The beach could be, in all frankness, a terrifying place when odd constable and aggressive strangers tried to arrest you for taking a few seashells with you, but on days like this, where the grey sea wore a little blue on its surface and the sun almost caressed the skin, without actually managing to burn it, Chéri felt safe here. They almost felt like they could expect something or someone, in the distance, to come and get them… wherever it was they were going.

Chéri felt compelled to stop dead in their tracks. Perhaps all they needed was a little encouragement. The young person turned to the sea, put two fingers in their mouth and whistled long and loud, so much so that even the waves couldn’t entirely drown the sound. They stared at the horizon.

Today, Chéri looked like a young man of extraordinary androgynous looks wearing an ordinary, anonymous brown suit, the same colour as their hair. They had abandoned the jacked on the side and had sleeves and trousers rolled up, so that they could interact with the salty water without actually getting too wet. Their face was goldening in the light and their beautiful green eyes gleamed in the summer sun.

The ocean had a voice, Mable had come to realize.

You could tell when it was calm and when it was angry, even when to expect rain or not just by listening to it.  Fishermen, and all the people who made their living on the sea, were fluent, and Mable was envious of them.

She could understand trees, sometimes, and what they wanted to say back on the farm in America.  But the ocean was different, more difficult even, but Mable was a determined girl.  Today, she was dedicating as much time as possible to sitting and listening to the ocean, trying to decode it's message and hear what it wanted to say.  She was even getting pretty good at it, she thought!

A loud whistle jolted her back to Earth, her eyes shooting open in surprise.  Mable hadn't even realized anyone else was on the beach!  She searched across the sand for the culprit, spotting a young man a little ways away from her.

"Hey!" she called to him, "that was amazing!  How did you manage to whistle so loudly?  That was amazing!"

Chéri turned, their eyes big, their smile warm. It was all compensation: they had no idea how to talk to anyone most of the time because their understanding of the English language was quite limited, like in this case.

“Hey!” the girl had said. She didn’t look annoyed, but Chéri still checked around them, to make sure they hadn’t damaged anything. Nothing in sight that could belong to her, so Chéri turned their head on the side and asked “What?” their voice was much deeper than one might expect. They had very feminine features and had it not been for their hair and clothes, they would have been too androgynous to be recognised as a man or a woman.

Mable walked closer to the figure after calling to him, but paused once she saw his - her? - face.  That, in addition to the deep voice, surprised her.  This person looked like a woman from the front, but sounded like a man!  Was it appropriate to ask?

"You whistle very well," she said, continuing on closer to see this person better.  "It was so loud!  Do you think you could teach me how to do that?  My friend knows how to whistle, but he won't teach me!"

The girl came closer and kept talking. Chéri wasn’t sure what she meant. They knew one word of what they had heard. They indicated themselves, then made the whistling gesture, then indicated Mable and said “teach?” it was the clearest form of question why could possibly offer to the young lady.

The person had still not responded to Mable at all, only moving their hands and head as she spoke.  For a moment, Mable stared at them with a single brow raised.  She repeated the whistling gesture they made.

"Whistling," she repeated.  "Can you teach me, or are you mute?"  If they were mute, it would be very hard to learn, but Mable was willing to try anything to whistle!  She stuck out her hand and offered the person a small smile.

"My name is Mable!  Mable."  her other hand touched her chest.  "What is your name?"

Whistling. That was what Mable was interested in. Chéri repeated that.

“Ceci?” they said in french. Maybe with some extra thinking they could have figured out how to say it in English, but right now they were growing impatient to understand what the girl meant.

Names. Now, that, Chéri understood. “Chéri. My name is Chéri. English bad,” they added, now sure the girl wasn’t annoyed. They whistled once again “Mable?” they tried to make sure. She hadn’t managed to whistle when she had made the gesture. They were slowly piecing everything together.

"English bad!" Mable echoed, her tone almost excited.  Chéri was not mute, but - what was that accent, French?  Mable was not so well versed in foreign languages and dialect.

"Yes, yes, my name is Mable!  Wow - Chéri is such a pretty name!  Oh," Mable was used to speaking so fast.  She repeated herself slower for her new friend, and then did the motion to whistle again.

"This," she said, "whistling!  You were doing it before - could you show me how?  I'm not very good..."  To prove it, Mable made a hearty attempt to whistle, but only succeeded in blowing air and spittle past her lips.  She covered her mouth in embarrassment and shrugged sheepishly at her new friend.