Eye of the Whale (19 page)

Apollo surfaced twenty feet from the boat, allowing Elizabeth to see the wound on his back more closely. The skin was ripped open, exposing white blubber and the pink muscle beneath. It was a deep
cut, and the laceration looked serrated, perhaps from the teeth of a killer whale or a boat strike. Seeing the injury up close renewed her sense of urgency to help this whale get back to the ocean.

“Ready?” Lieutenant James asked.

“I guess so,” Elizabeth said as she played the tape.

“Steer us toward the bridge,” the lieutenant commanded the coxswain standing at the wheel in the cabin.

They could not see Apollo in the murky water and waited for him to surface. She put on her headphones and could hear through the hydrophone that the feeding call was pumping out into the water loudly. It sounded like the wailing siren from an emergency vehicle—
AHhh-ooOO
—first falling and then rising.

After several minutes, she raised the volume, but still nothing.

Ten very long minutes passed, and finally, Apollo surfaced at the other end of the slough. Elizabeth was disappointed but not surprised. When this rescue technique had been tried two decades earlier with Humphrey, he had come to the boat immediately. But the feeding sounds had had an opposite effect on a subsequent pair of whales, Dawn and Delta. Something in the pit of her stomach had told her that this time it was not going to work.

“Try the killer whale sounds,” Lieutenant James commanded. “Bring the boat back behind the whale, and let’s see if we can herd him down the slough.”

“Lieutenant, I really would not recommend playing predatory sounds to a forty-ton whale in an enclosed space,” Elizabeth said.

“Do we have another choice?”

Elizabeth paused. She wasn’t sure whether to say what she was thinking.

“Do we have another choice, Professor?”

She winced. “Just call me Elizabeth.”

“Okay, do we have a choice, Elizabeth?”

“Last night I recorded two social sounds in the song—”

“That was you last night?”

Elizabeth swallowed and continued, deciding not to address the various laws she had broken. “One sound for distress and the other a mother-calf contact call.”

“I thought this was a bull.”

“It is.”

“Unless a lot has changed in the animal world since I left the farm, bulls don’t have calves.”

“They don’t.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m exploring the possibility that this whale is trying to communica—”

“With us?”

“No, not with us, with other whales. We just happen to be lucky enough to overhear it.” The whale’s song started to vibrate the steel hull of the inflatable.

“Why would it come here to communicate with other whales?” Lieutenant James spoke slowly, trying to follow what she was saying.

“Perhaps it
is
lost, or it could have been chased into the bay by killer whales. We don’t really know.”

“You really believe this whale is saying something?”

“I’m a scientist, Lieutenant. I don’t believe anything. I formulate research questions, and then I test them.”

“Such as?”

“Why are whales all around the world repeating this same song? Why are social sounds embedded in the song? What do these social sounds mean?”

“These are all very interesting scientific questions, Professor, but what does this have to do with rescuing this whale?”

“Apollo.”

“Excuse me?”

“His name is Apollo. I found his tailprint in the fluke registry.”

Lieutenant James looked taken aback to be on a first-name basis with the whale. “Well, then, how does this help us to rescue Apollo?”

“If this whale is making some kind of a distress call, maybe we can find some way to calm it and get it to leave.”

Lieutenant James was shaking his head doubtfully.

Elizabeth urged, “Give me one week. Get me a letter of authorization so I don’t have to do my research in the middle of the night, and I’ll find you a way to get this whale out.” Or at least she hoped she would.

Lieutenant James’s cell phone rang. When he looked at the caller ID, he stood up straighter before answering. “Yes, sir…I understand perfectly, sir. We will have this resolved as quickly as possible. I will brief you within the hour.” He hung up and turned to Elizabeth. “Play the killer whales.”

Elizabeth shook her head and played the file. She listened through the hydrophone at the high-pitched screeches and gunshot-like popping sounds. She had heard that the concussion of these sounds was like being beaten with a club.

Apollo moved so quickly that the bow wave swamped the small orange boat and heaved it sideways. Elizabeth dropped the recorder and fell backward into the icy water.

She came to the surface and gasped for air as she saw Apollo slashing at the boat with his giant tail. It was crashing down like a mallet and sending white boiling spray in all directions. She could hear the killer whale sounds, felt them hit against her body. If only she’d had a chance to turn off the player!

Then the sounds stopped, and so did Apollo’s attack against the boat. Lieutenant James must have hit the right button.

THIRTY-FIVE

T
HE SOUNDS OF FEEDING
echoed through Apollo—his stomach rumbling with a season’s starvation—his blubber stores as thin as they had ever been—

Apollo remembered the feasting of the cold summer waters where the rustling of krill was calling with life—he and the others drawing bubbles around the shoal of tiny crustaceans—circling—circling—creating the net—closer and closer—and when all knew that the feast was ready—erupting upward as one—mouths wide open—an explosion of spray—filling—closing—straining—devouring—

But there were no krill in these narrows—their salty swarms were absent in this lifeless water
—

The sounds changed—no longer of kin—they were now of killers! He could hear the sharp-edged pitch of their frenzied screams—the pulses like teeth once again striking his skin
—

The wound was still fresh on his back—the raw edges of skin rubbing—

He charged toward the sound and began slashing his tail in defense—but there were no killers in the water—just the slow drone of a boat—

And then he saw it suspended in the water—struggling to reach the surface—he searched for an eye but could not find one—then drew the creature close with his flipper—tucking it against his body—then rolling to lift it onto his belly—

THIRTY-SIX

E
LIZABETH FELT HER BODY
pushed over and up. The slough was parting, and the brown water began to spill away from her. She couldn’t believe it. She was on all fours, crouching on the belly of the whale.

Above her Elizabeth saw the towering pectoral fins. The massive four-hundred-pound flippers could easily crush her, but she was being held as gently as a calf cradled by its mother. After she had recovered from the shock and realized that she was not dreaming, she heard cheering. It was coming from the spectators lining the banks.

Elizabeth smiled a nervous half-smile, knowing that her colleagues and the Coast Guard might not be as impressed. While riding on whales was acceptable at marine parks, she knew it was considered interfering with a wild whale by researchers and, even more importantly, by law enforcement. She looked down at her hands, and what she saw made her heart sink.

The whale’s skin was not only blistering and sloughing off, but there were raised white plaques, like mold on cheese, and these lumps were already starting to ooze. She also saw white lesions and more superficial pockmarks. She wondered whether all of this could have happened so quickly, just from the fresh water.

The cheering had not stopped. Elizabeth raised her hand modestly to acknowledge the crowd and let them know she was all right. They cheered all the louder. She quickly slipped into the water to swim back to the boat.

The whale swam toward her, and just above the surface she saw his gray-brown eye. It caused her to tremble even more than the freezing water.

Through the clouding lens she recognized a light she had seen in other whales she had studied. It was not just perceptiveness or intelligence. It was the familiarity of something long forgotten, which she could feel but had never been able to give voice to.

Several large, blue-suited Coast Guard seamen helped Elizabeth over the orange gunwale of the boat. Water poured off her soaked clothes. As they wrapped a rough wool blanket around her, she felt it scrape against her neck. She could feel her body’s heat captured by the wool and was grateful for the warmth. Someone handed her a cup of coffee from a thermos. She smiled as she smelled its bitter aroma, and everything else seemed to disappear for a moment in a cloud of steam.

Lieutenant James came up to her. “They’ve agreed to make you a co-investigator on the permit for the Marine Mammal Center. You got your week.”

“And then what?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

W
HEN
E
LIZABETH
reached shore, the television film crews attacked her.

“Can you really talk to the whale?”

“Are you like Dr. Dolittle?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, remembering her mistake the day before.

“Is the whale sick?” a reporter asked as the crop duster flew overhead.

“I’m not sure, but I think we need to institute a no-fly zone to avoid harming it any more.”

“What did you see when you were on the whale?”

“His skin is blistering—he’s not healthy.”

“What do you think is making the whale sick?”

“I don’t know,” she said, remembering Connie’s words, “but the crop dusting can’t be good for him. I would strongly encourage the farmers in this area to stop spraying until the whale is safely back in the ocean.”

“So how did it feel to be on the belly of a whale?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I guess it’s better than being
in
the belly of a whale.”

Everyone laughed as she excused herself. Elizabeth squeezed the water out of her braid. She was grateful to have her hair braided, or she would have looked even more like a wet rat on television. She wondered if Frank would see the program, and she hoped she had looked at least halfway decent.

“Excuse me, Ms. McKay…”

Elizabeth turned around. Bruce Wood, a reporter from the
Sacramento Times,
handed her his card with a wry smile. “I’d like to do a story about you and the whales you talk to.”

“Why don’t you write an article on the effects of crop dusting?”

“Crop dusting is not news in the Central Valley, but whales and the women who love them will be of interest to our readers.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Elizabeth said as she met up with Connie, who had a tiny video camcorder in her hand. It looked like something an international spy might use.

“Home movies of the great Dr. Elizabeth Dolittle. You can’t trust the news to get the story right.” Connie handed Elizabeth a slip of paper. “I got you the name and number of someone who might be able to help stop the spraying. He’s the head of the Valley Chamber of Commerce. He’ll know who’s responsible.”

“Why me? You’re the activist.”

“He’s much more likely to take a call from a celebrity.”

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth said testily, pulling the wool blanket more tightly around her. They crossed the police tape surrounding Incident Command and moved through the crowd of people still lining the shore of the levee.

Before Connie could answer, people began to recognize Elizabeth as the woman they had just seen on the whale. They moved apart to make way for her, staring silently. Elizabeth felt strange, as if she had returned from an alien world. Embarrassment flushed through her body like a red rash. She heard someone clap and then others joined in, and soon the whole crowd was applauding. It continued as Elizabeth walked down the levee. What she had done to deserve the applause, she wasn’t sure. What she meant to these people, she didn’t know. But she had given them something they longed for, and they were clearly deeply grateful.

THIRTY-SEVEN

4:00
P.M.
Davis

“D
ON’T YOU KNOW
smoking bad for your health?” Teo pressed his filleting knife to Nilsen’s neck and pushed his chest firmly against the other man’s back. It had been easy to recognize Nilsen from the island—he was, after all, the one who had told Teo about the whales. He had also been the one who had cut a member of Teo’s crew in a bar fight. “Tell me why you spying on Liza before I slit your throat and watch the smoke come out.”

Nilsen exhaled and said calmly, “You got this wrong.”

“Have I now?”

“We’ve got twenty-five thousand dollars for that package you brought from the island.”

“That a lot of money for a couple kilos of whale meat.” Teo was having fun with the man, but he was also thinking fast about why they were willing to part with so much cash.

“The offer is for twenty-five thousand
U.S.
dollars,” Nilsen said, still surprisingly relaxed for someone whose throat could be slit at any moment. Teo considered the offer. He could do a lot with that kind of money, but what kind of a bargain was he making with the devil? He knew Nilsen worked for the Japanese, who were trying to bring back commercial whaling. He did not object to it—they were fishermen, just like him—but they’d wipe out the whales
in a few seasons. Then there’d be no more catching days, not for anyone.

Teo thought about the package in Elizabeth’s freezer. He’d need to move it to keep it—and Elizabeth—safe.

“Well, I got an offer for you. Get the hell out of here and never come back. Then I won’t slit your throat. That’s
my
final offer.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

5:00
P.M.
Liberty Slough