by Sarah Lark
Only when the barb of one of the heavy harpoons had deeply pierced their flesh would the whales fight desperately against the taut rope that the men used to pull them onto land. But it was almost always too late. The pain and loss of blood robbed the huge sea creatures of their strength, and eventually they gave up, although it usually took hours. At the end, the men in the boats were exhausted. But their real work began only after the whale lay on the beach. Then they carved pieces of flesh out of its body, sometimes while it was still alive, and cooked them down to extract the oil. Kitten shuddered. The stench from the kettles would be hanging over the bay for days.
This evening, the men would probably be too tired to want to bid, so Barker would put off her big day for another twenty-four hours. Kitten still didn’t have a good plan—aside from refusing to leave Frau Hempleman’s side. Barker might not tear her away from the sick woman’s bed, but—
“Kitten!”
Frau Hempleman’s weak voice called her away from the window. Her friend was awake, which was a good sign. Kitten forced herself to smile as she turned around.
“The—reverend will be here very soon. Can you—please clean me up a little?”
That, too, sounded promising. After such a terrible night, Kitten hadn’t expected her to have such a will to live. As she busied herself with the wash water and hairbrush, Mr. Hempleman appeared.
“Linda, my love! How are you?” He kissed his wife’s pale cheek, but then pulled back quickly, even though Frau Hempleman’s skin must have smelled of the rose-scented soap that Kitten had just washed her with.
Linda smiled at him anyway. “I’m well,” she whispered. “I—please sit with me for a while . . .” She reached out her hand toward her husband and was racked with coughs after the minor exertion. “I have something to tell you, I—”
But George Hempleman stopped her. “Darling, I don’t have time for that now; they’ve sighted a whale. I have to go down and get the men into boats and make sure they aren’t massacred by the creature.” It was his job to observe and coordinate the whalers’ work from a larger boat, shouting orders through a megaphone. “And look, the reverend is coming now.”
The reverend had just appeared in the hallway; George Hempleman hadn’t closed the door.
“I’ll see you this evening.”
“As God wills,” his wife whispered.
She was very pale, and Kitten had the feeling that she had shrunk a little during the night. It was suddenly clear to the girl that her friend was going to die soon.
“Reverend, I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for my wife,” Hempleman said, and clapped the priest’s shoulder. Then he quickly went on his way before the reverend could bring up the subject of a donation to the church. The man constantly attempted to talk Linda Hempleman into leaving a generous bequest for his mission, but she had never responded to his entreaties. Kitten assumed that she simply didn’t have any money at her disposal. After all, her husband was solely responsible for the couple’s livelihood. And even if he was generous with his wife, what would Linda Hempleman have been able to do with money in Piraki Bay?
Kitten cleared away the toiletries and then, at the reverend’s request, returned reluctantly to sit down next to him and pray with Frau Hempleman, read from the Bible, and listen to the dying woman’s confession. Kitten bore witness to the woman’s disclosures of minor sins. Frau Hempleman already seemed like a saint to her. But apparently, her god was offended by everything, even little things like arrogant thoughts.
At noon, Linda Hempleman fell asleep, and Kitten escaped from the airless house and, above all, the reverend by walking in the shady forest overlooking the bay. The men in the boats were still fighting with the whale, but they had gotten very close to shore. It would be only an hour or two before the creature was on the beach. Kitten hoped Mr. Hempleman would have time to see his wife before he had to supervise the butchering. On one hand, the sick woman was more alert than she’d been the day before, and on the other, she was terribly weak. The reverend, who was constantly taking her pulse, had shaken his head with worry. If Linda Hempleman had something to tell her husband, she’d better tell him soon.
Kitten had picked another huge bouquet of bright rata blossoms, enough to decorate the entire room. She had just finished arranging them when Linda Hempleman woke up. She gazed at Kitten with tired eyes.
“My husband—” she whispered, “and the priest. I—it’s time, child. I—I hear the angels. Can you hear them too?”
The only thing Kitten could hear was cheering in the distance. The men had succeeded in pulling the whale to shore.
“And you, Kitten, I—I’ve been thinking about you, and I thought I’d give—”
She gasped for air, but before she could gather the strength to continue, the reverend entered the room again. He must have taken a break to eat and to escape the “looming specter of death” by fleeing into the arms of a whore. According to Noni, that was how he referred to the atmosphere in the Hempleman household when he visited the brothel at lunchtime. Kitten was disgusted by the thought of his long, spindly fingers kneading Noni’s breasts, and then holding the dying woman’s hand.
He cast a quick glance at the woman in the bed, and then looked at Kitten in alarm.
“Child, it’s time! Run down to the beach and find her husband as quickly as you can. He must be back on land by now. I’ll pray with her in the meantime. If God wills, she can still bid him farewell—”
“But—Kitten—” Linda Hempleman whispered.
But Kitten didn’t dare to disobey the reverend’s request. She left the house and ran to the beach. The twitching body of the whale lay between the pub and the sea, surrounded by excited men with knives and hatchets. A red stain was already starting to spread on the sand, and the first fires were burning. Kitten tried not to look at the animal. She had once looked a dying whale in the eye and would never forget the experience. Fortunately, she found George Hempleman quickly. Kitten didn’t need to explain anything. He knew as soon as he saw her.
“Is it time, girl?” George Hempleman never called Kitten by name. Sometimes she wondered if he even knew what she was called.
Kitten nodded. “She asked for you,” she replied, and was barely able to keep up with him as he hurried up the path to the house.
Both of them were out of breath when they entered the room. They could hear the sound of the reverend’s falsetto raised in prayer through the door. Frau Hempleman must still be alive.
However, Kitten was able to see her only for a fleeting moment. Now that it was obviously the end, George Hempleman wanted to be alone with his wife.
“Wait outside, Reverend,” he ordered as he sat down on the bed. “And you, girl, thank you. You have been a great help to my wife during these last days, and we can certainly speak about a small compensation.”
“Kitten—” Linda Hempleman breathed, but her husband ignored the request.
“Go now, please,” he said to Kitten. “You must have something to do at the beach, or somewhere else. I think Barker was asking for you. So please . . .” He gestured toward the door, ushering the girl away.
“I’ll come back soon, Frau Hempleman!” Kitten called.
Maybe the reverend was exaggerating, she thought. Linda Hempleman wouldn’t really die now, would she? She would probably ask for Kitten again that evening. Kitten gathered her courage and left the house. But the last, weak call of her friend rang in her ears.
Kitten didn’t want to go to the beach. She decided to take shelter in the woods and keep an eye on the house. Perhaps Linda would feel her presence. In any case, staying close was a comfort for Kitten. Eventually, it occurred to her that her dying friend might have been pleased if she had prayed for her. Dutifully, she attempted to do so, but it didn’t feel like anyone was listening. Even the trees, among which she often thought she sensed a supernatural presence, remained silent. Not even the wind rustled in their branches.
In the house, nothing stir
red for hours. Only much later, as it began to grow dark and the beech trees cast ghostly shadows, did Kitten hear someone panting with exertion and calling her name in an irritable voice. A woman’s voice. At first, against all reason, she thought it was Frau Hempleman, but then she saw Noni. Out of breath, the plump whore fought her way up the path.
“Kitten!” she gasped. “There you are! Come now, otherwise Barker will skin us both. He told Suzanne to fetch you an hour ago, but of course she forgot—if she even understood in the first place. She’s been completely out of it all day. And now I’m supposed to dress you up pretty and bring you to the pub. You were gone, and Barker—”
“He wants me to put on the dress?” Kitten asked. “But—but today he won’t—”
Noni shook her head. “No. The men are too tired. He just wants to get them interested. They’ll get their pay tomorrow when they’ve finished butchering the whale, and they’ll want to celebrate. If they see you this evening all done up, then they can dream about you all night. So come now, it’s time. You don’t want Barker to come up here himself and drag you down by the hair, do you?”
She wouldn’t put it past the whoremonger. And if he started making a fuss here, they might hear in the house. Kitten sighed. She cast a last, worried glance at the manor before following Noni to the beach. She would get it over with as fast as she could, and then come back to be close to Linda Hempleman.
“Look up now, at least!” Noni cried reproachfully.
She had helped Kitten put on the red dress, taken down her hair and brushed it out, and put a little bit of makeup on her. It really was only a little, not nearly as garish as the faces of the other whores. After all, Kitten shouldn’t look too wanton; she was being auctioned off as a virgin.
Now she wore a little rouge on her lips, and the kohl accentuated her huge hazel eyes. They glowed almost unnaturally, reflecting Kitten’s inner battle between revolt and resignation.
“You’re so pretty! The men will bid a fortune for you! Think about all that money!” Noni said, trying to cheer her up. “We get to keep ten percent of what we earn—”
“It should be the other way around!” Kitten said angrily. “You should get the lion’s share, since you’re doing all the work. He—”
“You mean we, darling,” Noni said with a smile. “Now you’re one of us. But I wouldn’t ask Barker for more money if I were you. We’ve all tried it. Well, not Suzanne, of course. I can still remember how much my backside hurt after I tried it . . .”
Kitten wondered if Barker had also beaten Priscilla. Probably not. The big, strong woman had surely gotten her way and was now secretly earning a higher percentage of her fees. If only she hadn’t let herself be swayed by Barker’s professions of love.
“Come now, child!”
Noni towed Kitten through the primitive curtains that separated the whores’ rustic “dressing room” from the barroom. The pub was busy and animated—and saturated with an infernal stench. The smell of blubber and blood didn’t just come from the beach but also exuded from clothing and hair, and clung to the carousing men’s skin. Most of them had large tankards of beer in front of them. After all the heavy work of eviscerating the whale, they were thirsty.
Kitten was afraid that the mixed stenches of blubber and beer would make her throw up, but at least she had nothing in her stomach. Then, to the appreciative sounds of an obviously prepared audience, Barker grabbed her and pulled her over to a table in the middle of the pub that had obviously been cleared for the purpose.
“Up on the chair, and then on the table, girl!” he ordered. His voice sounded so threatening that Kitten didn’t dare to object. She climbed obediently onto the “stage” but kept her eyes lowered.
“There you have it, boys! Suzanne’s kitten. Younger, prettier, and not as cuckoo as her mother. And you won’t have to buy her any extra whiskey, she’s just a girl . . .” Barker grinned. “But now she’ll start working here like the other wenches, after one of you has broken her in. Boys, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen anything like this, but we have a real virgin here! One of you will be the first to lay hands on her. And not just hands!”
To Kitten’s horror, the pub filled with raucous laughter. She tried not to look at the men, but her shyness seemed no less stimulating to them than the angry glances that she’d often given when they’d made lewd attempts in the past.
“Of course, it will cost you,” Barker said, and licked his lips. “It was hard for me to set a price, so I decided to give her to whoever can pay the most! Tomorrow, before the pub closes, you can bid on the first night with the girl. And it will be an entire night, boys! That I can guarantee you. A wedding night! Whoever buys her tomorrow can have her to himself until sunrise!”
Barker gave the men time to chat and confer about the possibility, and order more beer from Priscilla and Noni. While they were doing that, he instructed Kitten to turn slowly on the table and raise the hem of her dress a little. She did so with as little coquettishness as possible, and wondered what the men were so excited about. She had outgrown her old dress a long time ago. Whenever she walked through the village, people saw more of her legs than they did now.
“So, men,” Barker declared. “Tomorrow! Tomorrow after work, I’ll expect to see you all here in the pub—”
“No!”
Kitten turned in shock when she heard the voice of a man accustomed to giving orders. It couldn’t be that someone was going to rescue her, could it? That happened only in fairy tales.
And this wasn’t one. It was only Mr. Hempleman, standing at the entrance of the pub. He pushed his way through the crowd and stood in front of his hired men.
“The pub will be closed tomorrow, men. My dear wife, Linda, God bless her, passed away an hour ago. Tomorrow, after your work is done, I will have the sad duty of carrying her to her grave. And I expect all of you to be there!”
As he spoke, Mr. Hempleman’s eyes wandered threateningly over the crowd, and then he finally saw Kitten, who cringed under his scrutiny. She hoped he wouldn’t recognize her with the makeup and dress. Hopefully . . .
“You, too, you shameless little whore!” Hempleman snarled. “My wife always took care of you. And now, in her hour of death, you stand there and pose for the customers. Disgusting! You—you don’t deserve—” He couldn’t continue but quickly wiped a hand over his eyes. “That’s all, men!” Hempleman turned to leave. “And by the way, it’s time to go home now. I don’t want to be disturbed by the sound of your drunken revelry during the wake.”
Kitten felt terrible, but on the other hand, she was also grateful for the short reprieve. Trembling, she climbed down from the table. Barker didn’t stop her. He was buzzing around Hempleman, assuring him of his condolences and feigning understanding about the closing of the pub.
Kitten used the opportunity to slip away. Although it had begun to rain, she escaped to the woods and curled up under the shelter of a nikau palm. It offered protection from the weather, but Kitten barely noticed the rain anyway. Her cheeks were already wet from her tears.
Chapter 4
The next day the men continued with the butchering of the whale, which was called flensing. The creature was stripped of blubber, and the coveted baleen was taken to be used for making women’s corsets and hoopskirts. The men’s spirits were low. They felt cheated of their celebration and worried about whether Mr. Hempleman would also postpone their pay.
Stiff and soaking wet from her night in the forest, Kitten returned to the women. She was hungry and exhausted, and stoically endured Noni’s scolding about the dirty “wedding dress.” The red garment would have to be washed.
Toward the evening, Linda Hempleman was carried to her grave. A coffin had been made quickly. Kitten would have liked to decorate it with rata flowers, but she didn’t dare approach George Hempleman, who never left his dead wife’s side. To avoid any further accusations, she remained hidden behind the men during the funeral, and the whores kept their distance too. Suzanne hummed abs
ently to herself as the reverend said a prayer for the dead, and Priscilla had her hands full trying to keep her quiet. Finally, the reverend began to sing a hymn, and the men who knew it sang tunelessly along. Most of them just hummed a little. A few Irishmen spontaneously sang “Danny Boy” at the end of the service, and of all the prayers and songs, Kitten liked that one the best. Then it was over. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the men who hadn’t been given the task of closing the grave took their leave.
Kitten sat with Priscilla and Noni in front of Noni’s hut. The rain had given way to milder spring weather. Since the pub was closed, the men made a fire on the beach and passed whiskey around. Barker didn’t sell bottles the men could take with them, but Carpenter had recently passed through after visiting the local Maori tribes. There were a few small settlements around Piraki Bay, and the merchant used the whaling station as his base when he traded with them. After the funeral, he’d jumped at the chance to sell a few bottles to the whalers, who had indeed received their pay, before he traveled on the next morning. He was pleased that he had found passage to the North Island. Captain Clayton would take him aboard his schooner, the Bee, and sail up the Wairau River delta. There, in Cloudy Bay at the river’s mouth, was another whaling station. The whale products would have to be loaded there before the captain began his long voyage to Europe, and Carpenter planned to visit larger Maori tribes around Tasman Bay, tribes that were supposedly more civilized than the local groups.
“There’s a reason I don’t like to spend the night with the tribes here,” he told Reverend Morton. “Tuhawaiki, their chieftain, sold Hempleman the land. But that hasn’t stopped him from attacking the settlers every now and then. And it can get bloody when his warriors get out of control. I’ve even heard rumors about cannibalism.”
