Willa and the Whale

by Chad Morris

  “Did you say a beached whale?” the operator asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Rocky Cove Beach. South end. You have to go across the highway by Dahl Road, then go down the steep trail. But I need help fast.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. I kicked water up at the whale because I was afraid of it getting dry. Like the hoodie, it wasn’t going to be enough to change anything, but I had to try. And even a little had to help, right? But I was careful to avoid the blowhole. If water got in the blowhole, it would be like us getting water in our lungs. And the last thing I needed to do would be choke a stranded whale. “We need to get it help fast,” I repeated.

  Still nothing.

  “Hello? I said there’s a beached whale here,” I repeated.

  Another pause. “I’m sorry, but we don’t handle beached whales,” she said. “I’m trying to find someone who can help you.”

  What? 911 was for emergencies. That’s why they exist. What did she mean that she didn’t handle them? This was a huge emergency. Like biggest-creature-on-earth huge. I pulled my hoodie off the whale and got it wet again.

  I stood there, holding the hoodie, not sure where to put it to do the most good. Not sure that I was doing any good at all, I felt afraid I was going to start crying from being overwhelmed.

  “I’m back.” The lady on the phone startled me. “I have a phone number for the Marine Mammal Stranding Hotline. Would you like me to connect you?”

  Her voice snapped me back into action. I picked a spot and placed the hoodie. “Yes, please.”

  It was quiet again while she connected the call.

  The whale hadn’t breathed again, or maybe it had and I was just too stressed out to notice. I put my ear to its body, hoping to hear a heartbeat. A blue whale’s heart only beats like ten times a minute, so I’d have to be patient. The heart was the size of a car and its arteries were so big, a kid a little smaller than me could probably swim through them.

  I listened but heard nothing.

  When a blue whale’s heart beats in the ocean, you can hear it up to two miles away. But I couldn’t hear anything now.

  Come on. Come on. Come on.

  I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t help but think of my mom and her heart. Had something like that happened to this whale?

  “It’s okay,” I said to the whale, “we’re getting help.” I hoped that maybe, just maybe, it could understand me like Meg.

  But nothing.

  I waited on the phone, listening for the operator, or the heartbeat, or the whale to respond, whichever came first. Every second dragged at seahorse speed.

  “Hello, this is Charles at the Granata Island Observation Station.” Someone had finally answered. I rattled off the details about the whale and how it was stuck and needed help now. “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he said. And he sounded like he was grabbing things. I even heard him call out to someone else at the station. Finally—someone who treated this like an emergency.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Please don’t go near the animal,” he said.

  “Okay,” I lied. It was too late for that. And Charles hung up.

  Someone was coming. Someone who knew how to help. I kicked more water on Blue. I guess I had named him Blue in my mind. Suddenly it registered that Charles said he was from Granata Island. That wasn’t very close. He’d have to take a ferry to get here.

  That left me alone, kicking insignificant amounts of water up on a giant blue whale for a long time.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  No one really knows why whales get beached, but we have some guesses. Sometimes they were dead before and float up onto shore. Sometimes they get sick and disoriented. Also, the sonar we use in boats might mess up their echolocation or their brain waves. And there is another reason, and it terrifies me.

  “Meg?” I called out.

  She didn’t answer. I waited and she still didn’t answer. There wasn’t much she would be able to do from the middle of the ocean but I needed help, I needed someone.

  I called my dad. He didn’t answer either. He kept his phone off in the mornings sometimes. I left a message telling him that I needed his help, then called the only other person I could think of. After our earlier conversation, I wondered if he’d pick up.

  He didn’t.

  It was early, like 6:30. He probably wasn’t even awake yet.

  I didn’t know who else to call, so I tried again. As I pressed the buttons on my phone, I worried that I must seem obnoxious, calling him twice in a row like this, plus waking him so early. It might just make him angrier.

  But I had to do something.

  It rang three times.

  “Hey, Willa,” Marc said, answering this time, half yawning. But he didn’t sound upset, so that was good. And the fact that he picked up was all that mattered right now.

  “Can you get to our beach, now?” I frantically asked. “There’s this stranded whale and it’s stuck and I’m really scared that it’s going to die if we don’t help it.”

  “What?” His voice rose in confusion.

  “I need help now,” I repeated. “A beached whale. I’m afraid it’s going to . . .” Tears streamed down my face. “Oh. Just hurry.” I couldn’t form my sentences very well. My mind was like a typhoon of terror and nerves.

  “Okay okay okay,” he said superfast, one word bleeding into the next. “I’m coming. Are you at our normal spot?”

  “No,” I said. “Well, close. Just down the shore towards downtown. You’ll see us.”

  I heard him calling out something loud in Spanish to his family. Was he waking them up? I couldn’t tell what he said but he was probably telling them why he had to go somewhere this early.

  I wished he were here. Stat.

  “We need all the blankets or towels that we can get wet,” I said. “Buckets too, maybe shovels . . .” My brain couldn’t think past the obvious.

  “Is it alive?” he asked. I could hear him breathing hard as if he was running around.

  “I think so,” I said, though I was getting nervous since I hadn’t heard the heart and it had been a bit since it breathed. “Please hurry.”

  My eyes wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t let them.

  “I’m leaving right now,” Marc said and hung up.

  People were coming. Charles and Marc.

  I wasn’t going to have to do this by myself.

  There was so much relief in that idea. But there was still a lot to do if we were going to save this whale. What would my mom do if she were here?

  It hurt to think about her, but I had to. What would she do? What would she do? What?

  Keep the skin moist. I was trying.

  Notify authorities. I’d done that.

  Keep the environment calm. Check.

  Now what?

  I kicked water up on Blue again and again, now just trying to keep myself from crying. I tried my dad again, but he didn’t answer.

  I kicked some more. Once a wave hit me from behind and almost knocked me over. It soaked me through.

  But that was good.

  It also hit Blue.

  A big wave like that also meant the tide was rising, which would make it easier for us to get the whale back out to sea.

  In and out, the water surrounded the massive body, and then it pulled out, sucking around the pebbles as it left.

  I imagined what it must be like to live your entire life in the buoyancy of the salt water and then find yourself, all tons and tons of you, stuck out in the dry air, with all of the gravity that comes with it. The weight on his body must have been huge.

  Hurry, rescue crew. Hurry.

  I still hadn’t heard the whale breathe. But blue whales could go over an hour without breathing, swimming for long periods underwater. So he mi
ght still be okay.

  Walking around him, I tried to determine if he was injured or struggling.

  I passed the baleen, the whale’s filter and feeding system—like a giant drain in its mouth. Baleen whales never attacked large prey, let alone humans—they didn’t have the teeth to eat them. But I still didn’t get that close. It’s not wise to tempt a scared animal with a monstrous mouth.

  Chills ran through me as I studied this mammoth beast in the shadowy morning light all by myself.

  Its eyes were so tiny compared to how big the whole creature was. So tiny, the size of baseballs. And closed.

  Don’t be dead.

  Don’t be dead.

  I don’t need any more dead in my life.

  The largest animal ever to live on our planet—larger than even the biggest dinosaurs. One of the least understood animals in the entire ocean. Just lying on my beach. In my cove. Maybe dying.

  I needed help—soon.

  I reached the tail, and from what I could see everything looked okay. No obvious injuries. But I couldn’t really see the top of the whale because it was too high for me and I couldn’t see its underside.

  I splashed water up on the back of Blue and worked my way to the front. I carefully continued to use my hoodie to try to keep it wet without getting water in the blowhole.

  It wasn’t enough.

  But I didn’t know anything else to do.

  I did it again and again.

  Ten minutes.

  Twenty minutes.

  I’m not even sure how long it had been, but my arms and legs were sore and my spirits low. I was draining fast.

  Still it didn’t breathe.

  But that was okay, right? It hadn’t been an hour.

  I kicked hard at the water to splash lots of it across Blue’s tail. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go.

  “Willa.”

  Finally.

  It was Marc. He had beat the emergency people.

  And there were people behind him.

  “Sorry, Willa,” he said. “We came as fast as we could.”

  We—he said we. My heart almost burst. Not just a little help. Behind Marc was his dad, his mom, and Dante. They paused at the top of the rocks and Papá Mendoza whistled.

  “Oh, Amiga.” He held ropes and a shovel. “This is huge.”

  “Wow.” Dante almost exhaled the word. He was still in his Pokémon pajamas.

  “Wow is right,” a voice said from behind them.

  It was my dad.

  He got my message.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  Blue whales have the biggest hearts on the planet. They can pump fifty-eight gallons with every beat. My heart is about the size of my dad’s fist and pumps a couple ounces with each beat.

  I just really wanted everyone’s hearts: mine, blue whales’, everyone’s and everything’s to just keep ­beating.

  The Mendozas brought with them buckets and towels, just like I asked. The boys went to work right away gathering water and keeping the whale wet.

  Marc’s parents and my dad walked around the whale with me as I tried to explain when I found it and what little I’d already done. “I thought this was going to be a lot smaller whale,” Marc’s dad said. He held up his rope and shovel. “This isn’t going to do any good.”

  “We can’t push it back out,” my dad said as we came back to Blue’s head. “Not with a hundred people.”

  I felt helpless not knowing what to do. Usually I was so good with my oceanic knowledge but this one stumped me. I knew stories of whale strandings. I knew stories where fifty people were able to push a stranded whale back to sea. But that was with a lot smaller whales. Online, I had seen large cranes lift whales back out to deeper water. But those were smaller whales too. I had seen strandings where they put the whale in a harness and pulled it out to sea with a boat. I had seen people dig around the whale so that the sand gave out beneath it and it could float in the water and swim away. I had seen them nurture stranded whales until the tide rose again and they were free.

  None of those whales were this big.

  Not even close.

  The ones that I knew of were baby humpbacks, or sperm whales, or belugas. This thing was a titan compared to those.

  “We need more people,” Mamá Mendoza said. “More than a hundred. A thousand. Two thousand. We should get the whole island out here. Then we might be able to move it.” She would do it, too.

  “It’s too heavy,” Marc’s dad said to his wife. “I have my boat and tow chains, but it would take a whole fleet to move this thing.”

  “Even if that would work, the water is too shallow and too rocky here,” my dad said. “You couldn’t get within seventy-five yards of this whale with a boat. But I don’t have any better ideas.” He scratched the back of his head. “Poor thing doesn’t look good.”

  “Please step away from the whale,” a voice from a megaphone said.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw two silhouettes approaching.

  “We need help,” I said. “We’re trying to get this whale back into the water.”

  “Please just step away,” the man said again coming closer into view. “Whales like this can be very dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Mamá Mendoza said, and then let out a stream of Spanish that I couldn’t understand. I’m guessing she was calling her kids back.

  “Is one of you Willa?” the other person said. This one was a woman and didn’t have a megaphone.

  I raised my hand. “Are you guys from the Granata Island Observation Station?”

  The man nodded. “Charles and Clarissa Goodwin.” He waved an introduction. I couldn’t see their faces very well, but he was as round as a teddy bear.

  The woman was tall and skinny. “You did the right thing in calling us.” She pointed toward the top of the whale’s head. “Charles, look.” She let out a sigh.

  I followed her finger. I still couldn’t see the top of the whale’s head, but there was a dark line that looked like it was dripping down the side of its head. It was in the shadow and very thin. I could see how I missed it, but I felt really dumb. I hoped it didn’t mean what I thought it meant.

  “Did you touch it at all?” she asked looking at me, then my dad and the Mendozas.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “Be sure to wash yourselves very, very well when you get home,” Clarissa explained. “Beached creatures can carry diseases.”

  “Can we save it?” Papá Mendoza asked. “I can call my friends and get boats and tow ropes if any of that would be helpful. But I don’t know, it’s so big . . .”

  “No,” Charles said, using a flashlight to get a good look at the head. “That can actually be really dangerous for the animal. We use specialized equipment to tow a whale. And this guy would need a lot of it. But thank you for offering.”

  Papá Mendoza nodded.

  Clarissa put on some plastic gloves, approached the whale’s eye, and lifted the lid.

  I cringed, waiting for the whale to respond. I know if someone did that to me while I was sleeping, I would hit them pretty hard. I wouldn’t mean to. Just a reaction.

  But then she did something that would freak me out even more. She pressed a few fingers against the eye. Yep. Right on the eye. That couldn’t feel good.

  But the whale didn’t move. Poor thing must have been in really bad shape, in a total daze.

  Charlie started jotting notes on a small notepad he pulled out of his pocket.

  “He’s a blue whale,” Clarissa said.

  I pointed to the tail. “And he has some identifying markings on the fluke.” I pinched my mouth shut. I was just trying to be helpful but feared I might have sounded a little smart-mouthed.

  “Wow,” Charles said going to check out the tail. “You talk like a pro.”
r />   My cheeks grew warm and I grinned. “My mom is a marine biologist.”

  “Here on Tupkuk?” Charles asked, examining the tail markings.

  “She used to be.” It felt strange to suddenly be making small talk. We had a huge titan of a whale that needed us. And even under the circumstances, I felt another sting. Mom would know better what to do than me.

  “What’s her name?” Clarissa asked, joining Charles to look at the tail. Why were they so calm?

  I took a deep breath, the kind a whale probably takes when it’s going to be underwater for the next forty-five minutes. But I let mine out. “Maylan Twitchell,” I said.

  There was a moment of recognition, and then they both looked at each other. “Oh,” Clarissa said, “we’re so sorry. I loved your mom.”

  I smiled, but it was hollow. I loved her more. It was still good to hear that people knew her and loved her too. But she would want us to help this whale.

  Charles crouched, and he and Clarissa spoke to each other. Then he stood up. “Thank you so much for your help,” he said. “You did a wonderful job. You can feel free to go home. We’ll take it from here.”

  “What about the whale?” Mamá Mendoza asked, Dante standing beside her.

  “We will discuss this with our greater team and decide what to do tomorrow,” Clarissa explained.

  “We can’t just wait until tomorrow,” I said. “We have to do something. We have to save it.”

  “For your safety, and because of protocol, you’re going to have to leave now,” Charles said, scrunching up his face like he didn’t like it either.

  “I don’t want to leave,” I said. “I want to help. We have to get this whale back out in the water. Or we have to put more water on him. Something.”

  Clarissa walked over to me. “I’m sorry, Willa.” She took a deep breath. “But the whale is dead.”

  I blinked, trying to process what she said. I ran that word through my head again.

  “It didn’t look alive when we came, but pressing against its eye was a test. It didn’t respond.” She waited a moment. “I’m sorry.”

  Dead? Somewhere in me, I had known, but I’d hoped it away.