Singing Home the Whale

by Hager, Mandy

  Night after night my Song Boy came, always when the world was still. In the dappled dark we shared our secret songs, and our lack of understanding for each other’s meanings mattered not. Fine feelings fed us, kept us close. I felt the music of his mind — and like to think he heard the whisper of the wit in mine.

  Amid his open outpourings I also felt the feelings that were floating there. I sensed his worry, hurts and heartbreaks, yearnings, woes — all leaked from simple shifts and slantings in his songs.

  I sang my sorrows too, and let my longings linger with his own. But when the darkness grew too gloomy I sang of White World, of the wind-hewn hills and endless ice floes, fat fur seals, the green shimmer of solstice skies.

  I took great comfort from our night-time natterings, nestled with my Song Boy, safe from those who hoped to do me harm. But when first light freed up the night, he had to leave, and I would slink back to that quiet cove, fretful fear always following.

  At first I was alone, but soon a horde of Hungry Ones began to haunt me as I set about my day. After the tearing of my fin I did not trust them, not at all; I shied away. But, though they never came too close, they marked my every move, stares unshifting, talk untamed. It did not seem to matter how I tried to hide, they found me still. And, day on day, their fleets grew greater, freedoms gone.

  It was with wonder that I watched old Walrus Whiskers see them off, time on time, anger always arising as he herded them away. Fiery feuds were fought, moods murderous. But, in the end, his warrings worked; all gazers gone.

  One morning, after many moons and dragging days, my Song Boy came back to the cove, brought Broad Boy and Good Girl too. As light lapped at the tallest trees we sang, sounds swirling up around us, feelings flying fresh and free. And when the final strains were swallowed by the air, the Good Girl glided out to greet me after Song Boy bundled back into the boat.

  Ah, now Good Girl, she sent forth such a sweetness, so mild and merry I was swept up in her spell — and I sensed Song Boy shared my soft spot for her warming ways.

  In the end, although I loved those nights and that one dappled day, to go from Song Boy’s nightly nestling to the daytime’s lonely longings hit me hard. We are the same in this, both Beings and Hungry Ones; it is our clans — our close connections — that tie us to our truths. They tell us how to read our roots. Need skin on skin, mind to mind. We brush with other breathing bodies to know we are alive. To treasure it.

  But alive I was, twice tricking death. Twice taken in by Song Boy and his humble Human heart.

  The days passed in a blur of tiredness. Every night Will waited till midnight then trekked down to the marina. Through the darkest hours he bobbed in the water next to Min. At first light he crept home again to re-emerge for breakfast before collapsing into bed the moment Dean had left for work. He’d sleep till lunch time. Drag himself up and work through his Correspondence assignments. Then go through the whole cycle again.

  Meanwhile, Blythe was awash with Min-related dramas. As word was whispered around that Min was hanging out in Gleneden, sightseers flocked in camera-clicking droves. Harley Andrews had his work cut out, buzzing around, threatening everyone he’d ticket them. Of course, he didn’t. But he got the word around that Min was off-limits, and by the middle of the second week the flow of tourists had slowed.

  At the same time, Cathy took charge of the concert. Tickets were flying out the door at twenty bucks a pop and bands from as far away as Wellington and Christchurch had agreed to play. She reckoned they might even make the news — Will’s worst nightmare.

  On the Wednesday before, Hunter knocked at his window just on midday. Will staggered out, still fugged by sleep, and let him in.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Hunter thrust a digital camera in his face. ‘Can you come? Dad’s flown up north for a meeting so Pania’s skipped school — it’s okay, Cathy said she could take us in Mike’s boat.’

  The thought of the camera churned Will’s gut. He’d tried not to think of it, and every time he did his mind sheered off, memories and anxieties kicking in. But he and Dean had shook on it and, though he wished otherwise, he had to honour it. Had to. Dean had backed up Will’s half-truths to his parents. Sent them reassuring messages of his own. Whether for the sake of his mother’s peace of mind or Will’s it didn’t matter. The main thing was Will’s parents had no inkling of what was going on.

  But things weren’t smooth for Dean, with Bruce exploiting every opportunity to bait him. Dean arrived home each night with a scowl so fixed it looked like a death mask from the old Greek tragedies.

  Hunter kicked the doorstep as he waited for Will to respond.

  ‘What do I need?’ He picked a speck of crusted sleep from his tear duct.

  ‘Depends how much of that puny body you want to show!’ Hunter prodded Will’s long thin arm. ‘Pania reckons we should film you in with Min, to prove how safe he is.’

  Will bit back a groan. ‘Wetsuit then.’ It would make no difference; he’d still feel naked. Look like a dick. ‘Hold on a sec. I need a piss.’

  He went to the loo then slapped together two cheese sandwiches, snarfing them down as they collected his wetsuit and walked down to join Pania at the boat.

  As Pania manoeuvred off the wharf he asked, ‘How are we going to get past Harley?’

  ‘Mum’s sorted that.’ Pania steered a steady course between the channel markings. ‘One of her friends phoned in a fake complaint.’ She laughed. ‘Maude told him tourists were bagging undersized pāua down near Blackhall’s Bay. He left about half an hour ago. It’ll take him hours.’

  Will smiled to please her, though impending doom pressed hard. They’d all rallied around him — given him no way out — or he probably would’ve handed himself in by now. There was no point pretending he could pay the fine. But too many people had put themselves on the line for him, and it felt like he was toting round a hundred-kilo pack of expectations and old shit.

  When they idled through the jagged arch into Gleneden, Will pointed straight towards the overhanging trees. Min lingered there, blending with the shadows. Will whistled and Min’s head shot up. He spy-hopped, mouth open in a toothy grin.

  Will dragged on the wetsuit. Turned his back on Pania as he hopped around in his boxer shorts. The neoprene was still damp from his midnight jaunt, a nightmare to pull on. While he wrestled, Hunter threw a buoy over the side, its rope tied to the boat.

  ‘If you grab onto this, it’ll hold you up. We’ll move away a bit so it’s just you and Min.’

  Will froze until logic beat its way between the taunts inside his head. Stop being paranoid. This wasn’t about him; it was a chance to show off Min.

  He slipped into the water, buffeted by Min’s excited greeting, keen to see his wound in daylight. It looked less raw now, cleaner. Hunter gave him no time to prepare, turning on the camera as Pania reversed off and cut the motor. Such looks of expectation. The trouble was he didn’t have a clue what he was going to sing. Something operatic? No. They’d laugh. From The Mikado? No. He couldn’t think. Felt wretched. Yes, that was the word, he’d had to sing it once, not sure where.

  He dived under the water and Min was there, smiling back at him with his amazing all-knowing eyes. Amazing. Wretched. Of course! The oldies would love it. As would Min.

  He bobbed back up and took hold of the buoy. Ran his hand along Min’s side and cleared his throat. He closed his eyes. Blew out a few deep breaths but couldn’t bring himself to open up his eyes again. Would have to do it blind or else he’d not get through.

  ‘Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see …’ He sang it slow, focusing his breathing to sustain the notes. The lyrics made him want to cry. He fought to control himself as Min’s alien harmonies rose up and wove around him.

  Colours swirled behind his eyelids, reds, blues, greens, giving way to silver as he reached for the high notes. ‘Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have
already come; ’Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far, and Grace will lead me home.’ Tears snaked down his cheeks as a hot welling-up radiated through his chest.

  When it was over, Hunter whooped. Will forced his eyes open.

  ‘Holy crap! If that doesn’t do it, nothing will!’ Hunter grinned like The Joker.

  Pania rubbed her nose. ‘That was unbelievable.’

  He felt shaky. Exhausted. Swam over to the boat and heaved himself aboard. Min edged up to the outboard motor. Started blowing bubbles and sounding off in perfect imitation of the propeller’s whine. Will had to laugh. ‘You go,’ he said to Pania. ‘It looks like he’s in play mode.’

  Her eyes popped wide. ‘You mean me swim with him?’

  ‘Go on. We’ll keep watch.’

  ‘But I don’t have my togs.’

  Will turned to Hunter. ‘Think we can handle that?’ Hunter nodded, slightly flustered. Will turned his back on her and Hunter did the same.

  There was some scrabbling then a splash. He turned back in time to see her eye to eye with Min, who nosed around her, clicking.

  ‘Hello, baby.’ Soothing as warm honey. She reached over and circled his spout with the flat of her hand, in one smooth stroke. ‘It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.’ Min responded with a watery purr, clearly smitten.

  Will stretched out along the vinyl seat and scraped his hair out of his eyes. Tamed it with the elastic band again. Eyed Hunter. ‘So, what’s been happening with you, man? Is everything okay?’ The bruising around Hunter’s eye had nearly faded.

  Hunter shrugged. ‘Dad’s psycho. One of his silent partners is threatening to pull out. He’s gone to Welly to see the bank.’

  ‘Is it — safe? I mean, for you to be there?’ Please god he didn’t make Hunter’s life any worse. ‘If you want to stay home on Saturday that’s fine with me.’

  Hunter rubbed his nose with thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m okay. He’s always been like this.’ He turned away and made a big deal of checking the camera.

  Will dropped his head back and let the sun warm him. He really hoped Hunter wasn’t going to pay for this. He must check with Dean. Behind him, Pania crooned a waiata he’d not heard before. A lilting song in a minor key — A minor, in fact — with a crisp percussive chorus. He closed his eyes to listen as the birds countered her warm caramel-sweet alto. Then he heard it: Min joining in! For a nanosecond he was jealous, but then he let the strangeness gather him up. Min sounded like one of those two-stringed Asian instruments he’d heard an old busker play in Cuba Mall back home.

  Hunter scrabbled for the camera again. ‘Far out!’

  It was electrifying to see the two connecting — as amazing to Will as singing with Min himself. The look on Pania’s face could only be described as orgasmic — or what he figured that would look like — softened, dewy, glowing from the inside out. Did he look the same when he sang? He cringed. Soon bloody know. But in Pania it was beautiful. He couldn’t look away.

  THAT NIGHT HE WAITED UNTIL Dean sat down for dinner. Will had cooked chicken with little spuds and beans fresh from the garden.

  ‘Do you reckon Hunter’s safe?’

  Dean swallowed awkwardly. ‘It’s a worry. One day that kid’s gonna have to whack Bruce or he’ll never break free.’

  ‘Why the hell doesn’t he? He’s big enough.’

  ‘My fault I think.’ Dean lined up his remaining beans, which looked to Will like gangrened fingers. ‘When he hit thirteen he was so full of hormones, so bloody angry, I was scared if he took a swipe at Bruce he’d kill him. Or vice versa. I told him to control himself; made him bugger off whenever he felt the urge. Now Bruce gives him a hiding and that giant kid just takes it — but it eats him up inside. He’s just like Helen.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he leave?’

  ‘Too late. He may as well hang around now, though, in my book, he’d be better off not living in the same house. I offered to have him stay with me but he said no. It would’ve showed Bruce up — and Bruce doesn’t like that — not at all.’

  Will brushed away a hovering fly as he waded through the unsaid undercurrents. ‘Why not insist?’

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried? Bruce has broken him. He doesn’t have the confidence. Besides, the mighty empire’s crumbling. Bruce might think Hunter’s stupid but that kid’s smart enough to know the end is nigh.’ Dean sighed. He put down his knife and fork and spread his fingers along the edge of the table. Flexed them. ‘I’ve kept tabs on Bruce for years and, trust me, he’s had some right dodgy dealings. I’m quietly collecting evidence … and when he pisses someone off enough — well, then, I’ll make my move.’

  ‘Jesus. What if he catches you? He’s dangerous. Crazy.’

  ‘I gave Helen my word I’d look out for Hunter. And, anyway, I like him. In many ways he’s got a lot of guts.’

  ‘I’ll pull out of the concert. I don’t want to—’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I’ve been doing a bit of soul-searching too and you’re right. I’ve let that bastard call the shots for far too long. He’s turned me hard.’ Dean picked up his cutlery again. ‘Don’t worry, mate. I can handle Bruce.’ He stripped the meat off a chicken drumstick in one bite. Downed it just as quickly. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’

  ‘Nope.’ Will wished he hadn’t asked them all for help. ‘I mean, yes. I guess.’

  ‘Well, if it gets too much, give me the nod. You look like shit.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, but the word stuck awkwardly. He promised himself he’d fess up about his midnight jaunts, just as soon as the concert was over.

  SATURDAY DAWNED COOL AND OVERCAST. Will woke at midday with a headache, still knackered from his night vigil. The concert was at seven that evening in the local hall, but he’d been roped in early to help tie up balloons to make the place more ‘festive’. Lipstick on a pig.

  He took a shower then rummaged through the fridge for breakfast. Was frying eggs when Dean came in, looking as jittery as Will felt.

  Will tried to keep his tone light. ‘So, have you done the deed?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Tonight. Who’re you taking?’

  Dean waggled an eyebrow. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  ‘I’m gonna find out anyway.’

  ‘Well, then, it’ll be a nice surprise!’

  ‘So the mystery woman said yes?’

  Dean snorted. ‘That bloody woman can’t just say yes, she has to give me a full-blown lecture first.’ He shook his head. ‘The things I do for you, kid …’ He slapped Will on the back. ‘I’ve gotta go back to work this arvo — bloody Bruce insisted I do a stocktake, today of all days — but I promise I’ll be back by six.’

  When Dean had eaten, Will wandered out to see him off again, too restless to stay cooped up inside. He started pulling weeds out of the vege patch. Anything, to keep from freaking out. Though Hunter said the clip was fine, the boos and insults in Will’s head said otherwise. He tried to Zen his mind; worked through all the vocal exercises his singing teacher had taught him to combat pre-performance nerves. But he sounded crap. And his thoughts still rampaged.

  By three, Will was too wired to pull out the last few fiddly weeds. His kept listing all the reasons Min needed the kind of help he’d just been fined for — and they sounded stupid now. He retreated to his computer and watched the clips of the orca in Puget Sound again. It could’ve been Min. He even did the same damn trick impersonating an outboard motor! Incredible. He couldn’t let Min die like Luna. It would be such a waste.

  Try as he might to curb the harbingers of his panic attacks, he failed. His heart was racing, sweat pouring off. The old insults rose up and choked him. He slapped his hand over his mouth and ran, reaching the doorway of the loo just as the vomit hit. He dived for the bowl. Retched and retched. It stunk like it had been swilling in his gut for months.

  After the retching stopped he slithered down the wall, foulness on his tongue. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face a hall of small-town knockers like that Gab
by Taylor. Couldn’t put himself out there again, not after everything. If he went to jail, too bad. He didn’t care. At least there he’d be left alone.

  Except his parents would be wracked with guilt. And Dean. Get a grip. I’m seventeen, not seven. Come on, come on, man. Think of Min. If he didn’t do it and Min died he’d hate himself. This was his best chance to convince them that Harley’s way was madness — and Bruce’s madder still.

  He hauled himself back off the floor and flushed away the evidence. Set the shower on cold and let the water beat some sense into his pounding head.

  At ten to five he jogged down to Blythe’s local hall and found himself sucked into a cauldron of activity. Cathy goaded several over-excited boys into shifting chairs while Pania swept the floor around them. Up on the stage, four huge guys tuned up guitars and fiddled with amps. Pania waved Will through to the kitchen, where Nanny M was fighting with a cylinder of helium for the balloons.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Let me do that.’

  ‘Ah, William! Listen to this!’ She sucked on the airflow pipe and spoke, exactly like Min’s Donald Duck act. ‘Bet you didn’t think old Nanny knew how to do that, eh boy?’ She laughed in a shrill falsetto until she coughed.

  When she’d recovered he reached over to take it from her and she stroked his cheek with one dry finger. ‘You look too pale, moko. You coming down with something?’

  Will shrugged. ‘Does stage fright count?’

  ‘Pania says she heard you sing. She said it made her cry.’

  ‘That bad?’

  She elbowed him. ‘Hush boy. Learn to take the compliment.’

  He nodded, too tense to go on chatting, though she seemed content to sit beside him without demanding anything back.

  When, finally, he figured out how to fill the balloons, he couldn’t make his fingers work to tie the knots. His hands were too sweaty and shook as if he had Parkinson’s. But, in the end, the kitchen ceiling sprouted a sea of black and white balloons, strings dangling, like lethargic orca sperm.