Singing Home the Whale

by Hager, Mandy

  When they made it to Gleneden it was deserted, a minor miracle and a relief to see the tent and other gear still there. They anchored and Will dragged himself aboard, exhausted. He wrung out his clothes and laid them on the hot pontoon to dry, stretching along the other one to warm himself. He trailed his hand over the side, maintaining constant contact with Min.

  Hunter chucked him a towel. ‘What now?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Will rubbed his hair dry. ‘The people in the video clips stayed with them, day and night. I think it works on the theory that touch helps to heal them.’

  ‘That’s a bit hippie.’

  ‘Not touchy-feely psychic healing. Just staying with them for moral support. There was this poor beluga — you know, those really weird white things — got badly cut up by a boat. Jesus it looked disgusting. This woman stayed with it for days and it came right with loving vibes and constant touch. It’s how they do it in their pods. Like how our mums used to kiss us better when we were little, remember? Kind of like that.’

  Hunter rubbed his nose. Grunted. ‘Maybe your mum.’

  ‘Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘S’all right. She didn’t do that but whenever she was pissed she’d kiss me heaps. Only then she’d cry and start to throw our stuff in suitcases. That’s when they’d really fight …’ He stared down at his wide bare feet. Breathed noisily, a high-pitched nose flute.

  Will closed his eyes. It was funny how you could look at someone and have no idea what the hell was churning around inside. He’d always thought people could be read like books if you took the time to study them, but maybe he only saw what he wanted to see, or expected to see. Maybe everyone did. Until the last couple of days he’d not have given Hunter’s inner life a second thought. Yet now he felt guilty for not making any effort since he’d arrived. Dean had tried to get the two of them together. Hinted so many times that Will had blocked it out. He’d thought Hunter would be like Gabby. Or, worse, like Bruce. But it looked as though Hunter was miserable, and Will could sure as hell understand why.

  ‘Why’d you chuck it in?’

  Will dragged his thoughts back to the present. ‘Chuck what in?’

  ‘That TV thing. I bet they’d have given you another chance. You were the best singer by far.’

  Defensiveness coiled around Will’s throat. ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘Nah, truly, dude. Remember that show you did at school? Where you were dressed up like a chink? You were frickin’ awesome in that too.’

  Chink? Jesus, what century was this? What world? ‘How the hell do you know about that?’

  ‘Dean showed me the video. I laughed my arse off.’ He glanced at Will’s face. ‘Not ’cause you were bad, you know? But it was funny. I’ve never seen anything like that before.’

  Heat engulfed Will. Mum must have sent a copy to Dean. She insisted on videoing everything; reckoned one day Will would want to show his kids. As if. Not that he minded Dean watching — he was proud of how he handled the role — but what had Dean been thinking? And why hadn’t he said?

  ‘It’s The Mikado. They’re Japanese.’

  Surely Hunter understood the dangerous power of words? Bruce’d thrown plenty of insults at him by the sound of it. How you could damn someone’s abilities, culture or beliefs in a single word or phrase? Chink. Greenie. Townie. Killer whale. Will of the Living Dead.

  ‘Whatever.’ Hunter scooped up a handful of seawater and splashed it onto the back of his neck. ‘So, anyway, why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why’d you quit? Even if you’d been rubbish, which you aren’t, you would’ve won the sympathy vote.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Min let out a little squeal. Will patted him. ‘Sorry mate.’ He modulated his tone. ‘Did Gabby show you the comments too?’

  ‘Who cares? People just write that crap because they can. It doesn’t mean it’s true.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. I’d walk down the street and total strangers would hurl insults at me and think they were being funny. It got so bad at school I quit.’ It hadn’t been his mates, or anyone his year. It was the younger kids who’d taunted him. They’d sniffed out his hurt like sharks do blood. Went for the jugular. The fact they were juniors only made him feel more pathetic. It was such a relief when the holidays came — until his parents told him they were buggering off to Oz.

  ‘Didn’t you want to prove them wrong?’

  ‘I couldn’t do anything, man. I had a munted brain. Weeks of blinding headaches. Mood swings. Insomnia. At one point I even had hallucinations.’ He’d never admitted that before, not even to the shrink. It scared the crap out of him.

  He slid off the pontoon and busied himself with Min, stroking him between his eyes. Min held his gaze, bringing to mind the poster on his old bedroom wall — the Hourglass Nebula — its blue nucleus like the eye of God. Both made him feel that the mind behind that staring eye was more evolved than any human being could ever imagine.

  An engine broke the silence. Will looked past Hunter’s worried face as a rigid inflatable cruised in through the archway. It bore the Fisheries logo. Oh shit.

  Harley Andrews, scruffier in real life, nodded a greeting to Hunter as he pulled up alongside. Will drew away from Min.

  Harley tossed Hunter a rope and they rafted the two boats together while Will climbed back aboard. He pulled on his damp T-shirt and jeans — all this before Harley said a word. The suspense was so unbearable Will went on the attack.

  ‘He’s been shot right through the dorsal fin.’ Will pointed down at Min, who stared back up with trusting eyes.

  ‘You know you’re breaking all the regulations? I’m surprised at you, Hunter. You should know better.’

  Will’s heart was rapping wildly. ‘Didn’t you hear? Some mongrel took a pot shot at him.’

  ‘First things first. I know your uncle passed on my warning, so what exactly do you think you’re doing? Are you taking the piss?’

  Hunter cleared his throat. ‘Bob shot him, Harley. He’s wounded.’

  ‘Rules state you can’t get any closer than fifty metres in a boat or a hundred if you’re in the water. What part of that don’t you understand?’

  ‘The bit that says you’d ticket me while some old bastard gets away with attempted murder.’ Will’s voice shook.

  ‘I don’t write the rules, but you can guarantee they were written by people with a damn sight more authority than you.’ He wiped away the sweat accumulating around the brim of his hat. ‘I can’t have you taking the law into your own hands. The experts say—’

  ‘The experts,’ Will said, ‘would leave him to die. I’ve seen the stuff on the internet. If you really cared you’d be going after that crazy old prick, not hassling us.’

  ‘How’d you know where to find us?’ Hunter’s face was sullen. His biceps bulged as he crossed his arms.

  ‘I have my ways.’

  ‘It was Gabby, wasn’t it?’ Hunter turned to Will. ‘I bet Dad sicced her on us. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘Well, if you hadn’t told her where—’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m a dick. I get that. This whole bloody thing’s my fault.’ He looked so miserable that Will regretted having bitten.

  ‘Forget it.’ He turned his focus back to Harley. ‘The real question is: are you going to punish us for trying to help Min, or the ones trying to kill him?’

  ‘Don’t take that tone with me, kid. I’ve been—’

  He got no further. A battered cabin cruiser sped in through the arch, its fibreglass peeling. Pania was at the wheel as Viv, the dreadlocked lady, readied a rope. They rafted up to Harley’s boat with practised ease.

  ‘Is he here?’ Pania asked.

  ‘Yep. Big hole through his dorsal fin but otherwise just shocked.’

  ‘Hey Harley!’ Viv jumped across and vigorously shook Harley’s hand. ‘Good to see you’re on the case. I hear Bob Davers has been a little trigger happy.’ She looked over Harley’s shoulder to Will. Winked.
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br />   ‘I might have known you’d show.’ A frown cleft Harley’s brow. He turned to Pania. ‘Hey, Pans. How’re you?’

  ‘Good thanks.’ She clambered over a pile of nets. Peered into the water. When she saw Min she dropped down to her knees and reached out her hand towards him. ‘You poor little baby.’

  Min bunted her palm and made his Donald Duck noise. She laughed and leaned right out as if to kiss him.

  ‘Pania, don’t!’ Harley stamped a foot down on the side of her boat, rocking her off balance. ‘What the hell is wrong with you people? It’s a wild animal — not a pet. If you tame it you make it far more vulnerable.’

  Viv joined Pania as she watched Min. Min sprayed them with a fine mist and gurgled, the sound uncannily like a human laugh. Viv peeled off her clothes, revealing a plain black swimsuit underneath. Her body was toned. Strong.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Harley said. ‘You haven’t the authority.’

  She slid over the gunwale, ignoring him, and eased into the sea, barely raising a ripple. One hand out as if luring a timid cat, she worked her way close to Min. Once he accepted her touch, Viv inspected the wound.

  Harvey’s face was livid. ‘Get the hell out of there, woman. You know the rules.’

  ‘Don’t give me that shit, Harley. You know I’m perfectly entitled to inspect him.’

  ‘Only if I sanction it.’

  Viv shot him a murderous glance. ‘Then best you do.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Will asked Hunter.

  ‘She’s a vet.’

  ‘You’re kidding? Why didn’t anyone tell me?’ He squatted down next to Pania and watched Viv examine the damaged flesh. ‘How is it?’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘I could debride it but I think as long as he’s kept quiet and doesn’t stress it’ll mend itself.’ She pressed her forehead between Min’s eyes and gave him a hongi. ‘Kei te pēhea koe? What are you doing here, little man? You’re causing quite a stir.’ Min rubbed up against her, clicking, and Will felt a moment’s intense jealousy. Ridiculous.

  Viv checked Min’s teeth and gums then hauled herself back aboard. She looked like a beached mermaid, her long dreadlocks hanging down almost to her backside. How old was she? Late thirties? Early forties?

  Viv pulled a towel out of a plastic supermarket bag to dry herself, then wrapped it around her waist. ‘Right, time for a little kōrero.’ She sat down in Harley’s boat and motioned everyone to join her.

  ‘How did you know what happened?’ Will asked Pania. ‘Or where we were?’

  ‘Dean told us. We went to Brookes Bay but when you weren’t there I figured you’d probably have come up here.’

  ‘Dean did?’

  Viv laughed. ‘That old bugger can be a bit pōrangi but he’s okay underneath.’

  Pania grinned. ‘I’m going to tell him you said that!’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Viv turned to Will. ‘Your uncle and I like to spar but it doesn’t mean anything. I like to keep him honest — make sure he doesn’t let that boss of his forget his priorities.’ She laid a hand on Hunter’s arm. ‘No offence, e kare.’

  Hunter blushed. ‘No worries.’

  Harley cleared his throat. ‘Get to the point, Viv. If you and Mike think you’re going to get your mates to kick up a fuss …’

  ‘That’s totally up to you, Harley.’ Viv pulled a handful of dreads forward and ran her hand down to squeeze out water. ‘Our little kera wēra here needs protecting. Now you can get Bruce off his case and let these kids here help the poor little bugger while I try to find his pod, or you can fight us. But I promise it’ll get ugly if you go that way. Nanny M’s claimed him as whānau and no one wants to see her hurt.’

  ‘The regulations say—’

  ‘Bullshit, Harley. You bend the regulations any time it suits you. Last year you let Bruce off for dumping all that oily bilge water down at the marina. Don’t think we didn’t know. Aroha’s got photos.’

  ‘So now you’re blackmailing me?’

  ‘Course not, e hoa. Just reminding you that you have a little leeway in how you interpret the rules.’

  ‘All we’re trying to do is keep him safe,’ Will said. ‘If Viv can help us find his family then it’s a happy ending all around.’

  ‘And when the tourists see you pulling a stunt like the one on TV the other night? I’ll have my butt hauled over the coals—’

  ‘I promise we’ll keep it quiet. I’ll stay with him out here. No one has to know.’ He tried to look as serious and responsible as he could. ‘Please.’

  ‘Come on, Harley,’ Pania added. ‘Look at the poor little thing. Do you really want to see him die?’

  Harley stroked his moustache tenderly, as if it was a small live animal. He stared over the side of the boat. Min hung there, whining like a puppy. Harley sighed heavily and turned to Viv. ‘How long do you think it’ll take to search?’

  ‘I’ll contact Ingrid when I get home. She’ll know.’

  Again Harley brooded as they waited. In an overhanging pōhutukawa tree a tūī sang near-perfect arpeggios. D flat followed by A major. Finally he slapped his hands down on his sunburnt knees. ‘All right. Just for now. But if I get any complaints I’ll have to act. And if it gets out to the press again all deals are off.’

  ‘Ka pai!’ Viv leaned over and smacked a kiss onto his sweaty brow.

  ‘Thanks,’ Will said. He swallowed hard as he shook Harley’s hand. Had to get a grip on himself; needed time alone.

  They shifted Pania’s boat to let Harley out and waved him off like a war hero as he disappeared out through the arch.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Will said to Viv. He scuffed a kiss across her cheek, catching the salty taste of her.

  ‘No worries. Harley’s okay if you don’t piss him off.’

  ‘Who’s Ingrid?’

  ‘A world expert on orcas.’ She pressed her hand into the small of his back. ‘Stop looking so miserable, cuz. If anyone can identify our little māhuri tōtara’s pod, it’s her.’

  Oh the boost when Song Boy found me floating in my shattered state. I ached, a deep dragging discomfort, but the fear that flooded through me washed away when he came forth. He stroked me, soothed me, swept me up into his heartfelt hug.

  I did not know what caused my wound; the Hungry One so filled with hate had not come close. No fair warning. No fronting, face to face. A sneaky stunt. It’s true we, too, can kill without kindness or care, but we mostly wish to weigh in on the side of greater good. Our old ones teach this to our young, and those who spurn such schooling are left to fret over their friendless fate.

  We must reweigh, rethink, the blunders of those bygone Beings. Of course, we have all wandered into wrong, slipped on selfishness, let our lowest lusts loom large. Oh yes, it’s true, me more than most. But falling is only fatal when one fails to find the strength to float back up. Believe me, all wrongs can be righted where there is a will.

  In our painful past our kind made two mistakes. The first rose from our make-up: when the Hungry Ones hunted us we failed to fight their lack of care. We truly thought that they would see our sorrows and call their bloodbath off, but we were wrong. Instead, we wound up battered, with no breather from their brutal ways.

  So when they kept on carving up our clans the last limp stragglers lost their wits. This was the second sorry misstep, and it set the scene for further loss. My friends, those feeble few fought back, and who of us would blame them at the time? Mothers moved to murder; fathers fought fleets that flocked to feed upon their young. It was a hard and bitter battle with our cousins at our side, but though we spent the full force of our might we failed to drive the Hungry Ones to their doom. And though it’s true our old ones’ wrath was just, it neither freed us to a better future nor kept us safe. Indeed, it deepened danger; prolonged our plight.

  What can we learn from such a shambles? That the wars waged on us by our foes should not be countered with our own. Only haters feed on hate. Love breeds love.

  Wh
ile now we try to wend the wiser path it is slow, so slow. We hope, one day, to know their minds; find meanings in shared songs. If they truly choose to listen, their hearts can hear our sameness even if their ears cannot.

  It is with sadness that I sing of this, but also hope. We all have wondered why the Hungry Ones, with minds as keen and clever as our own, take not the time to understand the others of our world. Is it some weakness in their make-up? Their quenchless craving? Their take, take, take? They are the only living beings who snatch more than they need — hoarding, holding, having — stashing wealth while others go without. Greed, my friends, is an ugly oddity. Their weakness and their wont.

  What they miss, dear travellers, is the warmth and wonder of our ties to other seaborne beings. We work at building bonds and hearing hearts. I’ve swum the seas with manta rays, their wings as wide as I am long. In them I sensed a wealth of wit far finer than all other fish. They worked to know me and in them I found free souls. Oh, the wonder of those wings! Their slow strokes tell us all we need to know about the currents’ twists and turns.

  We always call on other Beings, our many cousins, when we work through weighty woes. We share a sadness; seek to salve the hurts the Hungry Ones have wrought. We work toward a world where all can win, not only one.

  And my Song Boy, ah, now he is rare — though not, you understand, unique. Many move to grapple with the gap between us and the Hungry Ones, though, through all this, there was a bleakness bleeding off him then — sadness so strong his soul was sick. How could I know this still so young? Come, come. I have already made it plain! Same aches, same loneliness, same loss of love. All life swims to the sound of these rebounding beats.

  So when he brought in Broad Boy and the two bewitching girls, I trusted him to pick the perfect path to keep me safe. Settled by his soothing strokes, harboured from further harm, I gave in to his goodness. Caved in to his care. He never left me, hands hot on my hide, his life force passing through his palms to bolster mine. They carried calm. Hugged hope. And in the end it was his handling that helped. The kiss of skin to skin has always been the means by which we Beings show our love. Somehow my Song Boy knew.