Singing Home the Whale

by Hager, Mandy

  ‘What, sing non-stop for ten hours?’

  ‘You wanna save him?’

  ‘Course I do. But you’re talking about stealing a boat probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and taking it through one of the roughest stretches of water on the planet in a frickin’ southerly! Your head must be way more munted than they thought.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Hunter closed his eyes.

  Bugger. Why the hell had he said that? It sounded just the kind of put-down Bruce would use. ‘Sorry, man. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.’

  Hunter’s eyes flicked open for just a second. ‘I know. It’s cool.’

  Hunter was probably right about Min following if he sang, though whether he’d be able to hear him over the engine was another story. And as for stealing Bruce’s boat, well … Though, actually, what the hell, he was already in the crap. If he could somehow pull it off — get Min back with his family — it’d be worth whatever they threw at him. And it wasn’t like he had a life to ruin. But it would have to be tomorrow night, if Gabby heard Bruce right. Could he trust her, though? Possibly. She wasn’t the type to say sorry if she didn’t have to.

  His heart was thumping, emotions shooting everywhere. There is beauty in the bellow of the blast, There is grandeur in the growling of the gale, There is eloquent outpouring, When the lion is a-roaring, And the tiger is a-lashing of his tail! Oh, for god’s sake, bloody Mikado. Now its lyrics weren’t just haunting him, they were trying to tell him what to do!

  Through the darkness Hunter’s voice broke in. ‘Tell you what: if you’ve got the balls to nick Dad’s boat I’ll press charges against him. Do it, Will. You’d save Min’s life.’

  Holy hell. Talk about bargaining with the Devil. But what Hunter offered up was as dangerous to him — both physically and mentally — as any illegal orca rescue. More so. At least if Will pulled it off he’d have something to cheer about. What would Hunter have? A hollow victory and no father, just a psychopathic prick in jail … with any luck. But speaking up had to be the right thing to do. The only thing to do. And if it meant him doing something crazy to spur Hunter on, then it was worth it.

  He reached over and carefully shook Hunter’s hand. ‘All right, you crazy bastard. I know I’m gonna regret this, but you’re on.’

  You may wonder why we old ones always sing around in circles. To remember, to remember, and to spread our songs so all will hear. When we were young we took our elders’ kindness as a token of the truth that life was fair. But, we, dear friends, know otherwise. Fairness only forms from willingness to open up the heart — and from fairness freedom comes. I’m sure my Song Boy felt this too, for in that time of total trust and touch, we heard each other’s heart. And, heed me, friends: once heard, only a fool forgets.

  He came to me at midnight, the moon licking the lips of waves, and called for me to meet him at the harbour’s edge. I waited two long nights and days to hear his soaring song alight again; was filled with hope and happiness; had feared he’d lost his way. Though the Good Girl came and gave me comfort, how I missed the company of my one and only Boy.

  There was a whisper on the wind that night, a whine, which told of wild weather brewing down in White World’s skies. After he held me, drew me near so I could feel his friendship flow, he boarded a big booming boat, eyes ever on me, and started singing sweetly; somehow sent it down beneath the surface as he egged me out to sea.

  I followed as the night grew darker, led on by his lulling song. Out past the squalls of salmon, further than the comfort of that tiny cove, until we reached the wild unfettered waters that linked the two long lengths of land. And still he sang, tunes tumbling out, and though I longed to linger, pined for play, I could not spurn his call. It had me, held me, hungered for me. Spurred me on.

  Ever onwards Song Boy led me, heading towards dawn’s new day. As sunlight swamped the dark I sensed a tightening, a tingling, a reawakening deep inside. I knew, yes truly knew, that many of my kin, my kind, once passed this way. Like The Pulse, and our most long-lived songs, the paths we ply are known deep within us; we Beings have wended them since our first seaborne souls were birthed.

  A feathered wind whipped up the waves, seabirds shot skyward, clouds speeding ever faster from the freezing south. But still he sang, his throat so torn and tattered his sound was tossed up by the waves and whisked away. And so, to help, I added in my own — could not hold back — hoping against hope my cosy clan would pass and hear my plea to seek me, save me, take me back.

  Fate is a fickle friend: one moment giving, the next whipping it all away. One wins, lots lose. Back then I thought I played no part, washed this way, that, tumbled by each turning tide. Now I know otherwise. We each make of our own lives what we will. Wish Fate farewell. Find grit inside. Find gall. Try trust and thankfulness.

  Will wrote a note to Dean and left it on his rumpled bed. He tiptoed out, accompanied by Dean’s purring snores; a bag of food, the wetsuit and a change of clothes clutched tightly as he sprinted to the wharf. By twenty past eleven it was nippy, the first stirrings of wind dancing around his head. The forecast had confirmed the worst: a storm was marching from the south, due to hit tomorrow, sometime around midday. Twelve hours was roughly all he had. Enough, Hunter assured him, to get there … so long as everything went right. Will planned to leave the boat moored safely at Kaikoura when Min was sorted. If …

  Will slipped the wetsuit on and swam to where Min lurked beyond the wharf. He squealed as Will approached and rubbed against him like a hungry cat. It was good to see him, to know that so far Bruce had failed. And now, tonight, all going well, he’d never have the chance again. This was what mattered, despite the stern parental voice inside his head that claimed he’d either kill himself or get locked up. Not like he didn’t bloody know. He was shit-scared. Had to hold Min up front and centre, or else he’d chicken out.

  As he swam, he replayed the last twenty-four hours. Total rubbish — except for Pania. While he’d stayed with Hunter she’d kept Min company till nearly one a.m., as late as Cathy would allow. Mid-morning, when he’d cadged a lift home from the hospital with Viv, he’d nearly blabbed the plan, but she was tired. Stressed. Had cried when they’d left Hunter. He couldn’t risk her arguing. All afternoon he’d fretted, worried Pania would think the whole thing crazy, finally meeting up with her when she came home from school.

  He sat on Dean’s doorstep with her, watching the clouds, and told her what he planned. For a moment she said nothing, staring off into the greying sky. Finally, after Will had nearly burst, she spoke.

  ‘It’s kind of crazy but I think you’re right. I’d offer Dad’s boat but it’s not really up to it — it would take you too long, especially with that storm.’ Again she stopped, deep in thought, and he bit back the desire to rush her. Any offer of help had to come freely or it wasn’t fair. ‘Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll show you how, on one condition: if the forecast gets any worse you pull the plug.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He didn’t say he’d probably be on his way, no turning back. It was best she didn’t know.

  Now, after ten minutes singing quietly to Min, he heard her whistle. He swam back to the ramp and clambered out.

  ‘Hiya.’ She wore a long black coat that blended with the shadows. ‘Are we still on?’

  ‘I reckon.’ He towelled his hair but kept the wetsuit on to wear against the cold — and for flotation should he end up in the drink. He might be stealing a boat the size of Africa but it was quite another thing to go out totally unprepared. Dean would kill him … hell, Dean was going to kill him anyway — and wouldn’t be the only one. Don’t think of it.

  ‘Okay,’ Pania said. ‘Let’s do it.’ She pulled a torch out of her pocket and they stepped aboard; went straight to the locker by the engine. Will opened its hatch and found a set of keys hooked to a nail. Step One.

  ‘Listen,’ Pania said. ‘Are you sure you want to go ahead alone? Maybe I should come to help?’

  ‘No way. It’s mad enough
, without involving you any further.’

  She frowned. ‘You sure? I’d never forgive myself if you—’

  ‘Forget it. I’ve got nothing to lose; you have.’ Pania opened her mouth to argue further, but he placed a finger over her lips. So soft. ‘Full stop.’

  They locked eyes as Will dropped his hand. He could read her. Her pluck. Her frustration as it hit her that he had to do this on his own. She was one hell of a girl.

  She sighed and held out her hand for the keys. Unlocked the cabin door and ushered him inside. With toneless efficiency, she proceeded to explain what each thing was and what it did, step by step, like an impromptu memory test he knew he’d fail.

  ‘How the hell do you know all this?’

  ‘I’ve been on boats since I was born — and Bruce used to take us to the Hopai sports day every Christmas in this. He let me drive it if I asked. That’s the weird thing about him, sometimes he’s really nice.’

  ‘Not that I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he’s definitely been worse since the downturn. Everyone says he’s on the verge of going under.’

  ‘Good job.’ Will pointed to a screen beside the dash. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The GPS — your butt-saver! I’ll programme it so all you have to do is stay on course. It’ll take you right around, no problems, just don’t fiddle with it.’ She handed him the torch. ‘Hold this.’

  He provided extra light as she programmed in longitudes and latitudes, set waypoints and compass bearings. Amazing. He may as well have been on the bridge of the Enterprise for all he understood. Fifteen minutes of intense concentration later, she nodded to herself.

  ‘Okay. So, these are your waypoints, here, and see that there? That shows the distance to the next waypoint and your speed. And see that one? It tells you how long until you reach it at your current rate of knots. It’ll let you know if you’re off course — you’ll hear an awful alarm — and it’ll tell you how to correct it and when you’ve reached each point.’

  ‘It uses satellites?’

  ‘Yeah. Pretty cool, huh?’

  ‘Sure beats the hell out of trying to read a chart — or the stars.’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t knock them. If all this fancy gear breaks down and you don’t know that stuff you’re really screwed.’

  ‘I don’t know that stuff! What the hell would I do?’

  She pointed to a radio. ‘Use the VHF. See the hand piece there? Pick it up and call on Channel 16 — that sticker tells you how and what you need to say. Just repeat everything three times and remember to say “over” when you’ve finished speaking — it’s actually quite fun.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, it won’t be fun if I have to use it.’

  ‘True. Sorry … but there’s always someone listening, so it’s your best bet.’ She leaned over and turned the knob. ‘Keep it on. They give good weather updates.’ She took the torch back off him and shone it through the cabin window; lit up a bulky container on the forward deck. ‘Ah, good. See that? That there’s the life raft. If all else fails, pull the big red cord and it’ll open up.’ She turned to him, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the torchlight. ‘Promise if anything goes wrong you’ll radio for help. It’s really unpredictable out there.’

  ‘Don’t tell the forecasters that. They’d lose their jobs!’

  ‘Shut up! You know what I mean.’ She hit out at him and he caught her hand. Pulled it to his chest. Tugged her close.

  ‘Do you think you could give a doomed sailor one last kiss?’ His heart was going absolutely mental.

  She smiled. ‘S’pose.’ Switched off the torch and stepped into him. Raised her head. By the yellow glow of the marina lights he bent down and found her lips, gently at first, then hungry, like she was his only means of rescue.

  When they pulled apart he ached to start again. It was as good as he’d imagined. Better. Had never felt so giddy or stupidly happy. Wanted to sweep her up right there, forget this shit and kiss her till their lips wore out. He couldn’t help himself, sang: ‘Were you not to Ko-Ko plighted I would say in tender tone, “Loved one, let us be united — Let us be each other’s own!”’

  Pania snorted. ‘Crazy nit!’ She switched the torch back on, and they blinked as its beam revealed them. She put the key into the ignition and turned it just enough to light the console. Pointed to the diesel gauge. ‘That’s good.’ It was nearly full, thanks to Hunter, who said he’d made it his job to keep the boats topped up. Maybe his subconscious planning a quick get-away? Whatever the reason, one tank would get Will there, he’d said, but not both ways. ‘It wouldn’t be good to run out of juice with a storm in the Strait.’ A classic Blythe understatement. He hoped he lived to quote it at a suitably unsuitable time.

  ‘Okay,’ Pania said. ‘Anything else you need to know?’

  ‘Yeah. How’d you get to be so smart?’

  She stared down at her feet. ‘Shut up!’

  ‘No, really, thank you. As Simone would say, you’re awesome.’

  She smiled, head at a coy angle, her fringe veiling her eyes. ‘You too.’

  This should have elated him. But a doomsday clock had started ticking down inside his head. If she wasn’t here, he knew he wouldn’t have the guts to follow through. ‘One more kiss before I go to war, Ma’am?’

  ‘Not funny,’ she said, stiffening.

  Stupid, stupid. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’ How could he forget her brother?

  She turned the key and pressed the ignition button to fire the engine. It roared to life, so loud he cringed. They waited several tense minutes, half expecting a security guard or nosy neighbour to appear, but no one showed. Now Pania ran through the basics one more time: how to accelerate, how to power off, how to reverse and to weigh anchor. Then she showed him one last switch.

  ‘Only use this big spotlight once you’re past the channel markers. Someone might see. Don’t worry though, there’re navigation lights up on the aerial so other boats can see you, but this’ll help you keep an eye on Min. Okay?’

  ‘Got that. Thank you.’ He liked that she thought of Min. But the noise, on the other hand, was bugging him. ‘Do you think he’ll be able to hear above that racket?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty loud. But I may have a cunning plan!’

  ‘Another one?’

  She poked out her tongue. Disappeared down into the cabin and brought back a coil of tube, the kind he’d seen Dean lug out to the farms. ‘You’re in luck,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  She held one end of the tube to her mouth and roared down it, sound trumpeting out the other end.

  ‘Damn, you’re smart.’

  She grinned. ‘Like Viv says, woman power!’

  ‘I bow to your greater superiority, oh breasted one.’ Why the hell did he say that? Thank god she laughed.

  They secured the tubing to the handrail and fed it through the cabin window so he could steer at the same time. He sang a couple of lines of ‘Nessun Dorma’ in the sonorous voice of God while Pania watched for Min’s response.

  ‘He’s nosing round it, all confused.’

  Will leaned out the wheelhouse door and sang another couple of lines, straight this time. Min looked up, spied him there, his mouth gaping open in his toothy grin. ‘Cool. Good thinking, Catgirl!’ He laughed to spin out time but couldn’t sustain it. ‘Okay … that’s it then.’

  ‘Good luck — and be careful, eh?’ She stretched up and he caught her. Kissed her. Too short but infinitely sweet.

  ‘See ya,’ he said. ‘Post me a file and bolt cutters care of Rimutaka Prison!’

  ‘Very funny.’ She jumped off and untied the mooring ropes. Threw them onto the deck, waving as he wrestled the big Cat away from the wharf. The accelerator, or thruster, or whatever the hell she’d called it, was sticky, and it took him a moment to get a feel for how it worked. He cleared the wharf with only minor scrapes, not daring to think about the cost. Felt like a fool as he sang down the tube. But Min’s bell
y was flashing through the water next to him so, for now at least, the plan was working.

  He steered between the channel markers, keeping the speed right down. Away from the town the sea was lit by half a moon but he turned on the spotlight anyway — it was reassuring — and watched Min surf the wake up by the bow. He looked so small next to this bruiser of a boat. It had the same implacable hardness as Bruce.

  Will knew this patch of water well from sailing it and, even though the boat was unfamiliar, it was okay — he knew where every dangerous rock or headland was. After the drama of the last few days, it was peaceful, chugging past the first of the salmon farms with its well-lit markers, watching how the lights played on the rippled sea.

  He ditched the tube, hated it. Instead, he opened doors and windows wide and sang at full volume, enjoying the freedom and anonymity of the night. The song was one of his mum’s favourites, another G & S, and it was frickin’ perfect. He puffed out his chest, going for pomposity, and sang all the parts, including orchestration.

  ‘I am the Captain of the Pinafore! And a right good captain, too! …’ It was so good to sing, to hurl it out there into the night, that he went through every song. Though he loved straight opera, it was these comic ones, thanks to Mum, that brought the biggest grin. There was a joy to them, a total piss-take of the English nobs. Subversion via laughter, such a powerful weapon — and he should know; had been the butt of way too many jokes.

  It was the kind of humour Dean and Hunter used to survive Bruce. It came naturally, that national need to rib the shit out of anyone who dared stand out. Some of the comments aimed at him had been real rippers. He should’ve laughed them off, he knew that now. But it had been all tangled up with the attack, his parents leaving, being sent down here. Until Min, he’d hardly laughed for weeks, months, and now look what he does: makes a lame joke that upsets Pania. Dick.

  ‘… I thought so little, they rewarded me by making me the Ruler of the Queen’s Navy …’ Comic timing was everything. Min bounced along, swimming parallel, watching Will, his eye reflecting back the moon. He embodied the freedom Will desired: two crazies racing through the night, seeking something bigger than themselves.