The Whale Caller (23 page)

She breaks into a blues song and acknowledges imaginary applause.

“I am sure you will, Saluni,” says the Whale Caller. “I am sure you will.”

“In the meantime you must do something about your life too,” she says. “While we are waiting for the festivals around South Africa to come to an end we need to find a way to increase our income, so that we can raise our standard of living a bit. When I hit the big time the good life must not come as a total shock to our bodies.”

“I have been happy living like this all my life, Saluni.”

“Happy? You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Satisfied. I have been satisfied living like this all my life.”

“That was before I became famous, man. Now things have changed.”

When she is excited like this the sweet and mouldy smell exudes from her in gushes. She leaves the room, promising that when she returns she will have a bombshell of an idea. The sweet and mouldy smell lingers. He remembers his mother.

She does return with an idea, although to the Whale Caller it doesn’t seem to be such a bombshell. She suggests that he must catch fish and sell it instead of complaining about the meagreness
of his pension. Angling will also add variety to their diet. They will not just depend on the window-shopping ritual to provide some respite from macaroni and cheese. “After all,” she adds, “you used to be a fisherman during your wanderings. You must have learnt a thing or two about catching fish.”

As far as the Whale Caller is concerned this is not such an original idea. Long before Saluni became part of his life he considered line fishing for a living a few times, but discarded the idea when he realised that it would take him away from his whales for long periods. He was also discouraged by the fact that he would have first to obtain a fishing permit at the post office, which would only allow him ten fish a day. The permit would further prohibit him from exceeding five fish of any particular species. He therefore decided to forget about the idea. He was satisfied with the meagre pension at the time because there was no Saluni to look after. His needs were few and he managed quite well. Now there is Saluni, with her civilised living and all. It is a different life. They do need the extra income even if it is derived from such small quotas. Perhaps he could devote two days of the week to fishing. There is no harm in investing a little money on tackle, bait and forceps for removing hooks from the fish. Yes, he will take Saluni’s suggestion.

“You will see,” Saluni assures him. “You will get places when you listen to me. Who knows? Maybe one day fame will also find you. Just stick around with me, man, and fame will either find you or you will find it.”

The Wendy house becomes busy once more. And not just from breathlessness. Saluni revives civilised living. Since the tulips of the mansion are still on strike the vase on the table now has grasses and fresh wild flowers, including some fynbos from Hoy’s Koppie, which is protected by government environmental authorities, and shouldn’t be in anyone’s vase. Civilised living now includes a change of diet. Cream of mushroom soup as a starter.
Fried cabbage. Fried rice. Very few window-shopping expeditions these days, but more candlelight dinners at the Wendy house. Fish. Although he is really a fried fish man, she introduces other ways of preparing it. Grilled fish. Curried fish. Pickled fish.

It is the fish that the Whale Caller catches in the sea. Fish-catching days are pleasant for Saluni because she does not have to share him with Sharisha. Often they walk on cliff paths to his favourite fishing spot that is thirty minutes east of the Old Harbour at an easy pace. This is a spot that never disappoints in its yield of bottom-feeding fish such as the hottentot and the stump-nose—both red and white. But today they find that it has been invaded by a forest of kelp. Seals and their puppies are playing a game of hide-and-seek in the kelp. The Whale Caller knows immediately that there won’t be any fish there. He moves on to another spot, with Saluni in tow, with her running commentary on the beckoning pleasures of fame. He finds just the right spot at the Kwaaiwater near the mouth of the Mossel River. There is cob water here—the sea is muddy brown close to the coast, a sign that the place is teeming with fish of the cob variety. He takes off the top of his overalls and ties its arms around his waist. He sits bare-chested on a cliff and casts his line into the sea. After an hour or so he has caught only fish as small as the chokka, that children hook at night off the quay at the new harbour.

“We’ll use this as bait,” he says.

“Shame on your tiny pilchards,” she says. “I am sure even a child can catch better fish. I tell you every day, man, we can’t walk all this distance just to catch fish that are as small as my thumb.”

“You leave the fishing to me, Saluni, and I’ll leave stardom to you.”

“At Castle Rock and Gearing Point near the Old Harbour people catch better fish. And that is on our doorstep.”

“It is always crowded there, Saluni, with sea anglers fighting for a small space on piers and harbour walls. Anyway, the fresh air
and the walk will do you a lot of good. Now that you are a star you have to maintain your beautiful figure, you know that.”

She nearly tells him that the only good thing about this walk is that it takes them far away from Sharisha and her spoilt brat. But she remembers that she has vowed not to mention Sharisha’s name to him again. She must pretend that the whale is no bother at all in order to beat it at its own game. That is why she sometimes joins him as he sits on the peninsula for hours drooling over the creatures. She even pretends to drool with him, while inside she is laughing at the foolishness of it all. As usual, when the Whale Caller is not there, she flashes or moons the stupid whale, and this never fails to destabilise it and drive it away to the sheltered bay to join other calving whales.

There is a bite. A fish is hooked, and judging from its struggle, it is not the puny ones that Saluni has been mocking. He plays it for some time until it gets tired. Then he lands it. It is a plump bluish grey fish, about thirty-five centimetres long.

“It is a broad bream,” says an excited Saluni. “This one you are not selling, man. It is for our table.”

“It is a hottentot, Saluni,” he says. “It is easy to confuse them. Yes, this one is yours, Saluni. I caught it for you. See how beautiful it looks in its gleaming colours? It is as beautiful as you.”

Saluni is squatting behind him, displaying a big toothless smile.

“At least now you are doing something, man,” she says, scratching his hairy back as he guts the hottentot. “You’ve stopped playing.”

“If you think it’s easy to catch a fish you should try it.”

“If you think it’s easy to be a star you should try it.”

“I never argue with you about that, Saluni,” he says. “I never do.”

Fishing is not for people in a hurry. It needs patience. Another hour passes without any luck. Saluni is beginning to feel that the
man is not so hot after all. And then he catches a red roman. Her faith in him is revived, and with it the scratching of his back. This one will be sold and will bring in some cash to add to the growing fortune that she, as the treasurer, keeps in a scoff tin under the bed.

But soon their haven is invaded by other anglers. And they all concentrate on the area near the river mouth. The Whale Caller knows immediately that it must be the kabeljou run. During this season shoaling kabeljou is found wherever the water is dirty. The sandy bottoms of river mouths are the favourite haunts of the shoals. They are very elusive though, and are mostly caught by divers in spearfishing expeditions. But anglers always try their luck. Stories are told of anglers who grew old trying to break a record set by one Mr. W. R. Selkirk, who landed the biggest fish ever caught with rod and line to date anywhere in the world. And it happened right here in Hermanns on April 28, 1922. No decent angler forgets that date. And the fish? It was a four-metre-long shark that weighed 986 kilograms, drawn from these waters after a five-and-a-half-hour struggle.

Most anglers are realistic enough to know that this record may be broken only in tall tales. In any event harming sharks is regarded as objectionable. South Africa was the first country in the world to outlaw shark fishing. The objective, instead, is to break another Hermanus record set by the Honourable William Philip Schreiner, K.C. C.M.G., who caught a fifty-kilogram kabeljou. The prestige of breaking a fishing record set by none other than that distinguished son of a German missionary who became the prime minister of the Cape in 1898, a Rugby Union official, a constitutional lawyer who was part of a fondly remembered 1909 delegation to London to petition for a franchise for black people, and brother of author Olive Schreiner, is what spurs the men gathering here to return year after year for the kabeljou run. None of them, however, is able to say what year exactly the great man actually
caught the kabeljou. Most believe that it is a record even older than the Selkirk one. There is debate about that even as they choose their prime spots and ceremonially cast their nylon lines into the water.

They are not really match anglers in the true sense of the word in that they do not engage in organised competitive fishing. They do not compete to see who will have the biggest catch in total weight. Most are specimen anglers looking only for the kabeljou. There is no official referee or judge, and at the end of the day no trophies or cash prizes will be awarded. Anglers come and go as they wish, without anyone timing them. Some get tired of trying and walk back to town to sample other pleasures. But there is some competitiveness though, since each one is looking for that prized catch, and the ultimate glory will be in breaking the Honourable Schreiner’s record.

The Whale Caller is not happy with the invasion. He comes here precisely because it is a quiet spot. But then it is the mouth of a river and therefore it attracts such characters. There is nothing he can do about it except mumble his disapproval when an angler does something unseemly, such as use a piece of lead to sink the hook. Although it is illegal to do so since it pollutes the water, selfish people do it all the time. He mutters even more when an angler has a snag because of the rushing waves. An inexperienced angler loses his whole tackle and another one’s line snaps.

“Forget about other people,” Saluni tells him, “and focus on your work.”

“It is dangerous to the wildlife, Saluni. Hooks and tackle in the sea will kill many innocent fish and other sea creatures.”

“We are catching them here, man. They are going to die in any case. And we’re going to eat them. What’s the difference?”

Oh, this Saluni! She will never understand these things. He chuckles at her logic.

There is a bite. A fish is toying with the bait. He lifts the rod
sharply in order to drive the barbed treble hook home. There is a struggle. He stands up and braces his foot against the boulder as he plays the fish, trying to tire it. But the fish is too strong. He slips and is almost dragged down the cliff into the sea. He does not let go of the rod and manages to dig into the ground between two firm rocks. The struggle continues. By now the other anglers have become spectators. They cheer and egg him on. When the fish seems to be getting the upper hand three men instinctively rush to assist him but others stop them. A man needs to savour the glory of catching the big one on his own.

“Come on, man,” screeches Saluni. “You can’t let it go now.”

It takes him more than an hour to land the fish. It is the biggest kabeljou that the spectators have ever seen. It
is
longer than the Whale Caller’s height and certainly bulkier than Saluni’s body. It still has some fight left in it. But not for long. Soon it is dead and he is gutting it.

“Get us a weighing basket,” says one man. “Who has a weighing basket?”

No one has a weighing basket that can weigh such a big fish.

“He must have broken the record,” says another man. “This must be the biggest kabeljou ever caught in the waters of Hermanus. Of the world even.”

“Who ever thought big-game fishing can be done so successfully from the cliffs?” yet another asks of no one in particular.

The Whale Caller is exhausted. He lies next to his fish, trying to catch his breath. His arms ache and his knees are bleeding. His overalls are torn at the knees. While Saluni is massaging his sweat-drenched nape and shining pate, assuring him that he will be fine again in no time, a man lifts up the fish and poses with it. His companion takes some photographs.

“He is going to lie about that when he gets home,” Saluni whispers to the Whale Caller. “He’s going to claim that he caught the fish.”

“It doesn’t matter, Saluni. The fish knows who caught it.”

When a second man and a third want to pose with the fish Saluni puts a stop to it. They must pay, she demands, before they can pose with the fish. The Whale Caller is embarrassed, but he is unable to do anything to stop her. Soon there is a long queue of people who want a picture with the fish. Saluni collects the money while the Whale Caller sits on the ground looking astonished. In an hour she has collected more money than they have ever made in a week of selling fresh line fish.

“This is going to be our business, man,” says Saluni as they negotiate the winding cliff paths back to town, with the Whale Caller carrying the heavy fish on his shoulders. “We are going to make a lot of money renting out this fish.”

“All I want to know is how much this fish weighs,” says the Whale Caller.

When they reach the town they find that people have been alerted to the big catch. There are newspaper photographers, and radio and television reporters waiting to interview the Whale Caller. They take the kabeljou to the fishing club to be weighed on their very accurate Atlas scale. Forty-three kilograms! It does not break the record but it is big enough to celebrate.

“What are you going to do with this fish?” asks a woman in the crowd.

“Taking it home, of course,” says Saluni.

“I want to buy it,” says a fishmonger. “Name your price.”

“I want to buy it too,” says the man who runs the restaurant on the stilts.