by Zakes Mda
“We’ll use this as bait,” he says.
“Shame on your tiny pilchards,” she says. “I am sure even a child can catch better fish. I tell you every day, man, we can’t walk all this distance just to catch fish that are as small as my thumb.”
“You leave the fishing to me, Saluni, and I’ll leave stardom to you.”
“At Castle Rock and Gearing Point near the Old Harbour people catch better fish. And that is on our doorstep.”
“It is always crowded there, Saluni, with sea anglers fighting for a small space on piers and harbour walls. Anyway, the fresh air and the walk will do you a lot of good. Now that you are a star you have to maintain your beautiful figure, you know that.”
She nearly tells him that the only good thing about this walk is that it takes them far away from Sharisha and her spoilt brat. But she remembers that she has vowed not to mention Sharisha’s name to him again. She must pretend that the whale is no bother at all in order to beat it at its own game. That is why she sometimes joins him as he sits on the peninsula for hours drooling over the creatures. She even pretends to drool with him, while inside she is laughing at the foolishness of it all. As usual, when the Whale Caller is not there, she flashes or moons the stupid whale, and this never fails to destabilise it and drive it away to the sheltered bay to join other calving whales.
There is a bite. A fish is hooked, and judging from its struggle, it is not the puny ones that Saluni has been mocking. He plays it for some time until it gets tired. Then he lands it. It is a plump bluish grey fish, about thirty-five centimetres long.
“It is a broad bream,” says an excited Saluni. “This one you are not selling, man. It is for our table.”
“It is a hottentot, Saluni,” he says. “It is easy to confuse them. Yes, this one is yours, Saluni. I caught it for you. See how beautiful it looks in its gleaming colours? It is as beautiful as you.”
Saluni is squatting behind him, displaying a big toothless smile.
“At least now you are doing something, man,” she says, scratching his hairy back as he guts the hottentot. “You’ve stopped playing.”
“If you think it’s easy to catch a fish you should try it.”
“If you think it’s easy to be a star you should try it.”
“I never argue with you about that, Saluni,” he says. “I never do.”
Fishing is not for people in a hurry. It needs patience. Another hour passes without any luck. Saluni is beginning to feel that the man is not so hot after all. And then he catches a red roman. Her faith in him is revived, and with it the scratching of his back. This one will be sold and will bring in some cash to add to the growing fortune that she, as the treasurer, keeps in a scoff tin under the bed.
But soon their haven is invaded by other anglers. And they all concentrate on the area near the river mouth. The Whale Caller knows immediately that it must be the kabeljou run. During this season shoaling kabeljou is found wherever the water is dirty. The sandy bottoms of river mouths are the favourite haunts of the shoals. They are very elusive though, and are mostly caught by divers in spearfishing expeditions. But anglers always try their luck. Stories are told of anglers who grew old trying to break a record set by one Mr. W. R. Selkirk, who landed the biggest fish ever caught with rod and line to date anywhere in the world. And it happened right here in Hermanns on April 28, 1922. No decent angler forgets that date. And the fish? It was a four-metre-long shark that weighed 986 kilograms, drawn from these waters after a five-and-a-half-hour struggle.
Most anglers are realistic enough to know that this record may be broken only in tall tales. In any event harming sharks is regarded as objectionable. South Africa was the first country in the world to outlaw shark fishing. The objective, instead, is to break another Hermanus record set by the Honourable William Philip Schreiner, K.C. C.M.G., who caught a fifty-kilogram kabeljou. The prestige of breaking a fishing record set by none other than that distinguished son of a German missionary who became the prime minister of the Cape in 1898, a Rugby Union official, a constitutional lawyer who was part of a fondly remembered 1909 delegation to London to petition for a franchise for black people, and brother of author Olive Schreiner, is what spurs the men gathering here to return year after year for the kabeljou run. None of them, however, is able to say what year exactly the great man actually caught the kabeljou. Most believe that it is a record even older than the Selkirk one. There is debate about that even as they choose their prime spots and ceremonially cast their nylon lines into the water.
They are not really match anglers in the true sense of the word in that they do not engage in organised competitive fishing. They do not compete to see who will have the biggest catch in total weight. Most are specimen anglers looking only for the kabeljou. There is no official referee or judge, and at the end of the day no trophies or cash prizes will be awarded. Anglers come and go as they wish, without anyone timing them. Some get tired of trying and walk back to town to sample other pleasures. But there is some competitiveness though, since each one is looking for that prized catch, and the ultimate glory will be in breaking the Honourable Schreiner’s record.
The Whale Caller is not happy with the invasion. He comes here precisely because it is a quiet spot. But then it is the mouth of a river and therefore it attracts such characters. There is nothing he can do about it except mumble his disapproval when an angler does something unseemly, such as use a piece of lead to sink the hook. Although it is illegal to do so since it pollutes the water, selfish people do it all the time. He mutters even more when an angler has a snag because of the rushing waves. An inexperienced angler loses his whole tackle and another one’s line snaps.
“Forget about other people,” Saluni tells him, “and focus on your work.”
“It is dangerous to the wildlife, Saluni. Hooks and tackle in the sea will kill many innocent fish and other sea creatures.”
“We are catching them here, man. They are going to die in any case. And we’re going to eat them. What’s the difference?”
Oh, this Saluni! She will never understand these things. He chuckles at her logic.
There is a bite. A fish is toying with the bait. He lifts the rod sharply in order to drive the barbed treble hook home. There is a struggle. He stands up and braces his foot against the boulder as he plays the fish, trying to tire it. But the fish is too strong. He slips and is almost dragged down the cliff into the sea. He does not let go of the rod and manages to dig into the ground between two firm rocks. The struggle continues. By now the other anglers have become spectators. They cheer and egg him on. When the fish seems to be getting the upper hand three men instinctively rush to assist him but others stop them. A man needs to savour the glory of catching the big one on his own.
“Come on, man,” screeches Saluni. “You can’t let it go now.”
It takes him more than an hour to land the fish. It is the biggest kabeljou that the spectators have ever seen. It is longer than the Whale Caller’s height and certainly bulkier than Saluni’s body. It still has some fight left in it. But not for long. Soon it is dead and he is gutting it.
“Get us a weighing basket,” says one man. “Who has a weighing basket?”
No one has a weighing basket that can weigh such a big fish.
“He must have broken the record,” says another man. “This must be the biggest kabeljou ever caught in the waters of Hermanus. Of the world even.”
“Who ever thought big-game fishing can be done so successfully from the cliffs?” yet another asks of no one in particular.
The Whale Caller is exhausted. He lies next to his fish, trying to catch his breath. His arms ache and his knees are bleeding. His overalls are torn at the knees. While Saluni is massaging his sweat-drenched nape and shining pate, assuring him that he will be fine again in no time, a man lifts up the fish and poses with it. His companion takes some photographs.
“He is going to lie about that when he gets home,” Saluni whispers to the Whale Caller. “He�
��s going to claim that he caught the fish.”
“It doesn’t matter, Saluni. The fish knows who caught it.”
When a second man and a third want to pose with the fish Saluni puts a stop to it. They must pay, she demands, before they can pose with the fish. The Whale Caller is embarrassed, but he is unable to do anything to stop her. Soon there is a long queue of people who want a picture with the fish. Saluni collects the money while the Whale Caller sits on the ground looking astonished. In an hour she has collected more money than they have ever made in a week of selling fresh line fish.
“This is going to be our business, man,” says Saluni as they negotiate the winding cliff paths back to town, with the Whale Caller carrying the heavy fish on his shoulders. “We are going to make a lot of money renting out this fish.”
“All I want to know is how much this fish weighs,” says the Whale Caller.
When they reach the town they find that people have been alerted to the big catch. There are newspaper photographers, and radio and television reporters waiting to interview the Whale Caller. They take the kabeljou to the fishing club to be weighed on their very accurate Atlas scale. Forty-three kilograms! It does not break the record but it is big enough to celebrate.
“What are you going to do with this fish?” asks a woman in the crowd.
“Taking it home, of course,” says Saluni.
“I want to buy it,” says a fishmonger. “Name your price.”
“I want to buy it too,” says the man who runs the restaurant on the stilts.
“We are not selling it,” says Saluni.
“We are not?” asks the Whale Caller. “Is that not why we catch fish… to sell it?”
“Not this one,” says Saluni firmly.
As they walk home with the fish on his shoulders she mildly chastises him for disagreeing with her in public. And she adds: “And don’t think that because you are now going to appear in newspapers and on television you are more famous than me. People who sing are more of celebrities than those who catch fish.”
“I never claimed any fame, Saluni. I am sure those photographs they took of me and the fish are just for brochures and videos that advertise Hermanus. Nothing important.”
“Just as well because they left me out of the picture. And you said nothing, man. You were happy to keep all the fame yourself. I was there when you caught that fish but they only photographed you. And you didn’t complain.”
“People photograph what they want to photograph in this new South Africa, Saluni. It is something beyond our control.”
“Well, they won’t just photograph this fish for nothing next time. They can photograph you for free since you want to be cheap with yourself, but not this fish. They must pay, man. We are going to make a lot of money with this fish. I’ll be your manager, man. Just leave everything to me.”
She slowly and deliberately explains the economics of this new venture. There are no quotas when you rent out your fish. There is no government to limit you to ten fish. You make money from the same fish over and over again.
The fish is too big to fit in their fridge. So it spends the night on top of it.
The next morning they go out to the beach with a sign: Rent-a-Fish. Once more holidaymakers pose with the kabeljou. Even those who don’t have any ambition of being anglers pay a few coins to Saluni and she prepares them for a pose. They stand holding the kabeljou with a nylon line that has been tied around its gills and lift it up above their heads so that its length is perpendicular to the ground. They stand in the sea, with the water only up to their shins, holding tackle with their left hands. Other family members click away. By the end of the day they have made more money than they would have earned from selling ten fish.
The next day the fish is starting to stink and the Whale Caller wants to go to Sharisha. But Saluni is undeterred. There is money to be made.
“There is life in this fish yet,” she says. “We can make a lot of money still.”
“We agreed, Saluni … I would fish only two days a week. Three days at most. I need to check out the whales, Saluni.”
“I am not asking you to fish, man. Just to help me take this darn fish to the beach. The whales will always be there. You know I’ll go with you to watch the whales. Remember this fish won’t last forever.”
So, once more they take the fish to the beach. By midday it fills the whole area with its stench. People begin to complain. “Why would I want to photograph myself with a stinking kabeljou?” a man asks.
“It won’t stink in the photograph,” Saluni responds.
But no one wants to come near the fish. The Whale Caller gets rid of it in one of the dumpsters in town.
After he has indulged himself with Sharisha and the young one for a few days, he is persuaded to go back to the mouth of the river to catch another kabeljou before they move upriver to spawn. “Try to remember what you did when you caught that big one the other day,” Saluni advises. He does catch a kabeljou or two. They are never as big as the forty-three-kilogram one. But for failed anglers and tourists at a loose end they are good enough to pose with.
The rent-a-fish business thrives.
Saluni. Money is the least of her problems. She is the treasurer and business manager of the rent-a-fish enterprise, although she makes it clear to the Whale Caller that this is only a temporary arrangement. He will have to learn to manage the business himself because as soon as the radio man returns with the demo CDs she will be flying high around the capitals of the world, entertaining heads of state and attending premieres and receiving international awards. He must enjoy her services while he can.
“I suspect you will let the rent-a-fish business die when I am gone,” she says.
“I’ll do my best, Saluni,” he says.
“I am the brains behind this business. Without me you’ll let it go bust, man.”
“I’d rather sell the fish than rent it out, Saluni. And when you are gone there won’t be a need even for that. I’ll just become my old self again.”
“You see what I mean, man? All my efforts will be wasted.”
“They’ll be wasted in any case. Didn’t you say you’ll fly with me?”
“Yes, but not immediately. I need to get settled first. You don’t just drag a man to Hollywood before you get settled.”
“I will miss you, Saluni, when you are a big star. Do remember us little people when you reach your paradise,” he says, and then he chuckles to himself.
“You are not a little person at all. You are big and strong. You are a blue whale, remember? How can I forget you, man? How can I forget a blue whale like you?”
They sit on the bed. They are both overwhelmed by sickness. It has never really left them, this habit of making each other sick. It subsides when there is tension between them and returns when there is harmony. Now the sickness is throbbing in their chests. It throbs like this in the Whale Caller whenever Saluni casts off her iron mask and displays a pleasant and vulnerable face.
But sometimes she forgets that she has decided to be agreeable in order to defeat Sharisha at her own game and relapses into her old self. When it is time to sleep she only opens her side of the bed and slithers into the blankets like a snake, without preparing the bedding for both of them as he does when he happens to come to bed first. He makes a snide comment about stars who do things only for themselves and disregard the needs of other people with whom they live. She pounces.
“Oh, man,” she says, “you can be so petty.”
“Do you know what the Bible says, Saluni? Do unto others.”
“So much for wanting to be my slave.”
“Me? A slave?”
“Oh, yes, you offered. That first night.”
“That was coitus talking,” he says with a new twinkle in his eye.
“I hold men to their promises.”
But as soon as she has said this she remembers her resolve to be nice.
“Okay then,” she says, “I’ll open your side of the bed too. I d
on’t know if it makes any difference, man, but I’ll do it because that’s what you want. See? I can be nice too, man. Don’t you forget that.”
The sickness worsens with Saluni’s increasing tenderness. It makes them want to be together all the time. Saluni hasn’t been back to the mansion since the recording. She fears that the mother may have found out that she defied her, and she is not prepared to face the woman without the CD. The CD will surely melt all the anger she may be harbouring against her. She will laugh at her own folly when she listens to the beautiful music on the recording while the girls continue to have their angelic voices intact. She does miss the euphoria, but it is not such a searing longing since it is ameliorated by the sickness. The sickness is all-consuming. It eats their insides and makes the ailing ones sweat and forces them to reach for each other out of the blue in the middle of nowhere and just lose each other in each other’s breath. But in the midst of it all Saluni does not forget to uphold the dignity and grace of stardom.
She uses some of the rent-a-fish money to buy herself a fur coat from the flea market. Although the lining is moth-eaten, the otter fur still looks good on the outside. For a long time she wishes winter would come quickly so that she can be seen strutting in her coat on the runways that are the streets of Hermanus. Not only will the winter give her the opportunity to wear the coat, but winter may drive Sharisha to the southern seas so she won’t have to put up with her nonsense. She is wary of the fact that Sharisha may decide not to go, as she did last winter. But surely sooner or later she will have to introduce the young one to a life of krill in the southern seas. Nature demands that Sharisha goes to cold climes whether she likes it or not.
