The Whale Song Translation: A Voyage of Discovery To Neptune and Beyond

by Howard Steven Pines

  Dmitri enjoyed seeing the frustration roiling on the surface of Prescott’s face. The successive waves of McPinsky’s pithy pronouncements, which years ago he and Greg had termed “thunderclaps,” had once again merged into a powerful force to sway his audience.

  “I will conclude with the subject of ‘inquisitive enlightenment,’” the professor announced.

  Dmitri heard Dean Wilson’s muffled “finally” and turned just in time to glimpse a fleeting look of relief before his countenance reverted to its usual haughty expression. McPinsky did not look pleased.

  “I’ve argued that the academic, philosophical, and religious objections to this venture are driven by dogma, a pre-Age of Enlightenment conceit of ignorance and arrogance. Dogma is contrary to a human being’s signature characteristic—curiosity. I submit that all scientists convened here today have taken a Hippocratic-like oath to reject dogma and to pursue the scientific method. We can all cite historical examples of societal resistance to previous paradigm breakthroughs, the Church versus Galileo and Darwin versus his detractors, which fortunately did not prevent their momentous discoveries.”

  McPinsky dabbed his brow with the paisley handkerchief.

  “During a distant epoch,” he continued, “a great schism occurred in mammalian evolution when the cetacean ancestors returned to the sea. For the last fifty million years, the mammalian mind in the water has evolved independently of the mammalian mind on land. Think of the magnificent once-in-a-fifty-million-year opportunity to build a bridge across that great divide, and to reunite with a potentially kindred intelligence on our very own planet!” He thumped the podium. “If we dare to ask the brave questions, imagine the surprises we might learn about our cetacean earth mates.”

  After an interminable silence, the dean finally answered. “Damn you, Theodosius! What can I say in rebuttal? As usual, your arguments are quite compelling. The whale sushi comment reminded me of a favorite science fiction story of my youth. ET’s had landed on the White House lawn in a display of friendship and with the promise of the gift of advanced knowledge. As evidence of their good intentions, they presented the president with the gift of a book entitled, To Serve Man. Unfortunately, when it was too late to alter mankind’s morbid fate, a brilliant scientist decoded the alien text, which ultimately turned out to be a cookbook of recipes for preparing human flesh. I can’t have anything like that on my conscience. You win. I move that we approve funding for the experiment.”

  “Excellent. But actually, Robert,” McPinsky retorted, “the whale sushi comment reminded me of my favorite meal: homemade gefilte fish with red beet horseradish. My mother called it Jewish sushi. Let’s go out for lunch the next time I’m in California.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll second the dean’s motion,” said Prescott, as coolly as if he had shed all vestiges of personal resentment. Like a snake sloughing its skin, thought Dmitri. He had long been sure that Richard Prescott was a student of Machiavelli’s The Prince. Dmitri studied the bureaucrat’s pallid, expressionless face. He surmised that Prescott had decided it was more expedient to defer this battle until he could dictate the means to achieve his own ends.

  Chris Gorman made it unanimous. “How can I refuse the illustrious professor, especially after imagining myself as a defendant in some future cetacean Nuremberg tribunal? PICES will contact Dr. Dmitri’s team and initiate preparations for the experiment.”

  McPinsky, as usual, had the last word. “I wish to thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I would like to end the meeting with my favorite quotation from Einstein. ‘The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives.’ And so I say to you, my colleagues, ‘Let us play.’”

  COLLUSIONS OF AN ACADEMIC HIT MAN

  Southern California Coast—one month later

  Richard Prescott scanned a sweeping ocean and coastal vista. The swells began far offshore, yet he could still see their faint beginnings. Rolling toward the bay beneath him, their dimensions increased moment by moment. Surging into the cove, they crashed through a field of offshore boulders and sea stacks, spewing white clouds of foam. They continued relentlessly onward until they exploded into the bluffs and evaporated into the mist.

  The SoCalSci administrator sipped a first cup of morning coffee, admiring the white water spectacle from the deck of his cliff-top home. He reflected upon his good fortune: the result of a lifetime of channeling the work ethic and conservative values his parents had impressed upon him. Yet, even as he savored the gritty, Turkish-brewed café noir, the conflicting issues of a moral dilemma gnawed upon his conscience.

  He knew he wasn’t a bad person. In fact, like most of his friends and colleagues, he felt compassion for the whales. When vacationing in Mexico and during family outings to Sea World, he’d been captivated by their sociable behavior. Richard’s children had grown up loving the big creatures, and both he and his wife contributed to marine mammal protectionist causes. However, his long-held philosophical perspective was at stake. He had been raised to value the preservation of the system that nurtured him. As in the battle between the waves and rocks below, Richard Prescott knew it was his duty to act as the agent of resistance to the waves of change that threatened his cherished institution.

  During last month’s committee meeting, he had agreed to abide by the group’s decision, and to fund David Dmitri’s collaborative experiment with the Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies. Nearly every day since then, he had struggled to reexamine the implications of Dmitri’s proposal. He felt appalled that the university was funding an experiment to engage whales in an “advanced intellectual exercise.” This sounded more like the lurid drivel of tabloid headlines on supermarket magazine racks than the activities of a respectable institution. Any leaks to the media could harm the university’s reputation. And besides, Dmitri was a protégé of that cursed McPinsky. The man had publicly ridiculed Richard, three years ago, during the successful sub-rosa campaign to oust the old troublemaker from SoCalSci. For years, Richard’s father had warned him about the arrogance of ivory-tower professors who thought they were superior to men of the world like themselves, whose management and business skills kept their institutions running smoothly.

  Now, after days of intense soul-searching, consulting both his wife and pastor, Richard had regained his equilibrium. Being a man of action, he had decided to reverse the course of his decision, and after tireless research, he had crafted a plan.

  During last month’s funding meeting, he had put the fear of God into Gorman, and now he was really going to yank the marine biologist’s chain. A significant chunk of PICES’s budget was subsidized by a generous grant from the University of Hawaii’s College of Marine Sciences. Richard hoped to capitalize on a longstanding relationship spawned during his student days. A former fraternity brother and fellow business major, Harvey Padgett, was the current chief administrator of research funding at the University of Hawaii.

  After attending the two meetings on his morning schedule, Richard returned to his office for a quick lunch and to contact his counterpart using a new voice-activated Internet phone. “Hello Harvey. It’s your long-lost amigo, Richard Prescott.”

  “Richard, you old devil,” replied Padgett.

  “It’s been too long since we last spoke. I wouldn’t mind trading places with you and your hardscrabble existence there in Honolulu.”

  “I still laugh to tears every time I think about that stunt we pulled on our engineering rivals across the street.”

  They reminisced about the fraternity hazing incident of their youth. Their frat brothers had scattered an incriminating heap of empty beer cans and liquor bottles about their honor-society rivals’ front yard and doorstep. They had then phoned the campus police to report an out-of-control party.

  Prescott chortled. “Those arrogant engineering geeks who looked down their noses at us business majors only got what they deserved.”

  “It was diabolically clever, and I
still think we should have used more beer cans.”

  “No need. The cops fell for it. And do you remember the priceless expression on their dazed faces when the police busted in on them at 3 a.m.?”

  “You always were the clever politician back then, participating in one steering committee or another. That’s why I’m pretty certain this isn’t strictly a social call, unless, like most of my other ‘long-lost buddies,’ you’re seeking insider tourist tips for a trip to the Islands.”

  “You could always read me, Harvey. Well, as a matter of fact, I have some interesting information. It’ll cross your desk sooner or later. Speaking of engineering geeks, some of our SoCalSci faculty members are collaborating with the Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies. In my humble opinion, their venture threatens to expose both of our institutions to an embarrassing public backlash.”

  “What’s new about that? In our precarious positions, we always struggle to balance the opposing forces of academic freedom and bureaucratic censorship.”

  “My dear Harvey, what if the expression of academic freedom transgresses beyond the frontiers of the scientific method to the netherworld of New Age quackery?”

  “Can you be a bit more specific? I have a very high regard for Chris Gorman’s organization. They do cutting-edge research and perform a great public service to educate the community about whales, specifically our local humpback population.”

  “But they’ve gone wacko, Harvey! Based on some computer printout from one whale song, they claim to have discovered a secret language and a highly evolved intellect. Would you believe they’re going to challenge them to a game of chess or checkers or whatever?”

  “Hmmm, if this plan is as ludicrous as it sounds, then of course we won’t fund it.”

  “If word spreads to the public at large, it could incite a PR firestorm. New Age fruits, nuts, and flakes will converge upon Maui as if it were Woodstock or Burning Man. On the other hand, religious fundamentalists will condemn our university-sponsored experiment as pagan blasphemy. For God’s sake, Harvey, we’ll be powerless to control the nightmare. The universities’ reputations and funding will be threatened, and both you and I will likely become unemployment statistics.”

  “That sounds very distressing indeed. Okay, Richard, I’ll contact Gorman and see what he has to say for himself.”

  “Thanks, Harvey, that’s all I ask. Text me after you’ve reminded the PICES director about the downside of engaging in dubious marine biological research. Have a lovely day.”

  At the completion of the call, Richard felt relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Indeed, the great weight of a whale, he chuckled to himself. He thought of the famous Latin phrase from his youth, “Alea jacta est,” uttered by Julius Caesar when the Roman army crossed the Rubicon. Yes, Richard thought, “The die has been cast.” He would not be denied. If Padgett couldn’t persuade Gorman to alter his course, then he would find another way to rock the PICES boat.

  RESEARCH IN PARADISE

  Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies, Kihei, Maui—late February

  “Pinch me, boss!” Andrew called above the howling wind. “I can’t believe the university is sponsoring us on an all-expenses-paid research trip to paradise.”

  A mere six weeks since their winter-break vacation and after a direct flight from the mainland, it was a déjà vu for SoCalSci Associate Professors David Dmitri and Greg Bono. Their Mustang raced through the cane fields hugging Maui’s Mokulele Highway 350 en route to the Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies. This time, however, they were here on a mission of discovery, accompanied by Dmitri’s research assistants. Andrew and Seema were wide-eyed and chatty in the back seat of the convertible. This was their maiden voyage to the Hawaiian Islands. Dmitri pointed in the direction of Haleakala as he shouted the story of their fateful encounter with Melanie.

  “I’m really looking forward to meeting your friend.” Seema raised her voice so Dmitri could hear her in the driver’s seat.

  Her comment echoed Dmitri’s own anticipation. “You won’t have to wait very long,” he replied, “since she’s attending today’s meeting at the whale institute. After we meet with Gorman’s team, Greg and I will give you the grand tour of Haleakala and Melanie’s perch at the LURE Observatory.”

  “Maui is even more beautiful than I imagined,” said Seema. “A vast sugar bowl of cane fields waving their welcome, and surrounded by towering mountains. I can’t wait to see the ocean.”

  Greg’s head had been swiveling sharply in order to observe everyone’s lip movements. “Dmitri, let’s indulge Seema and take a ten-minute detour to McGregor Point. The turnoff is just ahead.”

  “Absolutely, positively!” Dmitri shouted with gusto.

  As Dmitri navigated the curving section of oceanfront highway, he counted the minutes until he’d cuddle Melanie in his arms. Ever since their last embrace, he had longed for this moment. When they pulled into the cliff top parking lot, they observed an animated group of tourists gesturing at a disturbance in the water. They spilled out of the vehicle and melted into the crowd.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” Andrew asked the nearest bystander.

  “Just wait a minute.” The congenial senior citizen spoke with a Texas twang. “There, look,” she pointed. The spectators gasped in delight as a baby humpback breached alongside its parents.

  “Thank you, Doctor Dmitri.” A tear rolled down Seema’s cheek. She spread her arms as if to encompass the panoramic ocean view. “I’m so happy. The water is so shimmeringly blue, and we’re spectacularly greeted by these amazing creatures. I wish my family could be here. A photo is totally inadequate.”

  “It is a magical place, and the reason I keep coming back.” Dmitri felt the depth of his conviction as he high-fived Andrew. “Just don’t forget we’re here to conduct some serious research with these beings. Let’s think of them as our highly motivated research subjects reporting early for duty.”

  The baby humpback breached repeatedly. Compared to an adult’s majestic leaps, it toppled over sideways, like a failed missile launch. More “oohs” and “aahs” rippled through the gathering.

  “It could be the research opportunity of a lifetime!” Andrew’s giddy voice made everyone grin. “Good thing you reminded us to change into shorts and sandals.” He wiped his brow. “This feels like the tropics.”

  Dmitri checked his wristwatch. “Sorry to be a spoilsport, but our meeting at PICES headquarters starts in thirty minutes.”

  They piled back into the car and resumed their roller-coaster ride along the coastal road.

  Twenty minutes later, they were walking toward the PICES building. Seeing Melanie waiting at the front door, Dmitri raced ahead.

  “Give us a couple of minutes, folks, while we get reacquainted,” Dmitri called. When they were alone, he reached out to clasp her hands and then pulled her into his arms. His stomach churned as he gulped, “I missed you.”

  After weeks of anticipation, Melanie’s joyous smile was the reply he had hoped for. Gazing into her bewitching, smoky-quartz eyes, he was transported back to the memory of the last time they’d been together, nearly two months ago. On the final night of that vacation, she’d invited him to her apartment for a going away dinner. It had turned into a most memorable evening. It was so memorable he’d nearly missed the flight home on the following morning. Greg had teased him mercilessly at the airport before admitting that he had also enjoyed a going-away date with Melanie’s assistant, Erika.

  A slight movement in the PICES lobby window caught Dmitri’s attention. An unknown figure observed them through the blinds. Holding Melanie in his arms, he felt too happy to care. After a minute of small talk, they decided not to keep the others waiting. Upon entering the windowless conference room, Dmitri observed the participants assembled around a long, rectangular table and engaged in casual conversations.

  Chris Gorman, sporting a fresh crew cut and looking every bit the former
naval officer, was the first to address the group. “Dr. Dmitri and Ms. Mari, I decided to wait until you had both arrived before opening the session. Welcome back. I never dreamed I’d see you returning here so soon. We’re all looking forward to hearing more about your findings.” His detached tones suggested otherwise. “But I have to admit I’m taking a wait-and-see approach as we continue to investigate the distinctive features of the song structure. As I mentioned in our last phone conversation, PICES research is focused on the marine biological aspects of cetacean behavior.”

  Dmitri shot Gorman a puzzled look.

  “Let me explain,” said Gorman. “I need to inform you about the two urgent voice messages I received this morning. The first was from our University of Hawaii funding administrator, Harvey Padgett. Apparently, he’s very concerned about PICES’s plans to conduct an interspecies communication experiment with the humpbacks.”

  Dmitri looked surprised. “How would he even know about it?”

  “If you’re implying I informed him, the answer is no. However, since Padgett’s agency funds a big chunk of our total budget, we’re obligated to respond to his inquiries.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “I’ll speak with him later, but let’s carry on with the meeting. Now, more than ever, I’d really appreciate your support for our official position: ‘This collaboration is to observe the whale’s responses to the broadcast of a select set of acoustic waveforms.’”

  “We’re definitely on board with that,” replied Greg. “Nevertheless, your public statement provides ample wiggle room to assess the effects of Beethoven’s 5th on the patterns of bubble nets.”

  A smattering of snickers danced around the table. Considering that Greg’s offbeat sense of humor was an acquired taste, Gorman’s vexed expression was no surprise to Dmitri.