Hungry as the Sea

by Wilbur Smith

  the wine tumblers.

  As each of them spoke, Samantha whispered their names and credentials.

  Hank Petersen, he's doing a PhD on the blue-fill tuna - spawning and a

  trace of its migratory routes.

  He's the one running the tagging tomorrow.

  That's Michelle Rand, she's on loan from UCLA, and she's porpoises and

  whales. Then suddenly they were all discussing indignantly a rogue

  tanker captain who the week before had scrubbed his tanks n the middle

  of the Florida straits and left a thirty-mile slick down the Gulf

  Stream, He had done it under cover of night, and changed course as soon

  as he was into the Atlantic proper.

  We finger-printed him, Tom Parker like an angry bear, we had him made,

  dead in the cross hairs. Nick knew he was talking of the

  finger-printing of oil residues, the breakdown of samples of the slick

  under gas spectroscopy which could match them exactly to the samples

  taken by the Coast Guard from the offender's tanks. The identification

  was good enough to bear up in an international court of law. But the

  trick is getting the son-of-a-bitch into court. Tom Parker went on. 'He

  was fifty miles outside our territorial waters by the time the Coast

  Guard got to him, and he's registered in Liberia. We tried to cover

  cases like that in the set of proposals I put up to the last maritime

  conference. Nick joined the conversation for the first time. He told

  them of the difficulties of legislating on an international scale, of

  policing and bringing to justice the blatant transgressors; then he

  listed for them what had been done so far, what was in process and

  finally what he believed still should be done to protect the seas.

  He spoke quietly, succinctly, and Samantha noticed again, with a swell

  of pride, how all men listened when Nicholas Berg talked. The moment he

  paused, they came at him from every direction, using their bright young

  minds like scalpels, tearing into him with sharp lancing questions. He

  answered them in the same fashion, sharp and hard, armed with total

  knowledge of his subject, and he saw the shift in the group attitude,

  the blooming of respect, the subtle opening of ranks to admit him, for

  he had spoken the correct passwords and they recognized him as one of

  their own number, as one of the elite.

  At the head of the table, Tom Parker sat and listened, nodding and

  frowning, sitting in judgement with his arm around Antoinette's slim

  waist and she stood beside him and played idly with a curl of thick wiry

  hair on the top of his head.

  Tom Parker found fish forty miles offshore where the Gulf Stream was

  setting blue and warm and fast into the north.

  The birds were working, falling on folded wings down the backdrop of

  cumulonimbus storm clouds that bruised the horizon. The birds were

  bright, white pinpoints of light as they fell, and they struck the dark

  blue water with tiny explosions of white spray, and went deep. Seconds

  later they popped to the surface, stretching their necks to force down

  another morsel into their distended crops, before launching into flight

  again, climbing in steep circles against the sky to join the hunt again.

  There were hundreds of them and they swirled and fell like snowflakes.

  Anchovy/grunted Tom Parker, and they could see the agitated surface of

  the water under the bird flock where the frenzied bait-fish churned.

  Could be bonito working under them. No" said Nick. They are blues. You

  sure? Tom grinned a challenge.

  The way they are bunching and holding the bait-fish, it's tuna, Nick

  repeated.

  Five bucks? Tom asked, as he swung the wheel over, and Tricky Dicky's

  big diesel engine boomed as she went on to the top of her speed.

  You're on/ Nick grinned back at him, and at that moment, they both saw a

  fish jump clear. It was a brilliant shimmering torpedo, as long as a

  man's arm. It went six feet into the air, turned in flight and hit the

  water again with a smack they heard clearly above the diesel.

  Blues/ said Nick flatly. Shoal blues - they'll go twenty pounds each.

  Five bucks/ Tom grunted with disgust. Son of a gun, I don't think I can

  afford you, man/ and he delivered a playful punch to the shoulder which

  rattled Nick's teeth, then he turned to the open window of the

  wheelhouse and bellowed out on to the deck, Okay, kids, they are blues.,

  There was a scramble and chatter of excitement as they rushed for lines

  and tagging poles. It was Hank's show, he was the blue-fill tunny

  expert, he knew as much about their sex habits, their migratory routes

  and food chains as any man living but when it came to catching them,

  Nick observed drily, he could probably do a better job as a blacksmith.

  Tom Parker was no fisherman either. He ran down the shoal, charging

  Tricky Dicky through the centre of it, scattering birds and fish in

  panic - but by sheer chance one of the gang in the stern hooked in, and

  after a great deal of heaving and huffing and shouted encouragement from

  his peers, dragged a single luckless baby blue-fill tuna over the rail.

  It skittered and jumped around the deck, its tail hammering against the

  planking, pursued by a shrieking band of scientists who slid and slipped

  in the fish slime, knocked each other down and finally cornered the fish

  against the rail. The first three attempts to affix the plastic tag

  were unsuccessful, Hank's lunges with the dart pole becoming wilder as

  his frustration mounted. He almost succeeded in tagging Samantha's

  raised backside as she knelt on the deck trying to cradle the fish in

  both arms.

  You do this often? Nicholas asked mildly.

  First time with this gang/ Tom Parker admitted sheepishly. 'Thought

  you'd never guess. By now the triumphant band was solicitously

  returning the fish to the sea, the barbed dart of the plastic tag

  embedded dangerously near its vitals; and if that didn't eventually kill

  it, the rough handling probably would. It had pounded its head on the

  deck so heavily that blood oozed from the gill covers, It floated away,

  belly up on the stream oblivious of Samantha's anguished cries of: Swim,

  fish, get in there and swim! Mind if we try it my way? Nick asked, and

  Tom relinquished command without a struggle.

  Nicholas picked the four strongest and best coordinated of the young

  men, and gave them a quick demonstration and lecture on how to handle

  the heavy handlines with the Japanese feather lures, showing them how to

  throw the bait, and the recovery with an underhand flick that recoiled

  the line between the feet. Then he gave each a station along the

  starboard rail, with the second remember of each team ready with a

  tagging pole and Hank Petersen on the roof of the wheel-house to record

  the fish taken and the numbers of the tags.

  They found another shoal within the hour and Nicholas circled up on it,

  closing steadily at good trolling speed, helping the feeding tuna bunch

  the shoal of frenzied anchovy on the surface, until he could lock Tricky

  Dicky's wheel hard down starboard and leave her to describe her own

  sedate circles around the shoal. Then he hurried
out on to the deck.

  The trapped and surrounded fish thrashed the surface until it boiled

  like a porridge of molten, flashing silver; through it drove the fast

  dark torpedoes of the hungry tuna.

  Within minutes Nick had his four fishermen working to the steady rhythm

  of throwing the lures into the frothing water, almost instantly striking

  back on the line as a tuna snatched the feathers, and then swinging hand

  over head, recovering and coiling line fast with minimum effort,

  swinging the fish out and up with both hands and then catching its

  streamlined body under the left armpit like a quarter back picking up a

  long pass, clamping it there firmly, although the cold firm silver

  bullet shape juddered and quivered and the tail beat in a blur of

  movement. Then he taught them to slip the hook from the jaw, careful

  not to damage the vulnerable gills, holding the fish firmly but gently

  while the assistant pressed the barbed dart into the thick muscle at the

  back of the dorsal fill. When the fish was dropped back over the side,

  there were so few after-affects that it almost immediately began feeding

  again on the packed masses of tiny anchovies.

  Each plastic tag was numbered and imprinted with a request in five

  languages to mail it back to University of Miami with details of date

  and place of capture, providing a valuable trace of the movements of the

  shoals in their annual circumnavigation of the globe. From their

  spawning grounds somewhere in the Caribbean they worked the Gulf Stream

  north and cast across the Atlantic, then south down and around the Cape

  of Good Hope with an occasional foray down the length of the

  Mediterranean Sea although now the dangerous pollution of that

  landlocked water was changing their habits, From Good Hope east again

  south of Australia to take a gigantic swing up and around the Pacific,

  running the gauntlet of the Japanese long-liners and the California

  tunny men before ducking down under the terrible icy seas of the Horn

  and back to their spawning grounds in the Caribbean.

  They sat up on the wheelhouse as the Dicky ran home in the sunset,

  drinking beer and talking. Nicholas studied them casually and saw that

  they possessed so many of the qualities he valued in his fellow humans;

  they were intelligent and motivated, they were dedicated and free of

  that particular avarice that mars so many others.

  Tom Parker crumpled the empty beer can in a huge fist as easily as if it

  had been a paper packet, fished two more from the pack beside him and

  tossed one across to Nick.

  The gesture seemed to have some special significance and Nicholas

  saluted him with the can before he drank.

  Samantha was snuggled down in luxurious weariness against his shoulder,

  and the sunset was a magnificence of purple and hot molten crimson.

  Nicholas thought idly how pleasant it would be to spend the rest of his

  life doing things like this with people like these.

  Tom Parker's office had shelves to the ceiling, and they were sagging

  with hundreds of bottled specimens and rows of scientific papers and

  publications.

  He sat well back in his swivel chair with ankles crossed neatly in the

  centre of the cluttered desk.

  I ran a check on you, Nicholas. Damned nerve, wasn't it? You have my

  apology. Was it an interesting exercise? Nicholas asked mildly.

  It wasn't difficult. You have left a trail behind you like a - Tom

  sought for a comparison, like a grizzly bear through a honey farm.

  Son of a gun, Nicholas, that's a hell of a track record you've got

  yourself. I've kept busy/ Nicholas admitted.

  Beer? Tom crossed to the refrigerator in the corner that was labelled

  Zoological Specimens. DO NOT OPEN. It's too early for me. 'Never too

  early, said Tom and pulled the tag on a dewy can of Millers and then

  picked up Nicholas statement.

  Yes, you have kept busy. Strange, isn't it, that around some men things

  just happen. Nicholas did not reply, and Tom went on, We need a man

  around here who can do. It's all right thinking it out, then you need

  the catalyst to transform thought and intention into action. Tom sucked

  at the can and then licked the froth off his mustache. I know what you

  have done, I've heard you speak, I've seen you move, and those things

  count. But most important of all, I know you care.

  I've been watching you carefully, Nick, and you really care, down deep

  in your guts, the way we do. It sounds as though you're offering me a

  job, Tom. I'm not going to horse around, Nick, I am offering you a job.

  He waved a huge paw, like a bunch of broiled pork sausages.

  Hell, I know you're a busy man, but I'd like to romance you into an

  associate professorship. We'd want a little of your time when it came

  to hassling and negotiating up in Washington, we'd call for you when we

  needed real muscle to put our case, when we need the right contacts,

  somebody with a big reputation to open doors, when we need a man who

  knows the practical side of the oceans and the men that use them and

  abuse them.

  We need a man who is a hard-headed businessman, who knows the economics

  of sea trade, who has built and run tankers, who knows that human need

  is of paramount importance, but who can balance the human need for

  protein and fossil fuels against the greater danger of turning the

  oceans into watery deserts. Tom lubricated his throat with beer,

  watching shrewdly for some reaction from Nicholas, and when he received

  no encouragement, he went on more persuasively. We are specialists,

  perhaps we have the specialist's narrow view; God knows, they think of

  us as sentimentalists, the lunatic fringe of doom-sayers, long-haired

  intellectual hippies. What we need is a man with real clout in the

  establishment, - shit, Nicholas, if you walked into a Congressional

  committee they'd really jerk out of their geriatric trance and switch on

  their hearing-aids. Nicholas was silent still and Tom was becoming

  desperate. What can we offer in return? I know you aren't short of

  cash, and it would be a lousy twelve thousand a year, but an associate

  professorship is a nice title. We start out holding hands with that.

  Then we might start going steady, a full professorship - chair of

  applied oceanology, or some juicy title like that which we'd think up. I

  don't know what else we can offer you, Nick, except perhaps the warm

  good feeling in your guts when you're doing a tough job that has to be

  done. He stopped again, running out of words, and he wagged his big

  shaggy head sadly.

  You aren't interested, are you? he asked.

  Nick stirred himself. When do I start? he asked, and as Tom's face

  split into a great beaming grin, Nick held out his hand. I think I'll

  take that beer now.

  The water was cool enough to be invigorating. Nick and Samantha swam so

  far out that the land was almost lost in the lowering gloom of dusk, and

  then they turned and swam back side by side. The beach was deserted; in

  their mood, the lights of the nearest condominiums were no more

  intrusive than the stars, the faint sound of music
and laughter no more

  intrusive than the cry of gulls.

  it was the right time to tell her, and he did it in detail beginning

  with the offer by the Sheikhs to buy out Ocean Salvage and Towage.

  Will you sell," she asked quietly. You won't will you," For seven

  million dollars clear? the asked. Do you know how much money that is,"

  I can't count that far/ she admitted. But what would you do if you

  sold? I cannot imagine you playing bowls or golf for the rest of your

  life. Part of the deal is that I run Ocean Salvage for them for two

  years, and then I've been offered a part-time assignment which will fill

  any spare time I've got left over. What is it? 'Associate Professor at

  Miami University. She stopped dead and dragged him around to face her.

  You're having me on! she accused.

  That's a start only/ he admitted. in two years or so, when I've

  finished with Ocean Salvage, there may be a full chair of applied

  oceanology. It's not true! she said, and took him by the arms, shaking

  him with surprising strength.

  Tom, wants me to ram-rod the applied aspects of the environmental

  research. I'll trouble-shoot with legislators and the maritime

  conference, a sort of hired gun for the Green-Peacers Oh Nicholas,

  Nicholas" Sweet Christ! he accused. You're crying again. I can't help

  it. She was in his arms still wet and cold and gritty with beach sand.

  She clung to him, quivering with joy. Do you know what this means,

  Nicholas?

  You don't, do you? You just don't realize what this means. Tell me/he

  invited. What does it mean? What it means is that, in future, we can

  do everything together, not just munch food and go boom in bed - but

  everything, work and play and, and live together like a man and woman

  should! She sounded stunned and frightened by the magnitude of the

  vision.

  The prospect daunts me not at all/he murmured gently, and lifted her

  chin. They washed off the salt and the sand, crowding together into the

  thick, perfumed steam of the shower cubicle and afterwards they lay

  together on the patchwork quilt in the darkness with the sound of the

  sea as background music to the plans and dreams they wove together.

  Every time they both descended to the very frontiers of sleep, one of

  them would think of something vitally important and prod the other awake

  to say it.