While she quaked in his arms, he wondered if this was what fate was all about, the remarkable chain of events culminating in this moment. He’d discovered her on a sacred mountain by following a light in the night sky. Her devotion to her hearing-challenged students had kindled his attraction to her. And now they shared this moment of communion. They’d been hurled together by a mysterious force emanating from the spirit of a dying humpback whale. Maybe she was the “one?”
As she pressed against him, Dmitri’s eyes panned the crowd. He saw grief-stricken faces comforted by similar embraces and the clasping of hands. Some, like Melanie, emoted the full intensity of their heartache, including the little girl who had been reunited with her mother. The familiar figure of the TV newscaster suddenly barged into the assembly of mourners and careened into Dmitri and Melanie. After a perfunctory apology, she marched over to the youngster, signaled to the cameraman, and shoved a microphone in front of the girl’s face.
“Tell us, sweetie, what did you say to the poor whale?”
At first bewildered, the child looked directly into the camera, flooding it with the tears pouring from her eyes. “I told the whalie to take my gift to heaven.” Her words were punctuated by rasping sobs. She turned to face her mother. “Mommy, where do the whales go after they die? Is there a whale heaven?”
Dmitri tapped Greg on the shoulder. “Wow. That girl just delivered the most poignant plea in the history of any save-the-whales campaign. It’ll go viral by nightfall on YouTube and every newscast.”
“You got that right. Uh-oh, look who’s coming.”
They saw Chris Gorman looming large and heading directly for the newscaster. Upon arrival, he reached for the microphone. She handed it over without hesitation, and Gorman turned to face the cameraman.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Gorman’s voice conveyed both calm and conviction. With his sand-encrusted hair and weathered face, he looked like a proverbial holy man back from a desert pilgrimage. “Write to your congressman. Tell them to stop the Navy’s sonar experiments. They’re slaughtering Maui’s young whales. Probably at this very moment, a Navy research vessel is blasting the bodies of humpbacks for target practice to test the latest version of their equipment.” He returned the microphone and loped away.
A man standing upwind from Dmitri uttered a barrage of anti-military epithets laced with garlic fumes. Sympathetic protest slogans erupted from the crowd. Engrossed in interpreting the clot of vehement remarks, Dmitri was startled by the sound of fingers snapping directly in his face. It was Greg.
“Hey, D&D, good buddy. As hard as it is for me to admit, I humbly apologize for giving you grief about the whale song work. After the catastrophe we just witnessed, the humpbacks need all the help they can get. I’ll do anything to assist.” Greg surprised Dmitri with a bear hug and then excused himself. It was time for his daily five-mile run.
Dmitri, still shaken, stood by while Melanie engaged in a whale-related conversation with the devout couple who had crossed themselves minutes earlier. Impressed by their camaraderie, Dmitri’s heart and mind agreed that all who had witnessed the tragedy on the beach had been bonded together by a life-altering experience. He realized now, more than ever, that the existential crises of humans and whales were inextricably intertwined. A sense of urgency infused his desire to resolve the McPinsky Challenge. If he could somehow decode the signals in their songs, gain even the briefest glimpse of their language, he could raise public awareness about the plight of humpbacks and address McPinsky’s goal of ending our species isolation.
Dmitri felt the tug of an arm and heard a familiar voice.
“We’ve done all that we can do here.” Melanie sounded wistful. “Let’s go to the Island’s best sushi house and discuss your plans to study the whale songs.”
For the first time all afternoon, Dmitri smiled.
SHARING A PASSION
Sansui Sushi Restaurant, Kapalua, Maui—5 p.m.
Thirty minutes later, Dmitri followed Melanie into her favorite restaurant. They waited, silently, in front of the hostess stand. He observed an eclectic crowd of tourists and locals, families and couples, engaged in subdued conversations and savoring the generous portions of their early-bird dinners.
“Oh, my God,” Melanie moaned, “what a day.”
Dmitri felt relieved. Except for giving directions to the restaurant, those were the first words she’d spoken since they’d left the beach. “I’m still in shock, too.” He tapped his chest. “That was a terrible scene.”
“Which might explain why this place is so quiet.”
“Let’s grab a table and talk about cheerier subjects.”
When they’d been seated in their cushioned, koa wood chairs, he ordered a bottle of his favorite California wine. Now that they were alone together for the first time, he noticed that Melanie’s grief and the candlelight had softened her face. She looked luminous, like the first time he had seen her on Haleakala Mountain.
“Let’s at least try to lift our spirits,” he said, buoyed by her sympathetic glance.
The bottle of sparkling wine and an ice bucket soon arrived. The waitress filled their flutes, and after Melanie had requested two orders of her favorite catch of the day and a Rock-N-Roll sushi appetizer, they were alone once again. Dmitri had a great deal to say but, as usual, with a woman of this significance, he grew tense. Ordinarily, when confronted with a similar challenge, he relied upon a cheery toast to kick-start the evening. In the aftermath of the appalling scene on the beach, however, such a scenario seemed absurdly inappropriate. Tongue-tied, he began to fidget, and when she stared at his nervous hands, his embarrassment peaked. But then she reached across the table and held them still.
“It was really thoughtful of you to support me on the beach.” She rewarded him with a deep and steady gaze. “Thanks.”
Dmitri was grateful she’d initiated the conversation and the contact. Her touch felt velvety soft. Despite the pleasant tingling sensation coursing up his arm, he tried to look composed. “Chivalry is one of my better traits.” Still nervous, he decided not to mention how much he had enjoyed their earlier embrace.
She gave him a curious look. “So why didn’t Greg join us? I’ve only known you two as a team.” Her hands retreated to her wine glass.
“Greg sends his regards, but he’s not as enthusiastic as I am about the whale song proposal. In fact, until he experienced today’s stranding, he actually tried to discourage me.”
“That’s strange. Why so?”
“He’s worried about the backlash from the skeptics at our venerable institution.”
“Well, in my humble opinion, I hope you proceed with your plans.” Dmitri was distracted by the subtly pouting shape of her lips whenever she pronounced the letter “p.”
“Maybe you can be the one who makes a difference for the poor humpbacks,” she said, raising her glass. “I therefore propose a toast to christen Dr. Dmitri’s new project with the Whale Institute.”
“Thanks, Melanie. That’s the way I feel too.” They clinked their flutes together and tasted the varietal.
“Trés bien, monsieur, an excellent choice.”
“Merci,” he replied with a gallant nod. “Now it’s my turn to salute your work with the children.” After another nervous sip, Dmitri’s temples tingled with the first rush of the alcohol. “Your Speakeasy tutorial and demo were terrific. I experienced language in a whole new light. When you speak to me, I imagine the shapes of the word grams floating from your mouth and hovering in the air.” He rounded his lips and pantomimed puffing smoke. “As if you’re blowing word-gram-sculpted smoke rings, like the smoking caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland.”
Resting both elbows on the table, Melanie cradled her face with her hands. She leaned forward and gazed directly into his eyes. “My, my, Dr. Dmitri. You’re one trippy professor, and definitely a quick study. Is that why you keep staring at my lips?”
“Am I?” His face suddenly felt like he’d leaned too close to a blazin
g fire. “I apologize. That must be the reason.” Melanie seemed to be warming up too. She smiled again so Dmitri pressed on. “It dawned on me that Speakeasy could be very useful in the analysis of the whale songs. Compared to the massive amount of frequency data cluttering a spectrogram, it really simplifies visualizing the symbols of language.”
“That’s a fantastic idea!” Melanie’s whole body perked up and her onyx eyes sparkled. “I’d be happy to provide a copy of the Speakeasy program, for lab use only. However, since it is proprietary, you’d have to purchase your own copy if you want to publish any Speakeasy-generated data.”
“Agreed! I’d also like to deputize you as a SoCalSci research consultant. You could start by Skyping a Speakeasy training session with my grad students. It would help them understand how to adapt the program for the whale song analysis.”
“Why Dr. Dmitri, this is certainly the most scintillating beginning of a business meeting I can ever remember.”
Dmitri couldn’t mask a contented grin. He sincerely hoped that this was more than a business meeting. “I think we make a pretty good team.” He reached for his wine glass. “I propose another toast to launch the research collaboration in the quest to discover cetacean phonemes.”
A sharp bang jolted him, followed immediately by the sight of Melanie propelling up and away from the table. Liquid dripped from her blouse and jeans. In a flash, Dmitri realized that in his toastmaster’s zeal, the ascending arc of his champagne flute had intersected the space occupied by his water glass, unleashing a mini flash flood onto Melanie’s side of the table. In futility, she sponged the lap-sized wet spot with the dry corners of her dinner napkin.
“I’m so sorry!” He stood, gawking at her, too bewildered to react. He finally offered his own napkin, presenting it like a bouquet of flowers. He scanned the room. The stares of some patrons were accusatory, and the teens at the next table giggled into their cupped palms.
“I’ll live. It’s only water . . . just an accident.” A dry towel appeared and, while the waitress changed the tablecloth, Melanie swabbed her waist. After she returned the towel to the waitress, they sat back down. “By the way, you’ve seemed edgy ever since we met at the bar. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. In fact, I was somewhat anxious about meeting you too, an illustrious SoCalSci professor.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. So now that we’ve been formally introduced,” she said, grinning as she glanced down at her sopping lap, “I’d like to ask you a personal question. How did you acquire such a unique name?”
“My parents are of Russian heritage, but the truth is, Dmitri is both my surname and my chosen nickname. My legal first name is David.”
“A man of mystery with an alter ego?”
“No, a personal identity crisis during my childhood and teen years.”
“Really? Self-doubts?”
“I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school. I’ve always been a bit of a loner. My dad died when I was nine and, after that, my family had . . . well . . . problems.”
“Problems?”
“After he finished college, my older brother unexpectedly fell apart.”
“How’s he doing now?”
Dmitri stared at the table. “I see him about once a month, but he’s been alcoholic for years.”
“That’s so sad.” She cupped his right hand. “What about your mom?”
“His emotional collapse took a toll on her.” Dmitri paused, staring at the wine glass. “I made it a point to try to support her. We were always close. Unfortunately, she passed away five years ago.”
“You were a good son.” Melanie’s gaze tempered Dmitri’s angst. “God gives us our family; thank God we can choose our friends.”
Dmitri sighed. “How true,” he replied. Although he acknowledged her adage with a half-hearted smile, he felt ashamed to admit he both loved and partially loathed his brother, who was now a shell of a man. Paul was six years older and would have been the ideal substitute father figure in his life. Instead, Dmitri remembered years of Paul’s frightening temper tantrums, his blaming of their mother for all of his problems, and how he drank himself insensate every night. He knew it wasn’t fair to hold his brother responsible for his own self-esteem issues. Because Paul obviously suffered from a severe psychological affliction, Dmitri had forgiven him years ago. But he’d always wondered what might have been if he’d not been traumatized at such a young age.
Melanie’s pendant, sparkling in the candlelight, caught his attention. She grasped the silvery object between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s a gift from my mother—my good luck charm.”
Dmitri gazed, captivated by the sinuous, figure-eight gyrations of Melanie’s thumb circumnavigating the filigreed curves of the yin-yang mandala. “I’d like to hear about your family,” he asked.
Melanie’s sympathetic expression vanished. “It’s a classic outer-island story. After high school, my mom married her childhood sweetheart because she was pregnant with me. My dad drifted to Oahu after a few years to pursue better job prospects. The distance separating them finally resulted in the end of the marriage. Like mother, like daughter, I repeated the same sequence of events. I have a nine-year-old son. His name is Mark. After my husband left us, I attended night classes at UH for my speech therapist credentials. Last year, my ex-boyfriend set me up with the connection for the night-shift job at LURE for the extra spending money.”
“So you’re a single mom raising a child. Not the daunting personification of a Hawaiian mountain goddess, laser ranger, and speech therapist.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or wigged out by that remark.”
“It’s definitely a compliment. How’s your mom?”
“She got lucky. Five years ago, she remarried and moved to Florida. Still, that’s enough about me. The other night you mentioned that you were inspired by your college mentor. Tell me more about that.”
Dmitri briefly recounted the profound influence of Professor McPinsky. “I think our relationship is partly based on my need for a father figure. He’s a complex, brilliant, and inspirational force who provokes strong reactions from his admirers and critics. However, since he’s my numero uno role model, to me he can do no wrong.”
“I’d say you were pretty fortunate to have someone like that in your life.”
“Yes. He has my complete admiration because, like you, his goal is to enlist science in the service of humanity which, in McPinsky’s case, is nothing less than the solution of mankind’s existential crises. Let’s face it. Because of fear and ignorance, Homo sapiens are out of control. We’re raping and pillaging the planet—”
“Not to mention slaughtering the whales and each other,” interrupted Melanie. “And you say McPinsky has a plan to deal with all of this?”
“Yes, and it’s as straightforward as employing the scientific method, instead of some metaphysical hocus-pocus. Can you believe it? He recently issued a challenge to the scientific community to break the interspecies communication barrier and end our group isolation. Amazingly, the events of this trip have inspired me to take the plunge and—”
“Dmitri,” Melanie interrupted again, “you’re coming on like a freight train. Slow down for a sec and tell me more . . . slowly.”
“You’re right. I apologize.” Why couldn’t he just be more relaxed, more natural, with her?
Making sure to pace himself, Dmitri went on to summarize the wave of events he considered fateful during his brief sojourn in Maui: the whale watch, their meeting on Haleakala, her Speakeasy demo with Javier, and the fatal stranding of the juvenile humpback. “I’m saying the cetaceans, too, are threatened with an existential crisis. We’ve hunted them to near extinction. There’s no guarantee that the whaling nations will continue to honor the international moratorium. We’re killing them! Given their potentially high level of intelligence, humanity needs a wakeup call ASAP.”
“As a teen, I was inspired by Helen Keller’s amazing autobiography. It’s pro
bably why I opted to study speech pathology. Just as speech therapists strive to give mute children a voice, maybe you can give the whales the means to express themselves to our species.”
“It’s definitely a worthy undertaking that justifies the pushback I’m gonna get from peers and higher-ups.”
“I’m glad I signed up!”
Their gazes briefly merged, and then they each looked away to admire the candle’s dancing flame.
“Hey,” she whispered, gently breaking the spell. “I know you’ll love tonight’s dinner. It’s grilled, coconut-milk-infused opakapaka smothered in caramelized Maui onions.”
“Sounds delish,” Dmitri licked his upper lip, “and it reminds me of another important reason to assess the communication potential of the cetaceans.”
“What’s that?”
“As you said, eating them is the reason we continue to slaughter whales.”
“Right, whaling.” She paused. “My mom’s family is Japanese, and Japan still engages in whaling. After World War II, whale meat kept people from starving, but that’s obviously no longer justified.”
He nodded. “My dad’s Russian ancestors decimated Pacific whale populations and continue to do so. More than any dramatic protests by Greenpeace and Sierra Club advocates, a verifiable confirmation of their language could be the tipping point in winning the argument to protect them.”
“Is it possible, Dmitri?” Her eyes seemed wider as she asked the questions.
“Not unless humans take the first step. I’m supervising a couple of research assistants who’re going to be awfully surprised when I present them with their new assignment. Speaking of which, what do you see in my glass?”
“I see beautiful bubbles rising in a glass of champagne.”
“I see a bubble net, the catalyst for me to realize there’s something significant happening in these Maui waters.”
“Bubble net? It’s a whale thing, right?”
The Whale Song Translation: A Voyage of Discovery To Neptune and Beyond Page 8
