The Way of Muri

by Ilya Boyashov

  ‘About time too!’ growled a mature and experienced male, who was grazing a little distance away from the rest of the pod. The veteran whale lazily took a gulp of the biomass that swam right into his open jaws. In his confusion the yearling had bumped into him and he could easily have responded with a sharp blow of his tail, but he didn’t. He noticed the baby whale’s white back – a unique occurrence among sperm whales.

  ‘What did you expect, Whiteback?’ clicked the old veteran, as he sent another ton of krill into his stomach. ‘You’ve been hanging around the women for long enough. From these blessed waters you should head north, towards land, to the place where the rivers discharge their fresh water into the ocean. That’s where the salmon go to spawn. The greatest delicacy I have ever eaten! Indulge yourself a little then head further north, to the islands that are covered with an icy crust and hats of smoke, to the icebergs, to the frozen borders. The waters there might be cold but they’re rich in food – as much octopus, cod and spiny dogfish as you can eat! Graze to your heart’s content, until the autumn cold chases you onwards. Just mind you’re not too greedy… Once the ice starts closing in, you’ll be lucky to escape with your life. I was trapped once myself, when I was young and foolish. It was a miracle I survived – I had to dive five miles from the ice to open water. I was lucky I had enough air.’

  The whale dived for another portion of krill before continuing.

  ‘Once you’ve finished your business in the north, head south, to waters warmed by the sun. Keep going until you find yourself on the other side of the world. That’s where the giant squid live, right in the depths of the ocean… Hunting them does present certain challenges, but the results are worth it. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt you to get a few battle scars. If one of those squid seizes you, you’ll know about it – they can break your jawbone with one snap of their beak!’

  The veteran swallowed yet another shoal and released water from his blowhole before concluding his lecture.

  ‘Then make your way back here, choose a pod and spend some time with them. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to acquire your own harem. Then follow the same route again, either alone or with your new family. Personally, I prefer solitude. Rejoice in your fate, and be glad that you were born a sperm whale,’ he added, sensing the disappointment of the attentive youth. ‘We have no enemies, and the ocean gives us everything we need. I’ve made the same journey seventy times now and have every intention of visiting my favourite hunting grounds again, as long as my body will carry me there. Even our death comes swiftly – you’ll sink into the abyss as soon as you stop moving your fins, or else you’ll run into shallow waters… Either way, you won’t suffer for long.’

  The veteran finally set his impressive tail in motion, but only to propel the baby sperm whale on his way.

  So the baby whale embarked on his journey, and he never looked back. Like every other sperm whale he established his own rhythm, diving and surfacing, breathing with measured regularity, periodically revealing his distinctive white back and releasing jets of spray. From that moment on he travelled north then south then north again, pursued by flocks of birds and pods of dolphins as he endlessly circumnavigated the globe. In July the juvenile whale passed between Hawaii and the coast of Mexico, where young virgin females and mothers with newborn calves grazed in the protected offshore waters. He maintained his course north to the Aleutian Islands. Sensing the autumnal cold of the North Pacific Current the whale accelerated, reaching speeds of ten and sometimes even fifteen knots, to the great delight of the human occupants of a number of yachts, fishing boats and cargo vessels.

  Near Vancouver Island, two biologists on the schooner Fairy spent a long time observing the sperm whale. Thrilled by his size and his unusual white back, they pushed their engine to its limits and followed him for as long as they could.

  ‘Look, Freddie!’ cried one of the men, eyes glued to his binoculars. ‘It’s Moby Dick! The real Moby! Just look at him, isn’t he magnificent?’

  They managed to photograph the whale, and the image of his white back cresting on a wave subsequently graced the cover of various magazines.

  Dick hurried onwards. The ocean was rarely calm in November. Giant sand dunes rolled across the greatest desert on earth, while the clouds above them turned blood red, painted by the ash of volcanoes erupting thousands of miles away. The wind was no longer droning but howling, and the noise seemed to come from everywhere at once. But typhoons didn’t bother Dick. He’d finished his business in the north and was on his way to Antarctica, to places so remote that they were rarely visited even by humans. Occasionally a single fluffy grey thread could be glimpsed in the calm sky, drifting behind a liner.

  Even when he reached the sixtieth parallel south the sperm whale did not stop but continued on, past enormous white fields decorated with icy cliffs. Every now and then an iceberg broke up, sending huge chunks of ice crashing into the water. These fragmented remains drifted towards the Humboldt Current, where they dissolved without trace.

  Dick obediently and unquestioningly followed the old whale’s advice. In the eastern reaches of his domain the ocean was full of seaweed – soft, weak stalks that disappeared into the green twilight. The current brought them to the surface in a soupy mass; as it dispersed, the fish that had inadvertently become entangled in this jungle finally broke free, to the joy of miscellaneous predators. The experienced sperm whale, who had grown bigger and heavier with every year that passed, used his tail like a gigantic rudder to navigate his way through this endless underwater forest.

  The water in the west was clear and so warm that he had to keep diving just to cool down. A nourishing mixture of plankton and krill was readily available, in plentiful supply – it was tempting to stay longer, but he didn’t.

  In 1994, fifty participants at a conference in New York debated the scope and extent of cetacean intelligence. The zoologist Arthur McBride placed dolphins somewhere between dogs and chimpanzees. Professor Brazzy Howell had this to say on the matter:

  ‘My dear colleagues! The convolutions of the dolphin brain are more clearly pronounced than those of the human brain. However,’ he added, ‘contrary to popular opinion this high degree of cortical convolution does not correspond to advanced cognitive capabilities.’

  ‘Gentlemen!’ declared Professor James McCormick. ‘In my opinion, the brain is the organ that controls rational thought. Reflexes, on the other hand, are controlled by the spinal cord. Let me remind you that dinosaur brains were the size of a walnut, whereas their spinal cords were immense. Correlating the weight of the brain and the weight of the spinal cord in various animals gives some interesting statistics. In fish they are about equal; in horses the correlation factor is two and a half, in cats it is four and in monkeys it is eight. In dolphins it is thirty-six! Bear in mind that in humans this correlation is fifty!’

  ‘We know they are capable of conscious thought!’ exclaimed the oceanographer David O’Neill. ‘It just remains for us to establish full contact, and I believe that this will happen in the very near future.’

  Pete Stout sent a message to the conference participants. The passionate doctor had no doubt that Fatherland was right.

  ‘The day is nigh,’ he prophesied, ‘when science will prove that animal behaviour is controlled not only by spinal reflexes. Every animal has a brain, and therefore a language. The intelligence of animals and birds is so obvious that you would have to be as blinkered, stubborn and naive as a child – or indeed, as the reclusive Mr Belanger – not to see it. My friend and colleague Mr Lilly has already presented the impressive results of his experiments. He has proven beyond all doubt that dolphins are capable of communicating, in the truest sense of the word: when one animal is speaking, the other listens. Moreover, after a certain amount of time in captivity they begin to mimic the speech patterns of familiar humans. John believes dolphins possess a particular type of consciousness that we do not yet understand. Once we are able to interpret their language, we will inevitab
ly reach a deeper understanding of their cognitive processes and their goals. It goes without saying that every being capable of rational thought must have a goal – only fools believe otherwise! When will they listen? As I have said many times before, a priori reason shies away from the terrifying prospect of infinity, from precisely the kind of terrifying prospect these gentlemen are attempting to foist upon us…’

  And so on and so forth.

  Meanwhile the living embodiment of Belanger’s theory carried on circling the globe, dedicating his life to his infinite journey. The whale was not particularly drawn to his kin, but occasionally Nature had the upper hand. In the region of the thirtieth parallel, north-west of Guadeloupe and south of California’s Channel Islands, Dick had a series of encounters with female whales. Another passing female caught his eye and Dick swam after her. He didn’t have to wait long for a response – who could reject the advances of such an enviable suitor? The obligatory ritual ensued. The whale accelerated ahead of his beloved, then turned round and rushed back towards her, pressing himself against her belly. Then he raced ahead again, spreading his fins out to the side. His mate responded by rolling over onto her back so that her belly faced upwards, like a gigantic fish, and Dick swam over her, brushing against her pliable body, seizing her by the jawbone and clicking with his own jaws. He rubbed his forehead against hers – with the utmost tenderness, it has to be said. Still together, the pair ascended towards the surface and the sky, which was drizzling apathetically. The seawater cascaded from their bodies. Rising vertically up over another wave, leaning into it with their tails, the whales pressed close to one another. All it took was a few seconds and the coupling, witnessed only by a handful of indifferent frigate birds, was complete. The weary lovers fell with a noisy splash, forming enormous craters in the water. They weren’t alone – in April the horizon was continually erupting with splashes and spray. The agitated males clicked their signals, and the equally aroused females snorted in response. The young mothers cautiously shepherded their offspring away from the action. It wasn’t difficult to find a mate in the crowds – only the most bashful declined. What was taking place amongst the heavy showers was essentially a mass cetacean orgy.

  After performing his duty, Dick left for home. Again he was surrounded by the abyss. Above him it was full of stars; below him, with the phosphorescing illumination of fish and other animals, which did not particularly interest him.

  While the sperm whale journeyed on, disappearing underwater and surfacing on the waves, the two learned men continued to hurl Latin phrases at one another.

  ‘Aliena vitia in oculis habemus, a tergo nostra sunt!’13 exclaimed Belanger sarcastically in the pages of the German journal Baum des Lebens (Tree of Life), the organ of those who shared his views (special issue, June 1994). ‘Seeing as the esteemed Dr Stout already agrees with other advocates of animal intelligence that dolphins and cuttlefish possess complex and well-developed brains, it is hardly surprising that he is prepared to take the notion even further – he has managed to persuade himself (something he seems to be very good at) that even clams are capable of displaying courage and curiosity! Dr Stout and others like him can speculate about de lana caprina14 such as this for days on end, going from one conference to another and tirelessly disseminating their nonsense! One might say, discernit sapiens res, quas confundit asellus!’15

  ‘I have neither the time nor the inclination to dignify this gentleman’s comments with a response!’ remarked the indefatigable Pete (Jus publicum16, July 1994), thereby dignifying the comments with a response. ‘I beg to point out – ad notanda,17 if my opponent hadn’t allowed his emotions to get the better of him, which is in any case unwise at such a venerable age, he would have been paying attention: none of my associates ever mentioned clams! Perhaps the joke is on us and Nature has in fact endowed animals and birds with a more refined intellect, which man is simply not capable of understanding, being by his very nature more primitive and crude? Errare humanum est!18 It is entirely possible that these unfortunate creatures, forced to exist alongside bloodthirsty humanity, experience extreme torment as they observe all our stupidities. Miserabile dictu19 – because of our primitivism, we are as yet unable to initiate even the most basic contact with ants and butterflies!’

  This forthright rebuke sent Belanger into a fit of rage, and his response was swift to follow. In the article ‘Cheap Coquetry or Signs of Imbecility?’ (Baum des Lebens, August 1994), the professor referred to all those who refused to believe in the infinite journey as clams. This caused instant uproar, which in turn fuelled further debate.

  Meanwhile, in September 1994, near Easter Island, the whale decided out of curiosity to dive more deeply than he had ever dived before. About half a mile from the surface, the sperm whale encountered glowing creatures that he had never even known existed. With sharp teeth, prickly skin, prominent gills and lures, these grotesque apparitions emerged from the darkness, sounding their mournful voices, and then just as soon they were gone. At a depth of one mile, in pitch darkness, Dick detected a powerful echo-signal. A few seconds later he collided with an amorphous mass, which immediately ensnared him in a steely grip and attempted to crush his head – it was a giant squid, that legendary monster of the deep. And so the battle began. The squid kept trying desperately to get a firmer hold on Dick, but the suckers on its tentacles slipped over the whale’s violently thrashing body. The monster employed its most terrible weapon – its curved beak bit into the whale’s head, ripping out great chunks of flesh and fibrous fat, but Dick just shook himself free. The sound of the skirmish carried for miles and terrified all creatures in the vicinity. The squid tried to lure its enemy to its lair, two miles down, knowing that its opponent’s reserves of air were limited. Its beak mercilessly ripped the whale’s skin, slicing through the blubber and drawing blood. The sperm whale used his jaws to crush and grind the squid’s body. His tail and fins were working furiously, but the weight of the squid prevented him from making a quick ascent. Dick felt himself beginning to suffocate – the squid’s tentacles were gripping him so tightly that he wouldn’t have been able to release his catch even if he’d wanted to. However, the water gradually grew lighter, and eventually the sperm whale heard sharks calling to one another – a sure sign that the surface was near. He gave a final push, and chaos erupted as the mighty adversaries burst out of the water in an explosion of foam and blood. The spectacle, witnessed by the fish at the surface and the birds circling overhead, was not for the faint-hearted. The squid’s tentacles whipped about, whistling through the air, and Dick unleashed a bellicose roar. The battle continued amid clouds of steam and spray, but the monster’s song was clearly sung. The giant squid’s powerful beak pierced the sperm whale’s maimed jaws for the last time, and then the whale bit it in two. The remnants of the squid’s body – a pulpy mass of twitching tentacles – spread out and floated on the waves near the whale, whose head was covered with streaks of foam and slime. Dispersing the impudent sharks with a flick of his tail, the victorious sperm whale took a rest and cleared out his lungs, blowing great columns of spray up into the air. Then he raised his head above the waves and took a look around. The world was celebrating life, as usual. A line of pilot whales raced gleefully towards him in all their splendour, generating waves with every synchronised plunge. These cheerful companions parted respectfully to overtake their cousin, then closed ranks and surged onwards like unstoppable long-distance runners.

  Birds and fish had already homed in on the carcass and were dividing it up like experienced butchers. The terns got the tentacles. The sharks got everything else.

  ‘Wastrels!’ screeched one of the terns, with unbridled disdain.

  Her scorn was directed at the happy-go-lucky pilot whales. Twitching in the air like a puppet on a string, the agitated bird watched as the pilot whales disappeared over the horizon.

  ‘Not a care in the world!’ she shrieked. The hard-working tern was genuinely outraged by the reckless roaming of these mari
ne gypsies.

  ‘Why don’t they ever stop? All they do is roam about!’ squawked another tern, with one eye still on the squid.

  The birds weren’t the last to partake of the meal that Dick had involuntarily provided for the local residents. Hungry guests continued to arrive at the site of the bloody battle. Sharks attacked the carcass greedily, ripping off huge chunks of flesh and simultaneously managing to hold back the smaller scavengers, which obediently retreated and waited for the bullies to make way. Unfortunately for them, however, the sharks’ appetites showed no sign of abating. Some of the more brazen individuals even followed the sperm whale for a while, but they gradually lost interest as the sea, attentive as a nurse, washed the last traces of blood from his body. Annoyed by their own stupidity, one by one his persecutors returned to their cohorts.

  ‘Thanks for dinner, mate!’ called a marlin that had been hovering alongside Dick for a while. The twenty-foot swordfish had waited for the sharks to clear off before attempting to strike up a conversation. He was a genial, elderly male, and judging by the scars on his face he had lived a colourful life.

  The sperm whale ignored him and kept moving. The terns, meanwhile, flew along behind Dick, hoping to be rewarded with another meal and continuing to revile the pilot whales and dolphins that they felt were loitering pointlessly about the Pacific Ocean.

  ‘Just ignore them!’ said the marlin, as the sperm whale released another jet of spray. ‘They don’t even know what they’re squawking on about. The impudent hussies!’ he continued indignantly. ‘You provided enough food to last them at least twenty-four hours, and still they complain. Typical small-minded small fry!’

  Dick glided smoothly through the waves – a dreadnought equipped with massive flukes and jaws that were immune even to the attacks of killer whales (sharks were a minor irritation, barely warranting his attention). He had finally stopped bleeding and his entire head was encompassed in white stripes where the fat showed through his wounds, though these would soon heal over.