Wonder at the Edge of the World

by Nicole Helget

I look one way and see black and bubbles.

  I look another way and see bubbles and light. The surface. I kick and swim and try to get to it. But the water is freezing and pulling on my clothes, and though I fight to go up, I’m going down. I kick and kick to keep the surface in sight.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been in the water, but I’m not feeling panicked yet. I hold my breath like I’ve been practicing for so many years.

  I see a shadow, a bluish-gray looming form moving past me.

  I reach for it. The boat, I think. Here, somehow, is the boat. I will grab hold and climb up. I stretch and reach for it until my fingertips are finally pressed against its side. But when I touch it, I know it is not the wood of a boat. The surface is smooth and firm but supple. Most of all, it is alive. I sense the life in me touching the life in the whale.

  I jerk back, afraid. But I reach out again, curious. I stroke the animal’s skin as it slips away from me. The body goes on and on, forever it seems. It’s at least as long as the Xerxes.

  Pressure builds in my ears. My chest burns now. I want air. I’m struggling to swim. My lungs urge me to inhale. My head’s going light and dreamy. I wonder if I’m drowning. My arms and legs are so tired. I have to rest, I think.

  I let my body go limp. But I keep a hand on the whale. Swim away, I think. You’re too beautiful to kill.

  I see the face of my father after I cut him down from the tree, as though it’s right in front of me. I don’t want that face to be the last thing I see if I’m going to die. I try to think of Father studying or reading. But I get nothing but the swollen, discolored face of a murdered man. Then his head is replaced by the Medicine Head, and I suck in a big gulp of water.

  I remember why I’m here, why I’m in the middle of the ocean in the first place. I remember the great responsibility I have, and I try to swim again. I reach and reach for the surface, but it seems miles away.

  I feel the end of the whale’s body. Right here, I know, is where the legs of his ancestors once grew. And then his tail dips down, away from my touch. My last connection to anything alive slips away. I let go. I lean back in the water and let it press me down.

  But then a swoosh jerks me up. And then another forceful current pushes me higher. The sky’s light becomes bigger and closer. One more time, a surge of water shoves me toward the surface. The whale’s fluke passes beneath me. He gives one more flick of his tail, and I’m jolted upward. The whale has heaved me to the surface.

  When my head breaks the waves, I gasp. I see the boat. I see Fob with his paws on the boat’s rim. He’s barking, but I can’t hear. I can only see his mouth open and close. The sun has come out, and it’s so bright I have to close my eyes. The next thing I know, jaws bite down on my collar, and I’m being tugged through the water.

  CHAPTER 31

  Fob snarls and snorts in my ear. His teeth are clenched on my coat and he’s circling and circling his legs through the water, pulling me toward the boat. Salt water burns my throat and nose. Every time I take a breath, waves hit my face and more water gets in my mouth.

  “Come, Fob!” calls Eustace. “Good boy!” He’s leaning over the boat and patting the side of it. “Come!” he keeps saying. The boat and Eustace’s arms seem ages away. Slowly, Fob pulls me toward it. Sometimes his legs get caught in my blouse and we go under for a bit. But he always frees them and swims again.

  Finally, we are there, and I try to grab hold of something, but my arms are heavy. I’m too weak. Eustace grabs each of my shoulders and he’s got me. Then many more arms are reaching and pulling me up and over the side of the boat, and I fall to the bottom.

  I look up at the sky and it’s now bright blue. All the gray and black clouds have gone. Where could they have gone so quickly? The faces of the whaleboat crew, Eustace, and Nova lean over and stare at me. Nova turns me over on my side and beats on my back. I cough up water, lots of water, out my nose and mouth. When it’s all out, I can breathe normally.

  The other whalers have pulled Fob into the boat, too. They cover him with a blanket, which he shakes off. He comes to me and licks my face and curls up right next to me. He whimpers and sighs.

  “Did you get the whale?” I whisper.

  “Don’t worry about that,” says Nova.

  “Did he get away?” I whisper again.

  Eustace nods. I’m very happy the whale got away. I wonder if I should tell them how I touched him, how I held my hand to him, how he pushed me to the surface with his fluke. I wonder if they’d believe me. I wish I had a specimen or something to prove how I was rescued, but I guess some discoveries can’t be proved. I decide not to try. I think I’d like to keep that discovery all to myself forever.

  I lift my arm and flop it over Fob. It feels heavy as a sack of rocks. “You’ve very brave,” I whisper. He wags his tail.

  “And you are a very lucky young lady,” says Nova. She takes a big fur cloak off her own shoulders and covers me. “Yes, you are. I see many people fall over and never come back up.”

  We row back to the Xerxes. Captain Abbot is irate. He stomps up and down the deck and demands to know why we let the bastard get away. No one answers him. His eyes bore through me.

  Nova helps me down to my hammock. I sit in it while she takes off my coat and boots and clothes. She goes to her trunk and pulls out a long blue dress. “You’ll have to wear this,” she says, snapping out the wrinkles. “I wore this on my wedding day,” she adds. She looks sad, so I don’t ask any questions. I let her undress and dress me, and I don’t even feel embarrassed.

  A thunderclap startles us. Nova looks above. She pats my hand and leaves me to my thoughts.

  The ship rocks and bolts, lurches and lunges. The wind whips, and above me, I hear the men shouting and working. Sails are moved. Ropes dropped. The barrels clack against each other. The storm is back and raging.

  The Medicine Head whispers to me. I tell myself that the Medicine Head is tucked safely away in Captain Abbot’s cabin, cool and quiet. “No,” I say out loud. I close my eyes and try to sleep. Chills wrack my body. My teeth chatter. I try to think about home and Mother and Priss. I try to think about my home and the nice, dry, hot, flat lands of Kansas. I can’t wait to be back there. Then sleep washes over me.

  When I wake, it is still dark. And the Medicine Head is whispering to me again. How can that be? I wonder. It’s as cold as it’s ever been on our voyage. I close my eyes and try to ignore it, but the words are clear and strong. Finally, I get up and creep up the ladder.

  All is tranquil on the deck. A dim glow comes from Captain Abbot’s cabin. I tiptoe toward it. The door is slightly ajar. I reach my fingers in and pinch the curtain against the door. Then I catch a glance of Captain Abbot sitting near his fireplace with my Medicine Head’s crate on his knees.

  “I hear you,” he says. I startle and catch my breath, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to the head.

  “You want to come out of there, don’t you? What do you want to show me now?” He picks up the crate and holds it. “I can’t. I can’t,” he mumbles. He loosens the knot at the top of the crate with one hand, like the experienced seaman he is, as though his fingers aren’t listening to the words coming from his mouth. The rope falls to the floor. He begins to pry the crate open.

  “Oh, yes,” he whispers. “There you are. What do you want to show me? The whale, the giant one? Where did he go?”

  Captain Abbot reaches in. The straw rustles as he gropes for the Medicine Head. Then he lifts it from the crate and holds it to his face. He and the Medicine Head are practically nose-to-nose. I don’t hear a thing. Captain Abbot’s eyes are closed. He is motionless. He is smiling a strange grin. I back away and return to my hammock.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Antarctica!” the captain roars the next morning. “That’s where the monster’s headed, and that’s where we’re going, too!”

  He winks at me.

  For weeks we sail on in the South Atlantic, trailing a pod of
whales that seems to know the clearest way. Wherever they emerge to breathe is where we go. Captain Abbot takes a few for rendering, but not many. He’s not satisfied with them and wants to get right back on the trail of the big one that got away because of me. Each day brings us closer and closer to my destination. And each day grows colder and colder. Ice hangs from all the rigging and sails. The deck is slick ice. The sea bobs with icebergs and ice sheets.

  I welcome the fire that burns the blubber into oil. Though it smells terrible and is smoky, the heat makes the frigid ride tolerable. I find myself looking forward to the next kill. Belowdecks, ice has formed on the beams of the ceiling. The moisture on the deck has crystallized and is slippery again. Eustace stands watch for icebergs and whales. He keeps flitting his eyes to the north and saying “There’s something out there.”

  “Th-there is something out there,” I stutter. “Ice.”

  “Something else,” he says.

  Sometimes icebergs appear in the distance. They are so big, they look like islands or mountains. In between are great plates of ice floating on the water. Once in a while, a seal rests on top of one. I saw a seal scratching himself by dragging his body along the ice, like a dog might do in the gravel.

  A new but familiar scent is on the air. Land.

  “Do you smell that, Eustace?” I ask.

  “Yes, I do,” he says. “Soil.”

  “This means we’re getting closer, right?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Nova says. “We’re getting there. The Xerxes won’t be able to take us all the way to the continent, though. We’ll have to take a whaleboat. Too much ice. It would shred the ship to pieces.”

  One morning, as I lie in my hammock curled up with Fob to keep warm, I hear a cannon fire. I jolt upright.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  Nova leaps from her hammock. “Up,” she says. “Up the hatch!”

  When I get to the deck, she nearly pushes me out of her way and dashes past me.

  “Hey,” I say. “Watch out!” But she’s gone, and I can’t see where. A lantern flame flickers in the dark. After my eyes adjust, I see Captain Abbot standing at the bow.

  It’s pitch black except for stars and lanterns on deck. The air is sharply cold, pinching like needles on my skin wherever it’s bare. Captain Abbot smokes a pipe.

  He turns to me. “He’s here for you, Miss Wonder. Or for the head. Captain Greeney, that is.”

  “What!” I yell. I run to where they are and look out at the dark ocean. I peer through the icy air. Then I make out the shape of a ship and the dull lights of lanterns. “Is he shooting cannons at us?” I ask. I think about all the people on board our ship. I think about the Medicine Head. If it’s destroyed, who will live forever? Me? Captain Greeney? Both of us?

  “He is,” says Captain Abbot.

  “W-well,” I stutter. “What are we going to do? We have to do something!”

  Captain Abbot puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “We’re not going to do anything.”

  Another cannonball zings through the air. It drops in the ocean, only a few feet from the deck of the Xerxes this time.

  “We’re all going to die!” I yell.

  “Not all of us,” says Captain Abbot. “Only one of us.” He laughs and tilts back his head until he begins to cough.

  “You’re mad,” I say. “We’ve got to run. Tell the men to sail! Or we’ve got to fight. Tell the men to ready the harpoons! Where are our cannons?”

  “Cannons?” he laughs. He coughs. “This is a whaling ship, you nitwit! I am the captain!” He coughs again. “And I say we do nothing.”

  “Do nothing?” I yell. “You must be mad. We could all lose our lives!”

  Captain Abbot leans over and breathes into my face. His breath is fusty as a pigpen. “Well,” he says. “Not all of us.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Besides, only one of us will be claimed by the big drink tonight. You can count on that, lassie.”

  “You’re insane,” I say. I turn away from him. I’ve got to get off this ship. I’ve got to get Eustace and Fob off this ship. I’ve got to get the Medicine Head off this ship.

  Captain Abbot laughs into the night. Then he shouts at me. “The big leviathan is coming back! He’s coming back! Hee hee hee!” He laughs like a child.

  Maybe he’s lost his mind. Another cannonball shoots through the air and lands with a tremendous splash near the Xerxes. I look where it landed. Rings of water crash against the side of the boat. And all over are the pointed fins of dread. Sharks. What are they doing in this freezing water? More importantly, what will they do to me if the Xerxes goes down?

  Nova, I think. I’ve got to find Nova. I rush to one end of the ship and then the other. I look up at the masts. I look in the ropes. I descend to the forecastle and the hold. I can’t find her. She’s not in the galley. She’s not at the try-pot.

  The only place I haven’t looked is the captain’s cabin. I run to it and open the door.

  Then a cannonball hits the side of the Xerxes and explodes. Wood and sparks shoot into the air and into the water.

  “Water!” a crewman shouts. “Planks and nails!” shouts another. The cooper races past me to the damage with his tools. “Don’t worry, Barnacle,” he says to me. “It’s more smoke than fire!”

  In the captain’s cabin, I find Nova leaning over my Medicine Head’s crate, rocking back and forth on her knees and chanting. She’s smoking her pipe, and the room is thick with its strange scent.

  “What are you doing?” I say to her. “I need that!”

  She ignores me and sings more of her song over the Medicine Head. She takes her pipe and waves it over and around the crate.

  “Nova!” I shout.

  She leans back and raises her face to the ceiling. She blows out an impressive plume of smoke, which rises in rings.

  “Now you are ready,” she says softly. She stands with the Medicine Head’s crate and hands it to me. “You must go. Now is the time.” She takes the buffalo robe from her shoulders and wraps it around mine. “You’ll need this.”

  “Come with me,” I beg her. I want to cling to her and tell her that I love her. “I’m scared.”

  She puts her hands on my cheeks. Then she pulls me into a tight embrace and strokes the top of my head. “Hallelujah Wonder. I wish you were my own child. You are very brave and strong and smart.”

  I can hear her heart beating. I hug her back hard.

  “Eustace can row you in,” she says. “I must stay and protect the captain and the ship.” She softens her eyes in a way I’ve rarely seen her do. “You’re braver than you know.” Then she leans into my forehead and kisses it. “Now go!” She points to the door.

  Another cannon blast rocks the ship. I exit the captain’s cabin. The whole deck is full of smoke.

  “Eustace?” I call. “Eustace?” I can’t see. My eyes sting.

  From the haze appears Fob, dirty and scared and shivering. Icicles dangle from his jaw and whiskers. He tries to sit down on my feet.

  “Come on, boy,” I say. My mouth barely works, it’s so cold. “Come on. Show me where Eustace is.” Fob stands up, but his whole body is shaking. He walks gingerly across the deck to where the whaleboats hang. Eustace is at the pulley.

  “Lu, are you all right?” he asks. “Do you have it?”

  “Yes,” I say. I lift the crate for him to see.

  “Get in,” he says. He nods to the boat. “I’ll lower you and then jump in.”

  I step onto a keg. Another cannonball blasts the Xerxes. I get into the boat and hold the Medicine Head’s crate. The head is dead quiet.

  Eustace heaves Fob in next to me.

  “He’s been with us all along,” Eustace says, as if to explain why we’re bringing the dog. But he doesn’t have to explain to me. Fob is welcome wherever in the world I go. Even if it might be to my frozen tomb.

  “Sit, Fob,” I say, even though he’s already sitting. Eustace guides the whaleboat, lurching, over the side of the Xer
xes and slowly lowers it onto the surface of the slate-gray ocean. Chunks of ice slap against the whaleboat. I grab the rope that moors us to the Xerxes and try to hold us steady. My teeth chatter. The joints in my fingers don’t want to work. Even my bones are cold. Eustace climbs down the rope and lands in the whaleboat. He unties us, takes the oars, and we’re off.

  “This is it,” he says. “Hold on.”

  I hold tight to the Medicine Head’s crate. I smell Nova’s smoke coming up off the wood. It reminds me to be brave.

  Eustace rows us away from the Xerxes, away from the cannon fire. Away from Captain Greeney’s ship. Away from Captain Greeney.

  I lean over the whaleboat. Long, eerie shadows glide beneath us. First this way, then that. Sharks. Sometimes they rise close enough to the surface to cut the water with their fins, like a scalpel opening skin. Wherever they swim, the ice chunks curtsy above them. Ice floes rise out of the ocean like floating hills. Some people could be tricked into thinking that those blocks of ice are land, are solid rock with bases settled into solid ground. But not me. I know we have to go farther. I know we’re close. But we haven’t reached Antarctica yet.

  The air is thin, so thin it’s impossible to breathe deeply. Short breath in. Short breath out. Each one is like a steel knife in my neck. Eustace, Fob, and I shiver from head to toe. The cold is otherworldly. When I open my lips the slightest bit, I worry the cold is going to break my teeth or snap off my tongue.

  The sky is magic, with auras of orange and blue and pink and purple and cream that arc and bend above the horizon.

  “Eustace?” I whisper. I raise my finger, shaking like an old woman’s, to the sky.

  He nods. “It looks like the thunder egg,” he says. “I know it.”

  As Eustace rows, the water on the leeward side of the whaleboat flutters and spits, just like it did before the giant whale breached and leapt into the air, tossing me into the ocean. We watch. Then the water calms down and ripples normally.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Don’t know,” says Eustace. He rows and rows, pulling at the water with more strength than I’ve seen in any human before.