Singing Home the Whale

by Hager, Mandy

  HE WOKE TO THE DRONE of an engine. Lay in the orange glow of the tent as morning light funnelled in through the front flap. He shed the sleeping bag like a snakeskin and edged past the sweaty mountain of Hunter’s sleeping body. He hadn’t meant to sleep so late.

  Gabby smirked at him from the wheel of the little cabin cruiser as he staggered out. Bloody hell. A man, two women and two kids crammed along the cruiser’s deck. Tourists, sporting cameras and fitted out in expensive pastel sportswear. Their accents reached him as he sprinted for the water. German?

  He cast around for Min, his heart thumping. Saw a dorsal fin camouflaged in the shade of an overhanging pōhutukawa in the cove’s deepest corner. Thank god.

  Gabby must have tracked his gaze. ‘There he is!’ She turned the boat and edged it over towards Min.

  ‘Keep away from him!’ Will tripped on loose stones, stubbing his middle toe. He hobbled on. Hauled off his sweatshirt and jeans and dived straight in. He pounded over to Min’s side, barely registering his squeals of welcome.

  Gabby brought the boat to within two metres of Min. When she throttled off she turned to her passengers, all smiles. ‘You’re very lucky. Not many people get to see a baby orca so close up.’

  ‘Get out!’ Will’s blood was fizzing. ‘He’s not a bloody tourist show. He’s injured and he needs to rest.’

  His audience shuffled awkwardly as Gabby switched off the motor and threw an anchor over the side.

  Hunter emerged from the tent, tousled and squinting. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Gabby turned to Will. ‘We’re perfectly entitled to be here — way more than you. Why don’t you piss off.’

  Will wanted to smack her so bad it hurt. He’d heard that same bullying tone too many times before. Her smirk was as irritating as jock rash. ‘I’ll report you to that Harley guy. This is harassment.’

  Hunter was furiously punting over to Will’s side, wielding an oar like a warrior. He glided in between them, a brick shithouse in a boat. ‘Go home. Harley’ll go nuts if he sees you’ve brought people out.’

  Min tucked himself in behind Will, who looped his arm around Min’s firm body to bolster him. Buddies. Moral support.

  ‘How did she know where to find us?’ Will shot at Hunter, too angry to think straight.

  Hunter groaned and slapped his big meaty hand against his brow. ‘Me. Simone. Yesterday.’ He looked miserable.

  Aboard Gabby’s boat, one of the children started whining.

  ‘Excuse me …’ The man, who looked Olympic fit, leaned out and tried to push Hunter’s boat aside. ‘We have good money paid—’

  Anger roared in Will’s ears. ‘You charged them?’

  Gabby crossed her arms, legs astride. ‘Course. It’s a long way out here. Uses a lot of diesel.’

  ‘How much did you pay her?’ Will asked the man.

  ‘Fifty dollars each for boat ride and another one hundred to swim with it.’

  Will’s head felt like it was going to explode. ‘You exploitative bitch.’ He clambered over the side, into the tinny, furious and dripping as he stood up to eyeball Gabby. ‘No one’s getting in the water with him, okay? He’s injured and he’s vulnerable. I’ll report anyone who tries.’

  Gabby wasn’t smirking now. Her face was as pinched and mean as a scrappy Pekingese. ‘Oh yeah? Well, I’ll report you then. We’ll soon see who Harley believes.’

  ‘Back off, Gabs,’ Hunter said. ‘Harley knows about this, so you—’

  ‘Shut up, Hunts. You think I care what you say? Your brain was screwed up by your boozer of a mother before you were even born.’

  Hunter flushed beetroot red, his shoulders slumping at her words. The adults in her boat watched on, as if it was a sideshow for their benefit. The two kids looked scared.

  Will couldn’t stand to see Hunter so cowed. He turned and addressed their audience. ‘What this crook hasn’t told you is that if you get in the water with him you can be fined ten thousand bucks. In fact you can just be fined for coming in this close. You take one step closer — or get in the water with him — and I’ll be calling up the Fisheries guy.’ He glanced at Hunter. ‘You got your phone on you?’ Hunter nodded. ‘Good. Then take their photos now. Harley might need them for evidence in court.’

  Hunter’s face lit up. He grinned and pulled his mobile from his pocket. Slipped it from its waterproof pouch and starting taking snapshots, one person at a time.

  ‘Now hold on to your horses there.’ The man held his hand in front of his face to prevent his photo being taken. Turned to Gabby. ‘Good money we paid. I will not—’

  ‘Chill out!’ she snarled. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’ She elbowed the two women out of the way and leaned right out over the water, directing a lethal hiss at Hunter. ‘You know I need the money, Hunts. Since when did you side with the townies?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, returning his phone to his pocket. ‘But Will’s right. Min needs to—’

  ‘Min? You’ve called it Min? What’s that short for? Minuscule penises, after you and him?’ She laughed, a cockatoo screech, and looked to her audience for applause. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. These dickheads here will move now if they know what’s good for them.’ She, too, took her mobile from her pocket and brandished it in front of her. ‘I’m sure Uncle Bruce would love to know what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘Jesus, Gabby, don’t be a bitch. If this’s about money, then how much do you need?’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Will said to Hunter. ‘She’s playing you, man, can’t you see?’ Will addressed the perplexed tourists. ‘Sorry folks. The show’s cancelled. I suggest you ask her for your money back and head back into town.’

  One of the women shuffled nervously. ‘Please, Gabrielle. We’d like for you to take us back. We don’t want to make any trouble.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Gabby said. She dialled a number on her phone and held it up to her ear. ‘Hello, Uncle Bruce? It’s Gabs. I—’

  Will lunged. His momentum fired the tinny backwards as he propelled himself at her. He managed to knock the phone out of her hand before he plummeted into the gap between the boats, rapping his head against the side of the cruiser as he sank below the surface. The impact was so hard it jolted right down through his spine.

  For a moment he could do nothing, his brain convulsing as it crashed around inside his skull. He was sinking, unable to respond to the pull of gravity. Then he felt himself propelled upwards, vomited from the sea as Min pushed him from below and Hunter fished him up by one arm. He collapsed across the gunwale of the tinny and coughed up salty phlegm, his head pounding. Above its thump he heard the buzzing of raised voices but couldn’t seem to collect his mind to decipher what they were saying.

  Then, to his amazement and relief, he heard the cruiser’s motor start back up. Gabby threw it into gear and powered away, leaving them tossed in its wake. Once the rocking died down Will finally raised his head. Hunter was sitting in the tinny, head in hands.

  ‘Thanks,’ Will said.

  Hunter sniffed. ‘No worries.’ He looked like hell.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She’ll dump us in the shit, no two ways about it. When she’s on the rampage nothing will stop her.’

  ‘She’ll tell Bruce?’

  Hunter nodded, his expression hardening.

  ‘Jesus, man, I’m so sorry. Put all the blame on me. Don’t take the rap yourself.’

  Hunter shrugged. ‘Forget it.’ He picked up the oar and paddled them back to shore, Min nosing around the hull as if he, too, was worried for their fate.

  Will dried himself and fussed around the campsite, tidying, shifting things pointlessly just to keep moving. Hunter fiddled with the motor of the tinny then threw himself into the water, seeking solace with Min. Will watched from the shore as Min worked his charm, the tension in Hunter’s face retreating as he and Min played catch with driftwood. At least Min seemed livelier today, more like himself. This should’ve lifted Wil
l’s spirits, but the threat of Bruce and Harley hanging over him was like a brewing storm. It didn’t help that the knock to his head had left him with a headache so bad his eyes watered if he moved too fast.

  Hunter’s phone rang in his discarded jeans but he ignored it, and when Will offered to answer, after it had rung for the third time, Hunter insisted he leave it be. It would be Bruce, he said. No point.

  When Harley motored into the cove just before noon, Will felt a strange inevitability settle over him, just like it had in those last excruciating minutes before he’d been attacked that night. Then, in his drunken fog, time had slowed. He could still clearly see the scene, like he was on the outside looking in: his boot knocking a bottle over as he tried to stagger around the three hunched figures. The crazed look in their eyes as they’d taken in his state. Then came the moment when he’d felt the shift; when they clicked that he was drunk and vulnerable — and on his own. That’s when he’d truly blown it — said something stupid — what was it? What was it? Oh god, yes, something from Macbeth — the three stooped figures so like the three witches in his fuddled brain, out he’d come with it: ‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air.’ Well, that was what he’d meant to say … God knows what they thought he’d said, but that’s when the man with the rotting teeth had lunged at him; caught him by the foot and brought him down. He was far too pissed to guard himself. Fell heavily, his head hitting the concrete curb, sparks exploding in his mind. Then, through the mist of pain, the knife …

  Will shook it off and swallowed back the aftertaste as Harley beached his boat and lumbered out.

  ‘I warned you,’ he said. ‘No trouble. No publicity.’ He scratched his head. Waited for Hunter to scrabble ashore. ‘Your father has been on at me.’

  Will felt the tension building in his gut. Watched Hunter blanch.

  Harley took a notepad from his shirt pocket. Turned to Will. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but now I have to act.’

  Sounds streak through seas in waves, my friends, sometimes in a scrabbled storm, othertimes weak and wispy. But they are always overwhelming when the mood is mean. That day the air was wild with anger, calls cutting, cries clashing, unwelcome rabble ranting as they threw around unwanted weight.

  Then the Human with the walrus whiskers slipped in and stole my Song Boy; plucked him from our stronghold and shipped him off. Once again, I found myself filled with that formless fear.

  So when Broad Boy fled in their wake I followed too, not willing to wait in that cooped-up cove alone. I wailed, whimpered, worried, but when Song Boy tried to soothe me with a sound or touch, Walrus Whiskers halted him. I sensed such hardness hurt his heart; knew he was as soul-sick for the loss of me as I was him.

  The harbour was awash with Hungry Ones and, though I hunkered at the edges of the turning tide, I felt their eyes eat into me, lusts looming large. I saw my Song Boy break away, seeking out some sign of me, but though I ached to answer — to feel the comfort of his healing hands — I was too scared to show myself amongst those Human hordes.

  Instead I watched a crowd crush in around him, Broad Boy bursting through to stand beside him, as wild words rang out. They swarmed like sardines in a shifty swell, yet in their midst my Song Boy stood quite still. I could feel his fury, sense his struggle, read his rage as those around him fought in a fog of unforgiveness and unfounded hate.

  Walrus Whiskers held his ground. His song took on the tone of threats, a hateful hymn. And in the end the Hungry Ones slipped off, battle bypassed, no lives lost. But my Song Boy, too, was swept up in the wake of their leave-taking, and soon the shore was empty, as was I.

  For the rest of that whole day, and well into the next, I waited just beyond the harbour yet, in all that time, not one lone look was cast at me. It was as if I’d turned to air, was as hidden as glass-octopodes who lurk down deep. This casting-off was both unnerving and unkind.

  It was an awful time, spurned by all, in fear for Song Boy. To be so shunned rubbed up roughly against all my other hurt and loss.

  My mind mulled the bond I had sealed with Song Boy. The sharing of our sounds tied us together; his care and kindness helped to start the healing of my broken heart. We forged a friendship in the face of all our otherness. Found ways to bridge the gaps between.

  Ah, now here’s the nub: we both are Warm-bloods with an inborn need to breathe fresh air; both able to open up our minds. Therein lies the gift of this. By searching out our sameness, we formed a faith to work towards the coming together of our kinds.

  Though, at the time, my heart was sick with sadness. Hope is hard to hold onto when one is little and alone.

  Will’s head pounded so hard he felt the echoes of it pulsing through his stomach. ‘You are joking?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Harley Andrews sighed and scratched his bald spot. ‘Now there’s an official complaint I have to follow through.’

  ‘You gonna fine me too?’ Hunter looked ready to combust.

  ‘Nope. Just Mr Jackson here — for now. He’s the one who started this.’

  ‘That’s fucking unbelievable!’ Hunter kicked out, showering the stern of Harley’s boat with grit. It sounded like a spatter of machine-gun fire. ‘You just saw me in the water with him.’

  Harley tugged at his moustache. ‘Look, Hunter. Keep out of this. We don’t want things to get ugly.’

  ‘Ugly? You think it can get any uglier than fining Will ten grand for helping save the orca’s life?’

  ‘Jesus kid, when did you get so mouthy? Loose lips sink ships.’

  Hunter drew himself up to his full height. ‘No offence, Harley, but Will’s right and you know it. Bugger you.’

  Will clapped him on the back. ‘Thanks, man.’ He dredged in a deep breath. He’d missed having a friend, someone to ride back-up. He was fast coming to the conclusion it was possible to be too alone — especially when shit went down. And this was definitely total shit. The set of Harley’s shoulders made it clear there was to be no arguing. This wasn’t about Min at all. It was a power play — and Bruce held all the cards.

  Out past the shallows Min was spy-hopping, more animated than he’d been all day. He clearly knew something was up. So please you, Sir, we much regret, If we have failed in etiquette, Towards a man of rank so high, We shall know better by and by …

  Hunter was still arguing with Harley, their voices droning over the thump of Will’s headache. Boom, b-boom, boom, b-boom. It’s a hopeless case, As you may see, And in your place, Away I’d flee; But don’t blame me — I’m sorry to be, Of your pleasure a diminutioner … For a second the lyrics made him smile. Under threat from the Lord High Executioner. Perfect.

  ‘… and paid within twenty-one days.’ Harley took a sudden interest in his knuckles.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’ll have twenty-one days to pay the fine or else you’ll end up in court.’ He was flushed, crimson splotches overlaying his peeled sunburn.

  ‘And if I won’t pay?’ Won’t? Who was he kidding?

  ‘Then that’s for a court to decide. But it’s a big sum so it could mean, well, it could mean a short period of probation, or community service — or maybe detention.’

  The lyrics thrummed in his head. Behold the Lord High Executioner, A personage of noble rank and title. A dignified and potent officer, Whose functions are particularly vital! It was so stupid, so totally surreal, he couldn’t take it seriously. But Hunter had paled, the rims of his eyes reddening, on the verge of tears. The reality of it hit Will like a fist. He slumped. Groaned.

  Hunter loomed over him. ‘You okay?’

  Will took in his freckles, his amber-flecked eyes. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t risk sounding like a terrified little kid. He nodded but his brain screamed No!

  ‘I’m going to take you back to Blythe,’ Harley said. ‘The orca’s now officially off limits.’

  There was no point fighting. All he wanted was to crawl back to bed. He’d failed Min. And worse, he could go to jail. Ta da! Give
another round of applause to Will of the Living Dead. Ten grand or ten million, no difference. He’d never raise it. And he’d be damned if he’d ask Mum or Dad — or Dean. They’d freak.

  He levered himself back up, lights shooting around the edges of his vision. A stress migraine. Utterly typical.

  He turned to Hunter. ‘I hate to ask, but could you sort my gear?’

  Hunter nodded. ‘No worries. I’ll follow you guys in.’ He went straight to work, packing down the tent while Harley escorted Will from the cove, then trailed them, Min dashing between the two boats and crying when he came in eye contact with Will.

  The pleading tone shredded Will’s heart. He reached over to comfort him, couldn’t help it, fingertips brushing along the tip of his fin.

  ‘Leave it.’ Harley clamped a hand down on his shoulder. ‘Don’t even look. The more you tame him, the bigger the risk.’

  Will hummed death metal to stop an angry tirade breaking out. Inside his skull he screamed at Harley that Bruce was Min’s only danger. That he’d seen the clips on YouTube. He understood the issues. Knew that the best outcome was to get Min home. Meanwhile, Min’s constant crying made him feel like he was being flayed. All he could do was transmit sorrow and regret.

  They reached Blythe around five-thirty, surprised by a crowd down at the wharf. As they drew near, Will spotted Pania and Viv among them, along with others from the marae. Even Nanny M was there. And Pania’s mother, Cathy, too. As Harley docked the boat, they all surged forward.

  ‘What the hell is this, Harley?’ Viv called.

  ‘Hold your horses. He had fair warning.’

  ‘Bullshit. Hunter phoned us. You’re harassing him for Bruce.’

  Harley’s ears glowed pink. ‘Come on. I don’t write the rules. And, anyway, there’s plenty of evidence. You all saw him on the news.’

  Gabby stepped from the shadows with Simone, her faithful lapdog.