The Whiteness of the Whale: A Novel (20 page)

It seemed clear enough. She went forward and clipped her safety line and reeved the slack out of it. She braced her boots and aimed the boat hook over the side like a lance. The others ranged themselves behind her. The man was now clearly visible a hundred yards ahead. He floated low in the sea, heaved upward and then down by the swells. A sallow oval yearned toward them. Dark hair crowned a bullet head. An arm lifted, waved weakly, then sank back.

“One pass,” Perrault called. “One chance. If we must take time to come around again, he will be dead.”

Sara kicked ice overboard. She didn’t want to slip at the crucial moment. The captain said something to Madsen, who bent to the sheets.
Anemone
began to slow, the big mainsail luffing and cracking above them. When she glanced aft the captain was the picture of concentration, gloves welded to the wheel.

“Now,” he shouted, and
Anemone
headed up into the wind, shedding speed, her sharp prow swinging toward the castaway. He stared helplessly up, then sank back into what she saw was a life preserver, eyelids sagging closed.

“Now,” Perrault shouted. Sara scampered forward, lowered the pole, and for a heart-stopping moment thought she’d missed him. But at the second jab the curved hook snagged a strap and she gaffed him in. A surge of the boat nearly dragged the hook from her hands, but she held on grimly and a loop sailed out and over the floating man’s head.

He stirred, but didn’t open his eyes. “Pull,” Georgie yelled, at the same time Madsen shouted, “Don’t! It’s not under his arms yet.” She braced herself as the boat continued forward. Then suddenly was pinned against the lifeline, the body dragging through green water at the end of her boat hook, her shoulders nearly dislocated from their sockets each time a wave rolled past.

Then Madsen was beside her, strong arms joined hers on the wooden pole, and hand over hand they hoisted the resistless and lolling weight up to where the others, reaching under the lifeline, were able to get gloves on slicker and arms and life vest. “All together,
heave
,” Dorée grunted, and the body, smaller than she’d expected, though sodden-heavy, emerged from the green and was pulled over the hastily-dropped lifelines onto the deck.

Sara cradled his head in her lap. He was young, full-cheeked, with dark lashes and close-cropped black hair. His skin was oyster-flesh pale, and when she laid her palm against a cheek it was icy.

“Below, get those clothes off him,” Perrault snapped. “Blankets. Something hot to drink. And somebody, bundle up with him.”

Eddi said she would; they were about the same size. Sara wasn’t sure what that had to do with it, but didn’t object. She and Madsen and Dorée improvised a makeshift carry. They maneuvered him into the cockpit, then lowered him, very carefully, into Auer’s upstretched arms. Perrault, meanwhile, was speaking urgently into the VHF remote. “
Siryu Maru Number Three
,
Siryu Maru Number Three
. This is Cetacean Protection League ship
Black Anemone
. I have recovered a man overboard from your crew. Please respond,
Siryu Maru Number Three
. Over.” The radio crackled, clicked with what might have been a microphone triggering, but did not reply.

Sara leaned against the coach house, shaking, breathing hard. She stared to where the whaler had disappeared behind the tabular iceberg. But the ship was out of sight, out of mind, and did not answer them. All that remained was her smoke, the faintest stain of tea on a horizon of fading rose.

10

New Faces

Perrault kept them a point or two off the wind, enough to stay headed west. He left Madsen topside and went below with the others.

In the salon, Auer had the castaway hoisted onto the table. The heavy slicker lay like a shed skin on deck, streaming water. A padded jacket lay beside it, and Eddi was struggling with a tartan-patterned pullover. “Just cut it off,” Bodine said. He lurch-walked forward and with a click the black blade of a combat-style knife flicked out. “Is he still breathing?”

“Shallow, but it’s there,” Perrault said.

“Careful,” Sara couldn’t help saying. Bodine’s glance met hers for just a second, affectless, remote. As if he orbited at such times beyond human feelings. He pulled the wet cloth taut, and the serrated blade slid through with barely a whisper. White waffled underclothing came into view. He sliced this off too.

“He’s not shivering,” Dorée observed.

“Because he’s in hypothermic shock. Roll him over. Gently! You two, on that side. One, two,
heave
. Towels, and blankets. Lift that right leg. Knee up—yeah, like that. I’ll get a core temperature. Then we’ll put him in Georgie’s bunk.”

Bodine lifted the upper buttock and carefully worked a thermometer into the unconscious man’s rectum. Sara couldn’t take her eyes from the smooth hairless chest, the husk of maleness at the groin. Short curly hair. A helplessly curled, uncircumcised penis. Chubby cheeks and closed eyes made the slack face look very young. As Georgita tugged the ruins of clothing from beneath him something clicked to the deck. She rose with a pair of gold-framed glasses. “These must be his. I’ll keep them for him.”

Bodine was searching through the ribboned fabric of khaki trousers. His face changed as he came up with transparent plastic. He unzipped it and took out a billfold and a maroon-backed passport. He flipped the wallet open. “In Japanese. Of course. Here’s a license of some kind. And … this is interesting. An ID from Tokyo University.” He looked at Sara. “What’s a guy from a university doing on a whaling ship?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. But isn’t the first thing to get him warmed up?”

Bodine extracted the thermometer and straightened the boy’s legs. He examined it, then wiped it on his pants. “Ninety-three Fahrenheit. He ought to be okay, but it might take a while. Sara, get his legs. Dru, under the shoulders. Eddi, ready to be his snuggle bunny?”

“It won’t be that hard.”

“Ha-ha,” said Dorée. “Maybe we can
make
it hard. If we both snuggle in, one on each side.”

“Enough.” Perrault laid a palm on the pale forehead. “Mick? I have Calvados.”

“No alcohol. That actually reduces core temperature. Heat up some rice or oatmeal. Use it for hot packs. Ready? All together—lift.”

When he was settled in one of the bunks Eddi stripped off to sports bra and panties. The tattoos writhed over her shoulders, down her back, as she stretched and sighed. Then turned back the blankets and crawled in. She embraced the seaman, wrapping him with arms and legs. Kissed his forehead. “Life,” she murmured, as if invoking a spirit. “Life.”

The others looked on for a while. Then drifted out.

*   *   *

Sara microwaved two makeshift hot packs and took them in to Eddi. Then went aft to see how Quill was doing.

She hadn’t been in the mate’s quarters before. She was surprised at how small the space was. Barely more than a cupboard, next to the captain’s cabin. He was doubled in an uncomfortable-looking half-sitting position, holding a towel to his belly and staring up into his reading light. Following his gaze, she was confronted with the wide-open crotch of a foldout nude taped to the bulkhead. She cleared her throat. “How you doing, Jamie? Anything I can get for you?”

“I’m all right. Just a nick.”

“We picked up a man overboard from the whaler. After you got hurt. We’re not really sure yet how he got in the water. Fell off the stern, we think.”

“That right?” He didn’t seem especially interested. “There’s one lucky bugger, for sure.”

“One funny thing. His wallet and passport were wrapped in plastic. When we took them out of his pants, they were still dry.”

“Then he didn’t fall. He jumped. If he wrapped his shite waterproof before he went.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“What’s he got to say for himself, then?”

“He’s hypothermic. Unconscious. Eddi’s warming him up.”

“Send her in here next. Unless you got a free minute.”

“Uh, right … Well, thanks for keeping me from going over. When that fire hose hit us.”

Quill shrugged. Looked back at the pinup, then at her. Not her face, but at her chest. She sighed. “I’ll look in again. Sure there’s nothing you need? Juice? Something to eat?”

“Old Mick says I’m not to eat for a while. Gave me some antibiotic pills. But thanks.”

“Okay then.” She waited a moment more, then backed out and clicked the door closed.

*   *   *

She made potato soup for lunch, or whatever meal it was—the time of day seemed to matter less and less when dark and light did not alternate. The potatoes all had eyes, which she carefully cut out. Knowing, as a scientist, that it was a waste of effort, but her mother had told her when she was little, back on the island, that the dark nubs were poison. She caught her eyepatched reflection in the stainless steel of the stove. Did she still need that? She lifted it and peered out. The world leaped into 3-D. She took it off. Her eye smarted, but seemed better.

She cut up and sautéed onions and the last green pepper and thickened the soup with corn starch. She laid out crackers and canned butter and made coffee. They were finished and getting up from the littered table when Eddi wandered in. “He’s awake,” she said.

Bodine lurched to his feet. He walked stiffly to the curtain and drew it back. “Hey there. You with us, amigo?”

“He’s Japanese, not Mexican,” Dorée said, smoothing back her hair. A rash or some skin eruption showed blotchy at her neckline. “The word for friend is
tomodachi
. The reason I know that—”

“Doing okay, buddy? Speak any English? Doesn’t respond. Well, takes a while to come back from a hypothermic episode,” Bodine said. “See if he wants coffee. Put a lot of sugar in it.”

“I’ve got it.” Sara poured a mug and pushed the curtain aside. And was embarrassed at the dangling bras she’d hung to dry after hand-washing in the sink. Was her underwear the first thing he’d seen when he woke?

He was sitting up, wrapped in blankets. Heavy eyelids, but bright black eyes peered out from under them. His skin tone was darker, less waxy. But he still looked very young. “Hello,” she said, enunciating very clearly. “My name is Sara. Would you like some coffee?”

“Thank you.” He blinked slowly, looking around. “I am on your boat?”

“That’s right.” She held the mug to his lips. He sipped slowly, then greedily, lashes fluttering. Finally he lay back, sighing.

The curtain rattled again. Perrault and Bodine, with Dorée close behind. “He’s awake,” she told them. “Took some coffee.”

“
Parlez français?
” the captain said.

“
Nein,
” the man in the bunk said. A smile dawned. “But a … little English. Thank you for, for, handling me.”

“For picking you up? Not a problem.” Bodine took his wrist. “Good pulse. How you feeling?”

“Hungry?”

“I’ve got more soup,” she said. “It’s okay for him to have it?”

Bodine said it was, and she left, pushing through the crowd.

When she came back they’d all managed to fit themselves into her cubicle, Dorée, Bodine, Georgita, Perrault, and Eddi. “He says his name’s Kimura,” Auer whispered.

“So what’re you doing here with us, Kimura?”

“It is Hideyashi, first name. To you Hideyashi Kimura. I worked on the ship.”

“Okay, Hideyashi. What did you do on the ship?”

“They used me as translator, but I am a PhD candidate.”

That explained the academic ID. “What discipline?” Sara asked him.

“Neurobiology.”

“Really.” The others looked at her; she picked up the thread of the questioning. “Of whales, I take it?”

“Whales, yes, that’s right.” He sipped more coffee; he seemed to be growing more responsive by the minute. “I was … hired as part for the research team. But I quickly realize it is not real research.”

“It’s slaughter,” Bodine said.

“You are very right, sir. They do not even weigh stomachs like they say. Only when cameras watch.” His gaze came back to Sara. “You are scientist too?”

“A behaviorist. Specializing in … primates. At least, I was.”

“
So desu ka.
Do you know Dr. Tetsuro Matsuzawa?”

“Of the Inuyama Primate Research Institute? I heard him present in Chicago.” She straightened, nodded at the others. As if to say,
He’s real
.

“So you didn’t fall overboard,” Perrault said. “By the way, I’m the captain. Dru Perrault.”

Kimura took his hand gravely, then struggled to sit up. “Captain? Thank you so much. Thank you. No. I did not fall. I jump. I see your small boat try to stop the killing. So very brave. So I am ashamed. And I try to swim to you. But the water, so cold I cannot move. Then sleepy. I wake up here with”—he examined their faces, nodded at Eddi—“that one, no-clothing with me. Very pretty lady. I see her
irezumi
—I do not know the word—like
yakuza
.”

“My tattoos.” Eddi reached out to rub his head. “So you didn’t mind me sprawling all over you.”

“Is very nice.” He looked hopeful. “You do more now?”

They all laughed. “Not
right
now,” she said, but it didn’t sound like an unequivocal refusal.

Bodine hoisted himself with his arms, and Sara saw how the Japanese’s eyes widened as they noted his prosthetics. “We’re glad to have you with us, Hideyashi, but we better let you rest. Sara’ll get you some hot soup. And give him carbs—chocolate or honey. You’re okay otherwise? Do you take any medicine, Hideyashi?”

“Only aspirin. When head aching.” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Captain. Is it possible I radio my family? Tell them I am all right? I do not wish them to worry. It was risk, yes. But worth dying, to be off that evil ship. I want to stay with you. Help stop this horrible slaughter. This very dreadful impurity.”

Perrault patted his shoulder. “We can get a shortwave message off to our shore office. Maybe in two hours? We have a scheduled contact then.”

“Thank you, Captain. Thank you, everyone.”

“Okay then. Let him rest.” Bodine shooed them out and slid the curtain closed.