navigate by the stars. Fortunately they came across a huge school of herring along the way, so Søren was able to sate his hunger.
*
Søren and the man journeyed for many days. They passed through tremendous storms and huge rolling swells which made even Søren feel seasick. They swum between the towering walls on either side of the Panama Canal and were lucky to avoid being run down by one of the enormous oil tankers. In the windless Sargasso Sea, Søren had to battle his way through endless seaweed and through the nests of eels who make their home there. When they met the Gulf Stream, Søren's companion was badly stung by the trailing tentacle of a Portuguese Man of War. Søren had to pee on the livid weals; disgusting as it may sound, according to many people that is the best thing to do.
For a number of days they were able to float along with the current of the Gulf Stream. However, there were no more herring and Søren soon felt very weak. But just as he thought that he would not be able to swim much further, he noticed that the sea seemed to be changing colour. It was no longer the deep blue of the mid-Atlantic; the water was a bit greener and a bit greyer. ‘It’s not far now, I can feel it in my bones,’ said the man. And he was right. Shortly after sunrise Søren caught his first glimpse of England’s cliffs rising proudly above the waves.
Søren dragged himself and his companion ashore at Land’s End. They were both exhausted. However, Søren soon found himself surrounded by a crowd of beautiful Cornish seals.
‘Where are you from?’ asked one of the young seals. She was snaggletoothed but Søren thought she was the prettiest seal he had ever seen.
‘San Francisco,’ said Søren.
‘That can’t be true. He must be lying. No one could swim all the way from San Francisco,’ said one of the cynical older seals.
‘I think it might be true,’ said the pretty young seal. ‘He can’t possibly be an English seal. Just look how fine his teeth are.’
When he heard that, Søren's heart leapt. He staggered over to his friend the kite-surfer and embraced him. Then he lay down to rest. That evening he told his story to an assembly of all the Cornish seals, but he didn’t say anything about bad teeth or smelly breath because he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
Søren settled in the small, sheltered cove beside the cliffs at Land’s End. He married the pretty, snaggletoothed seal who had spoken to him when he first dragged himself ashore. On windy days he still goes out swimming and sometimes he bumps into his friend the kite-surfer, and then they talk about their great adventure together.
