CHANGE OF PLAN
Island Fish Restaurant, Kahului, Maui—early afternoon
“Everything will be fine,” said Greg. “She’s definitely taken a shine to you.”
Amidst the laughter, the chatter, and the mouth-watering aromas of grilled fish, roasted garlic, and draft beer, Greg had been waiting along with Dmitri at the bar inside of Kahului’s most popular watering hole. Greg had agreed to keep him company until Melanie’s arrival.
“I really hope so, pal.” Dmitri channeled his jitters into preening the curly edges of his sideburns. “She’s cast her spell upon me, for sure.”
“I haven’t seen you so smitten since the Swedish particle physicist two years ago in Vienna.”
“I’m definitely attracted to brainy women, and I guess I’m more receptive to romantic interludes on foreign shores.”
“Maybe the risk of rejection is less brutal when it’s just a vacation fling.”
Dmitri frowned. “It’s not that.”
“Well anyway, it doesn’t hurt that Melanie’s a knockout babe. By the way, I’m assuming you aren’t serious about analyzing whale songs. It’s just your clever way to connect with her. After your fling, you can forget all about the whales.”
Dmitri wasn’t in the mood to start another argument with his friend, especially since Melanie could appear at any moment.
“Dude, what’ll it be?” asked the brawny bartender, sizing Dmitri up as an outlier. “You look like you could use the house special.”
“Which is?”
“A tribute to James Bond. Mango martini, shaken not stirred,” he replied with a dab of the local accent. “Since you’re wound up pretty tight,” he grinned, “just hold the drink a minute and save me the trouble of mixing it.”
“I’ll pass on the drink.”
“By the way, who is she?”
“Is it that obvious? Well, maybe you know her, Melanie. She’s a speech therapist at the community college.”
“Wow, everybody knows Melanie. You might need some of them Agent 007 moves to get to first base. She’s made it perfectly clear to us local guys we’re not in her league.” He left to attend to another customer.
The bartender’s comments stoked Dmitri’s anxiety. He was an engineer, a professor, and a stickler for scientific rigor, yet he felt like a nervous school boy waiting to meet a blind date. Over the years, he’d endured teasing from friends and colleagues about his techno-geeky tendencies, and even he had to admit he was no Casanova. He’d dated occasionally. He’d even enjoyed a couple of year-long, live-in relationships, but after a while, his partners had realized he wasn’t attuned to a lifestyle of domesticity. During his college days, he’d buried himself in his studies and sports activities, and now he was married to the intricacies of work. Yet here he was, waiting in a Hawaiian bar, pursuing an impossible dream.
Many of the women drifting by were as attractive as Melanie, but probably none of them were as intelligent, motivated, and articulate as she. Dmitri practically tipped over in the barstool when a hand tapping his shoulder rocked him from his musings.
“Aloha.” Melanie waved a hand in front of his face. “Sorry I startled you, but you didn’t see me standing here.”
Greg just laughed. “Don’t know how my mate could not see such a dazzling vision approaching from miles away.”
Melanie smiled and waved him off.
Dmitri was crimson-faced. “M-many apologies,” he stammered through a nervous grin. “Greg’s right. I must have been daydreaming about the whale songs.”
“Totally understandable,” she said, “which is why there’s been a change of plan. How’d you guys like to do some community service? Maui style?”
“What’s up?” queried Greg.
The bartender’s frantic arm waving stilled all nearby conversation. He cranked up the volume on the TV, and everyone seated at the bar focused their attention on the sixty-inch flatscreen mounted on the wall. After a chain reaction of shushing, the merriment throughout the restaurant evaporated into silence. The voice of the female news correspondent shouted from the set. Dmitri saw her standing on a beach, dwarfed by the body of a beached humpback whale.
Melanie pointed up at the TV. “That’s where we’re going—to help rescue that whale. Let’s get some food for the road.” She signaled to the bartender. “Hi, Jimmy. We’d like three mahi-burger specials to go. Pronto, please.”
While waiting for their order, the trio focused their attention on the compelling images and words streaming from the TV broadcast.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is unprecedented,” bellowed the Eyewitness News correspondent. “Yesterday began as another blissful, tropical winter day in West Maui. It’s the reason that tourists from around the globe flock to the mega-resorts fronting the beaches of Ka’anapali. Now the specter of death stalks our shores. A juvenile humpback whale has mysteriously washed ashore. The incident has shocked the beachgoers at one the island’s most pristine stretches of sand, Black Rock Beach at the Sheraton Resort.
“The pattern of the strandings is unmistakable to marine biologist Christopher Gorman, founder of the PICES organization. This week alone, Gorman’s witnessed a second seemingly healthy juvenile humpback stranded upon a shore fringing the Auau Channel. Right behind me you see the frantic rescue effort he’s organized, now entering its second day.”
“Gorman must be going crazy.” Greg spoke directly into Dmitri’s ear, startling him.
“He was already grim the day before yesterday,” said Dmitri. “No doubt about it. It’s as if the black plague has been unleashed on Hawaii’s whales.”
The broadcaster’s voice echoed from the multiple TVs throughout the bar. “Is this unfortunate marine mammal doomed to a lingering death? Its labored breaths sound like a mournful dirge to the hundreds of gawking seaside vacationers. Let me point the microphone back toward the humpback so that you can all listen.”
The restaurant patrons within earshot of the TV heard the desperate gasps and hisses of a very large marine mammal trying to squeeze the oxygen from the air. Many squirmed in their barstools and grimaced in reaction to the unsettling sounds.
Melanie pointed up at the television. “So now’s your chance to help Gorman and the whales.” The bartender handed her a large brown paper bag. “It’s time to go, guys. We’ll hook up with the other PICES volunteers in Ka’anapali.”
THE KILLING SOUND
Ka’anapali, Maui—midafternoon
The sweeping arc of Maui’s northwest coastline was shaped long ago, when two mighty volcanoes rose from the ancient seabed and merged to form the island. Maui’s main population center and the University’s speech lab were nestled in the northern section of the lowland valley where the two mountains joined flanks. After a whirlwind drive south through the lush valley, then arcing northwest along the breathtaking coastal road encircling the island, they arrived at their leeward Ka’anapali destination in under an hour. Dmitri parked in the Sheraton’s overflow lot.
“Wow,” said Melanie. “I’ve never, ever had to park so far away.” At her prompting, the trio rushed along the flagstone path skirting the tennis courts and leading down to the beach.
“What a coincidence.” Dmitri panted like someone not used to talking and jogging at the same time. “We’re close to our hotel.”
“I can already hear the crowd noise,” Melanie replied. “The beach must be a zoo.”
When they had reached the serpentine promenade demarcating the boundary between the beach and the resorts, Dmitri stared in disbelief.
“This is unreal,” said Greg. “I went for a peaceful swim on this beach two nights ago. Now look at it.”
Instead of the usual tranquil setting of sunbathers and body surfers, the beach swarmed with tourists and locals. At the shoreline, the inert body of the giant cetacean loomed above the frenetic crowd. From his distant perspective, the scene evoked Dmitri’s childhood memory of a drawing of Gulliver and the Lilliputians. Just a couple hundred feet up the sh
oreline, however, he observed the ever-present, young daredevils cliff diving from the thirty-foot-tall, lava-sculpted promontory called Black Rock. It was a risky business, since the water below was a favorite snorkeling spot for close encounters with giant turtles, rays, and schools of tropical fish.
Melanie pointed toward the beached behemoth. “The sand’s blazing hot, so keep your sandals on and follow me.”
They threaded a path through shifting currents of beachcombers to approach the huge body, ringed by a surging crowd held at bay by hotel employees. Dmitri’s first sensory impression of the beast was its fishy odor. The whale rested on its belly, its head facing inland with its fluke partially submerged in the surf. An unending procession of waves lapped against the rear portion of the body.
“Hi, Kirby.” Melanie addressed a pony-tailed security guard, his name stenciled across the front of his T-shirt. “My partners and I are here to help.”
“Okay, Mel. Thanks for coming.” The sun-scorched Hawaiian waved them through.
Melanie spearheaded the trio through a momentary gap in the human chain. With his view unencumbered, Dmitri observed the skillfully coordinated teamwork of dozens of volunteers supervised by Chris Gorman. One energetic team culled bed sheets from a mound stacked upon the sand. They’d draped the linen onto the creature’s back in a patchwork quilt pattern. Another group comprised a bucket brigade. As some dipped children’s sand pails and hotel ice buckets into the water, their mates passed them on down to the end of the line, where they were emptied onto the sheets. Other volunteers circulated, dispensing granola bars and bottled water.
Following Melanie’s lead, Dmitri and Greg tossed their sandals into a cordoned area jam-packed with footwear. Then they hot-footed back to the surf, and merged with the section of the bucket brigade closest to the leviathan. Melanie handed the pails directly to the SoCalSci professors. Reaching high, they spilled the contents onto the whale’s linen-covered back.
“This is amazing, pal.” Greg lifted his voice above the roar of the breakers. “I never imagined getting so close to such a large animal. Look at the size of these fins. More than double our height.”
“It’s too bad we’re here under such crappy circumstances.” Dmitri fought to keep both legs steady in the churning surf.
Gorman walked the line of volunteers. “Okay, folks!” he yelled. “Listen up. Keep those sheets moist. Just keep dousing them.”
“Hi, Chris.” Melanie’s greeting captured Gorman’s attention. “You look like you need some sleep.”
Gorman approached her. “Hiya, Mel. Yeah, duty calls. We’ve been going nonstop with rotating shifts for almost forty-eight hours. Thanks for being here.”
She nodded in the direction of the two SoCalSci professors. “I brought some friends along to help.”
“I know these gentlemen. Thanks for interrupting your vacation. Now you see for yourselves what I was venting about the other day.”
“What are its chances for survival?” asked Dmitri, after he’d dumped his bucket onto the victim’s back. He winced in reaction to the asthmatic brew of wheezing and moaning noises.
“To be honest with you, I don’t think this poor little guy can survive much longer.” Gorman spoke in listless tones as the creature’s body convulsed in the struggle to capture each life-sustaining breath. “If it was healthier, we could hope it would ride out with the next high tide. Sad to say, its breathing has become more labored and irregular.”
“Like a person in a comatose state,” Dmitri replied. A wave of melancholy overtook him, the memory of a bedside vigil during his mother’s final hours.
“So what’s the use of continuing to douse the sheets?” The contemptuous voice belonged to a spiky-haired teen. His arms and shoulders were tattooed with the distinctive comic book scenes of Japanese manga art.
Gorman scanned the teen’s body before answering. “You’ve got to realize, even though marine mammals can still breathe when they’re out of the water, their massive bodies aren’t designed to survive on the land. Their internal organs can be crushed by their own weight. Nothing we can do about that, but we can reduce its suffering and prolong its survival by lowering the body temperature. Think about it. The thick layers of blubber that insulate in the water trap the heat inside the whale now that it’s exposed to the warm air. That’s why we’re keeping it moist. The sheets also protect its skin from the sun’s ultraviolet rays.”
“He certainly doesn’t look like a ‘little guy’ to me,” said the teen. “These fins are huge. They look like dragon’s wings.” There was a touch of awe in his voice.
“Even a juvenile can be thirty feet long and weigh twenty-five tons like this specimen,” replied Gorman. “If he lived to maturity, he could grow to nearly fifty feet and weigh fifty tons.”
“This is definitely a labor of love.” Melanie pushed out the nasal-toned words through tight lips. “The odor of its breath is pretty foul.”
“That’s the way it is with humpbacks.” Gorman sighed. “We think it’s the bacteria in their digestive or respiratory tracts. After a while, you get used to it.”
Dmitri crinkled his nose and inhaled very shallow breaths. “You’re a better man than I.”
“Wait,” barked the tattooed teen. “Did you hear that? The breathing’s changed. It sounds even more depressing.”
Gorman angled closer to the whale’s head and peered at his wristwatch. In a few seconds, he shook his head and muttered, “You’re right, the rate is slowing down.” The marine biologist’s entire body appeared to sag. “I gotta go check on the other volunteers.” A veil of resignation settled upon Gorman’s face. “Carry on.”
Dmitri stopped what he was doing and approached Melanie. “I didn’t realize you knew Chris Gorman.”
“Everybody knows everybody on the cozy island of Maui,” she remarked blithely. “Which means that no secrets are safe around here.”
“Stop that kid!” Chris Gorman’s voice eclipsed the ambient chatter.
Heads turned as the blur of a pixie-like figure dashed across the field of Dmitri’s peripheral vision. The intruder, a small blond girl, had somehow evaded detection and breached the barrier of humans. She made a beeline to the humpback. Adorned in a striped bathing suit, and with her arms, legs, and face caked with wet sand, she looked like a motley-colored doll. She kneeled on the sand and placed a cuddly, stuffed-animal whale next to its mammoth head. It reminded Dmitri of a scene in a fairy tale, with a munchkin huddled next to a giant. The child clasped her hands together, stared directly into the whale’s eye, and moved her lips as if in silent prayer. While she paid tribute to the creature, a pair of volunteers crept up behind her, then froze like statues as many gasped.
“Quiet! Do you hear it?” Gorman called.
Dmitri heard a familiar haunting sound. The humpback had begun to sing its ethereal aria, a song heard only in the ocean depths. He held his breath as successive waves of low, mournful tones ebbed away into muted sadness. But as the whale’s voice comingled with the air, Dmitri thought he heard faint threads of something new—emotionally uplifting filaments embedded in the fabric of the lamentation. Straining to hear every sound, he realized he wasn’t mistaken. An ornamentation of new phrases had blossomed from the elegiac. Like the sliding tones of a tenor’s portamento, each brief passage climbed a staircase of brightening frequency. A richer texture emerged, woven into a perfect harmony of joy and sorrow, music as sublime as Brahms’s Requiem. Dmitri observed his own amazement mirrored in the sea of faces around him. Melanie’s eyes glistened with moisture.
More gasps cracked the panes of human silence. One of the whale’s gigantic pectoral fins lurched sideways like a stilled heart reanimated by a defibrillating spark. As the humpback continued to sing, its fin began to rise up, at first almost imperceptibly, from the sand. Dmitri saw the girl and the two volunteers stumble backward, their mouths agape, as the giant wing inched toward the sky. Pausing briefly at the zenith of its ascent, it reversed course and began a grad
ual descent. About halfway down, the fin made a sharp right turn and swept laterally in a wide arc, back and forth, parallel to the ground. Then, like a puppet whose strings had suddenly snapped, it fell to the earth with a thunderous thud.
“That was spooky, pal.” Greg slapped himself gently on the cheek. “Am I crazy, or did that whale just make the sign of the cross?”
Too perplexed to respond to Greg’s question, Dmitri noticed the couple next to him wave their arms in a familiar ritualistic gesture. Seeing the same devotional proliferating all around him, he realized that Greg’s observation was shared by many. Like a wave of falling dominoes sweeping through the multitude, many knelt upon the sand, closed their eyes, and clasped their hands in supplication. A scientist, Dmitri was completely baffled by the inexplicable events unfolding around him.
A ghastly noise assailed Dmitri’s mind, triggering an adrenalin surge and the sight of Melanie’s pained reaction. She squeezed her hands to her ears as a sputtering and gurgling cacophony spewed from the giant’s mouth and blow hole.
In a few seconds it was all over. The familiar sounds of the whale’s breathing were no more. A suffocating silence and a dreadful stench filled the void. Wherever he turned, Dmitri saw ashen faces and vacant stares. He felt a bit queasy and experienced the unsettling sensation of his pulse throbbing inside his skull. Punctuated bursts of “Oh, my God!” and “Oh no!” pierced the veil of his shock.
“This . . . this is terrible,” Melanie choked through quivering lips. “I . . . I . . .” Tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Although he had just witnessed a death rattle of epic proportions, Dmitri’s main concern was for Melanie. He inhaled a restorative breath, dropped his bucket, and wrapped both arms around her shoulders. When she’d begun to convulse with sobs, he felt the full intensity of her grip. Squeezing her tenderly, he could not have imagined a more unlikely set of circumstances for their first embrace. In fact, it was like no other first hug he’d experienced in his adult life, more bonding than romantic. Yet it felt so good; it felt so right. He desperately yearned to comfort her.
The Whale Song Translation: A Voyage of Discovery To Neptune and Beyond Page 7
