Singing Home the Whale

by Hager, Mandy

  Will floated in the water, his head cushioned by the lifejacket. Min hadn’t moved, content to stay in physical contact, though it was questionable how much longer Will could stay immersed. His skin was wrinkled, waterlogged, and it was chilly. But the usual tension that pincered his skull had lessened and so he pushed away the crap that clamoured for attention in order to savour the reprieve. The peace was heavenly. Only the pop of Min’s blowhole, open, shut, and the a cappella chorus of the birds.

  On a tree by a river a little tom-tit, sang ‘Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!’ It was driving him nuts how these stupid songs kept coming back at him. It wasn’t as if The Mikado had a profound story or voiced some precious truth. In fact it was pretty damn silly, the words in isolation ridiculous … at first glance. And I said to him, ‘Dicky-bird, why do you sit singing Willow, tit-willow, tit-willow?’ It was a song about manipulation; the end a threat. Melodramatic as all hell. And if you remain callous and obdurate, I shall perish as he did, and you will know why — though I probably shall not exclaim as I die, ‘Oh, willow, tit-willow, tit-willow!’

  It was the kind of emotional blackmail his grandmother had used, eating up all his mother’s spare time for the last two years before she died. His poor mum could never please her. By the time Gran’s diabetes finally got her, his mum was so strung out she’d had to take five weeks off work. Little did she know that two months later they’d axe her job. When Will heard they were going to Australia he’d nearly pulled the old tit-willow trick to make them stay. But didn’t. Couldn’t. His mum was far too caught up in her own nightmare; it wasn’t fair to drag her into his.

  As for his dad … People could say what they liked about equality, life balance, house husbands, blah-de-blah. But the truth was his dad had no bloody clue what to do after he’d been laid off. All his self-esteem was tied up in his job — and without it he was pretty much screwed. He still got up at six and did his crossword (‘Gotta keep the brainwork up’) then pounded the streets in suit and tie, grovelling for work. But every ‘No thanks’ shrunk him further, until the ‘go to’ guy — Archives’ troubleshooter — acted like he’d forgotten his lines. Twice, Will found him sobbing in the bathroom. When he’d gone to hug him, comfort him, his dad had laughed it off. Trying to hide the tears banking in his eyes.

  Will’s dad went for every shitty job he could but, by the time they had to rent the house or lose it, he was fading — a cardboard cut-out of the man he used to be. His mum too, come to that. Sure, they still carted him from doctor to doctor, got their lawyer to send out the threatening letters to the pricks online. But it was all done on remote, their spark gone. If Dean hadn’t given them a shove, by offering to have Will stay, they’d still be squeezed in the Suttons’ spare room. It had hurt to see them so beaten. Was (almost) a relief when they took off.

  Will smiled. It only now occurred to him that they were probably relieved too! They seemed much more ‘together’ in the last few weeks — and together, as if the fact they only had each other over there had brought them closer, after the stresses that had torn them all apart. Every week on Skype a little more of the old Mum and Dad broke through.

  He wished he hadn’t emailed now. They’d only worry, which would be a waste of all his hard work to convince them everything was fine. Hopefully Dean would stay quiet too; just leave them be.

  Hunter had offered to run Viv back to Blythe while Pania fished out in the channel. Will liked the way Pania could handle a boat and was content with her own company. She made the girls back home seem trivial, self-obsessed. She was calming, not needing constant reassurance like them. He was glad to have met her. Another rellie was never a bad thing … unless, of course, they were like Gabby Taylor! Now that would really suck. His knees rose to protect his groin of their own accord, as if even the thought of her threatened his most vital parts.

  As the sun lost its edge, the cold settled into his bones. He rolled over and ran his hand along Min’s back, careful to avoid his fin. The wound no longer oozed but still looked painful, though Viv was far more worried about Min going into shock. ‘The more you stay with him and keep him calm the better he’ll be.’ To have her validate his plan was reassuring — and handy ammunition should Harley reappear.

  ‘I’m getting out now, mate. I’ll just be over there.’ He pointed to the beach then felt ridiculous, but Min stirred, his kaleidoscope eyes drinking Will in.

  As Will made to leave Min bunted him in the ribs and fired a stream of bubbles into his armpit. Min then latched onto the neck support of the lifejacket and tugged it, emitting a rumbling gurgle, surely a laugh. The timing was too accurate. The sound too close.

  He towed Will towards the shallows, his tail doing all the work. ‘Thanks mate!’ Will pressed his nose between Min’s eyes and breathed him in. Fishy. Kelpy. Fleshy. Warm. ‘Don’t you go anywhere.’ He held up his hand, a human stop sign. If dogs could learn such signals, then surely so could Min.

  Ashore, he wrenched his T-shirt and jeans back on. Hunter had left a warm hoodie and he slipped into it like a kid playing dress-ups, rolling the sleeves damn near halfway up before he could free his hands. Hunter was the first guy he’d met who made him feel small — though only physically. He liked his company a lot.

  By the time he’d lit a fire, his stomach was rampaging like a rabid dog. He cheered when Pania finally chugged in aboard her father’s runabout.

  ‘I caught three gurnard and a snapper!’ She grinned as if she’d won Lotto. ‘And look! I found one of Bruce’s!’ She pointed into the plastic bin at her feet. A good-sized salmon dwarfed the rest. ‘Score!’

  Will laughed. ‘Jesus, we’d better get rid of that fast!’ He hoisted it out by the tail, its eyes as opaque as an old man’s cataracts.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Pania followed Will’s dubious gaze. ‘I don’t really fancy eating it either — but I couldn’t bear to throw it back!’ She laughed. ‘I thought maybe Min might like it.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t! Min’s taste for salmon was how this whole fight started.’

  ‘Pooh!’ she said. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’

  Will raised an eyebrow. ‘Pooh?’

  She slapped at him. ‘Shut up! I made a pact with Nanny M. If I don’t swear for one whole year I’ll get five hundred bucks!’

  ‘How long to go?’

  ‘Two months. It’s easier now. At first I was too scared to speak at all in case I blew it!’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ For the first three months after that fateful night Will had been too shaken to sing at all. He wasn’t even sure he could. But since he’d come down here and started on his daily jaunts out in the yacht he’d forced himself. During those song-free months it felt as if the only part of himself he liked had been cut off.

  He threw the salmon back into the crate and hooked the snapper out. ‘Let’s cook this now. I’m bloody starving.’

  Pania rolled her eyes. ‘Hollow leg syndrome! My brother Kingi had it too.’

  Would asking about him upset her? He held the snapper out. ‘Should I fillet it?’

  ‘Nah. Just gut it and scrape off the scales. It’s better whole.’ She checked his face. ‘Have you ever done it before?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘In theory!’

  She laughed. ‘Give it here!’ She produced a knife from the littered shelf below the dashboard of the runabout and carried the snapper over to a large flat rock beside the stream. With sure, deft strokes she showed him how to scrape off the scales and split the fish down the centre of its belly to free its entrails.

  ‘How old was he?’ Will asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Kingi.’ The name swelled in his mouth.

  She studied him with her disconcerting eyes. ‘Twenty-seven,’ she said. ‘Mum had him before she met Dad.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  She excised a string of gut. ‘He left home to join the army when I was ten. I only saw him at Christmas after that.’ She rinsed the carcase in fresh water, finge
rnails scraping the last clotted globules from the frame of bones. ‘It really cut Mum up — and Nanny M. Seeing them so upset’s the worst part of it all. Since then, all Nanny M’s wairua’s been seeping away.’

  ‘Her spirit?’

  ‘Yeah, her life force has been really knocked.’ She stood up and handed him the fish, her next words less certain. ‘A bit like you, Dean says.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ It burst out before humiliation throttled him. He skewered the fish onto a supple branch and hooped it over the glowing coals.

  Pania looked as if he’d slapped her, her cheeks staining crimson. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘S’okay. Forget it.’ He knew he’d gone from normal to paranoid and touchy in one second flat. He’d lost his ‘keep calm and shut up’ switch — his ability to filter out what was better left unsaid was shot to hell since the head injury. ‘Disinhibited’ his doctors called it, a fancy term that really meant ‘rude moody prick’. And though they said that it would settle over time, he’d yet to see the proof of this. He offered her one of Hunter’s beers. ‘Here. Sorry for snapping.’

  Pania shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ She watched as Will opened the can and took a swig. ‘Do you really like the taste of that?’ She screwed up her nose.

  He grinned. ‘Not really. But it’s better than nothing.’

  She jerked her head towards the stream. ‘There’s always water.’

  ‘Are you a hardcore Christian or something?’

  Pania laughed. ‘Nah. It’s just, I don’t see the point. And I’ve been round too many drunks.’

  She sounded like such a cranky old lady that he laughed too. ‘How the hell do you put up with Gabby then?’ He’d heard about Gabby’s exploits from Dean. Hard drinking. Hard playing. Hard, full stop.

  ‘She’s okay sometimes. And it’s better to be her friend than her enemy, that’s for sure.’ Pania threw a twig onto the fire. ‘She doesn’t have it that great either. Her dad’s a real p—’ She stopped herself. ‘He’s a creep.’ She shuddered.

  Will let it drop, too hungry to rustle up much sympathy for Gabby. She took too much pleasure in shooting people down. Wasn’t to be trusted. ‘What’s the story with Dean and Viv? Not much love lost there.’ The fish juices sizzled and spat from fleshy vents, smelling so good he actually drooled.

  ‘You’d be surprised! Viv hates it how Dean lets Bruce stomp all over him.’

  ‘Yeah, what the hell is that about? Why does he stay there?’

  ‘The same reason anyone does: he needs the work.’ She ran her fingers through her straggly hair and wound it into a tight coil. ‘Besides, he loves the business and he promised Helen he’d look after things.’

  ‘Hunter’s mum? How come?’

  Pania’s eyes widened. ‘You mean he hasn’t told you?’

  ‘What?’

  She wrapped her arms around her legs. Rested her chin on her knees. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Best you start now, then!’ He leaned back on his elbows, lounging dramatically.

  ‘He was in love with her,’ Pania said. ‘They dated right through school. Her dad was really rich — his lot were one of the first settlers here, like the Godsills. He was the one who set up the first fish farm. He brought Dean in to help before he’d even finished school. Joe built the business up and Dean was going to take it over when he married Helen.’

  Why hadn’t Dean told him this? ‘So how did she end up with Bruce?’

  ‘She was always a big drinker, Mum said. She reckons both Helen’s parents were alkies and Helen was born with the taste for it. In their last year of school their class went on a week-long trip to Wellington. Dean stayed home to help out Joe. The last night up in Welly, Helen got real coma-ed and Bruce was all over her. Three months later she was married off to him to spare them the shame of a pregnant daughter. Poor Dean lost Helen and the farm.’

  ‘Then why on earth does he still work for Bruce? That’s crazy.’

  ‘I don’t think he could give it up. The old boy had paid him in shares, and Dad says every year Dean tries to buy a few more on the quiet. When things got worse for Helen after Hunter was born, she begged Dean not to leave.’ Pania crushed a sandfly with one deft clap of her hands.

  ‘Worse how?’

  ‘Bruce started beating the cra— beating her up real bad, so she drank even more. I think Dean thought she’d kill herself. Mum says that he still loved her; that she made him promise he’d watch over Hunter. When she died, she left Hunter all her father’s shares, with some kind of legal thing that meant Bruce couldn’t get his hands on them. Bruce was furious. He tried to fight it but didn’t win. Dad reckons Dean should walk away. Dean says he won’t. I think that’s what Viv can’t understand.’ She sighed. Brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘Sad, huh?’

  ‘Maybe Hunter’s really Dean’s kid!’

  Pania snorted. ‘Get real. Just look at him!’

  He pictured Bruce and Dean; placed Hunter in between them. One tall thin man. Two burly brutes. ‘Yeah, true.’ The Helen story might well explain why Dean would stay, but … ‘Why would Bruce keep Dean on? He must’ve known about him and Helen. Wouldn’t he want Dean out of the way?’

  ‘He can’t afford to. Dean knows the business too well and has too many links to the iwi. Bruce needs to keep them onside so he can pretend to “consult” every time he wants to build more farms.’

  ‘It’s a bloody opera!’ All the double-dealing, broken hearts and tragic deaths seemed comic, crazy, on the stage. But Dean and Helen’s story was sad. Painfully raw. Poor Dean. How could he work for the prick, knowing what he knew?

  The snapper had started sagging off its bones, the smell of crispy skin making Will’s mouth water. He flipped it onto a plastic plate and they picked at it with their fingers until only the bare carcase and head remained. It tasted sweet and buttery, peppery woodsmoke infused through the flesh.

  By the time they’d rinsed their hands in the stream the sun had gone. In the bush behind, the evening chorus were tuning their voices, but out beyond the shallows Min had hardly moved. Will stripped back down and braved the water one last time. It was surprisingly warm after the chill in the air.

  Min greeted him with little mews, pressing into him for contact. Will stroked him from head to tail, still in awe that a wild creature would let him do this. But he was worried that he hadn’t seen Min eat since they’d arrived from Brookes Bay. Maybe Pania was right. ‘Okay! I give up!’ he called over to her. ‘Chuck the salmon here!’

  She smirked triumphantly, good-humoured sarcasm dripping from her voice. ‘Good plan! It’s genius!’ She looked about five years old. Cheeky and shiny-eyed.

  But, even when he presented the salmon right in front of Min, the orca merely nosed it back to Will. ‘Come on, mate. You’ve got to eat.’ He floated the salmon in front of Min again and jiggled it.

  Carefully Min took the dead fish between his teeth and shook it, as Will had. Then he spat it back to Will. Whistled and clicked. Eyed him, a flicker of humour lurking in those remarkably complex depths.

  ‘You’re not even trying!’ It wasn’t as though he could load up a spoon and pretend to fly it into the ‘hangar’ like his mum had done when he was small. Just how long could a baby orca go without?

  What the hell to do? All he could picture were mother birds regurgitating half-digested fish. He shuddered, almost gagging. Come on, come on. He sucked in two deep breaths and took hold of the salmon’s dorsal fin with his teeth. Now he really gagged; couldn’t contain it. But he presented the fish to Min, humming a high-pitched tone he hoped would sound pleading.

  He could feel Min’s attention sharpen, a burst of energy shooting at him through the water. Min’s tail twitched. He plucked the salmon from Will’s mouth so suddenly Will gasped. Bad move. He floundered backwards, choking, coughing, and scrabbled to get footing on the rocky seabed.

  In the meantime Min had swallowed the fish. ‘You little beauty!’ Will planted a
kiss on his snout, ridiculously relieved.

  ‘Here.’ Pania waved the three gurnard by their tails. ‘Try these as well.’

  The fish splashed down around Will and to his relief Min went for them straight away. He swallowed them without the need for further games, just as Hunter’s boat manoeuvred in beneath the arch of rocks.

  He drove the tinny up onto the shingle beach. ‘Hey, Pans. Your mum said to head back straight away,’ he said. ‘She wants you home before dark.’

  Pania shrugged. ‘True. I guess I’d better go.’ Reluctance bled off her. She called to Will, who was still treading water beside Min. ‘You want me to come back tomorrow?’

  ‘If you can. Though don’t go out of your way. We—’

  ‘Look, if you don’t—’

  Was she trying to get out of it or wanting a proper invitation? ‘Come. Please. The more of us the better.’

  A smile lit her face. ‘Okay. Cool.’ She packed up and headed off, waving as she manoeuvred out between the rocks.

  While Hunter unloaded extra stores Will floated on his back and sang to Min until his throat grew tight with tiredness.

  Finally he staggered from the water and dried himself off. Between the day’s dramas and all the swimming he was so buggered his eyes kept drooping shut. As the night set in he and Hunter hunkered over the fire, talking about everything from the weather to the stupid antics of the tourists and how to keep Harley’s threats at bay. But after a while Hunter’s voice started going in one ear and out the other, Will too weary now to take it in. He crawled into the tent and wriggled into his sleeping bag. Beyond the tent, possums crashed through the bush; further away, he heard the expiration of Min’s blowhole adding a brush-beat to the whisper of the lapping tide. He sighed, feeling all the day’s stress unravel, and let the night sounds lull him off to sleep.