Look into the Eye

by Jennifer Barrett

  I found him sitting with Jules in the media room. They were huddled around one computer screen.

  “Ah, here he is now,” said Ray.

  Jules stood up, walked over to me, leant up on her toes and gave me a big hug. “I’m very sorry to hear about your mother, Richie,” she said into my shoulder.

  The human contact was almost a relief, and for that brief moment I clung on to her. But she pulled back all too quickly.

  “Thanks, Jules,” I said, nodding my appreciation for her kindness.

  She gave me a sad smile, which I returned. Then she squeezed my arm gently, before going back over to sit down beside Ray at the computer.

  I followed her over and gave Ray the flight details.

  “Thanks, I’ll let George know,” he said, “but I don’t think you’ll have any problems making it. The forecast for the next few days is good. It should be smooth sailing.”

  “That’s great, thanks, man.” I turned to leave.

  “Eh, Richie?”

  He glanced at Jules beside him, who nodded.

  “We’ve just been editing the video footage from this morning,” he said. “It’s really very good – that sequence with the whale by the boat, and your impromptu piece to camera is particularly good – very genuine and emotional. We were hoping to release it to the media this afternoon, as part of the Mister Splashy Pants campaign – to help us to build support for the humpbacks. I realise it may not be the best timing for you to be seen on television – after your mother’s death – but maybe you could take a look and see what you think.” Ray turned the laptop screen around to me. “It’s not finished yet. We need to top and tail it with some campaign footage, but have a look anyway and see what you think.” He stood up to let me sit in his seat, then leaned over me and pressed play.

  He was right, the video was good. The footage of the whales from that morning was brilliant – it brought it all back. Ray had really captured the thrill of seeing them so close and Hilary, Jules and myself could be seen clearly enjoying the experience. Right at the end came my piece to camera. I laughed when I first saw myself – I looked ridiculous: my overgrown hair standing on end on one side, bits of vomit stuck to it, the collar of my shirt sticking up from underneath my jacket, and my eyes completely bloodshot. But when I heard myself speak, none of that seemed to matter. The man I watched looked almost . . . happy? It was like looking at somebody else altogether, not me at all.

  But I wanted it to be me. I wanted to go back to that moment on the screen, the moment when I’d forgotten that my mother was dead, forgotten that my brother hated me, forgotten that I’d let the MacDonaghs down. I wanted to go back to the place where my problems didn’t seem to exist, to where I’d forgotten that there was hardly anyone in the world who cared enough about me to get in touch about my mother’s death.

  The clip ended with a close-up of the eye of the whale peering up at the screen. I felt the same sensation again when I looked into his eye – total awe and exhilaration.

  “Well? What do you think? Would it be okay to use?” Ray asked. “If it’s picked up, it may be seen by your friends and family . . . you might want to think about whether it’s the best time?”

  I stood up. “Use it. Do whatever you need to do, man – just stop them from hunting those whales.”

  Chapter 16

  MELANIE

  All good things must come to an end. It was past midnight by the time I finally got to Heathrow airport – the timing of my Oslo flight meant that it was too late to get a flight back to Dublin that night so I had to stop over in London. I was weak from exhaustion by the time I finally got into my bed at the airport hotel, or at least I thought it was from exhaustion – I tossed and turned all night and woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a raging temperature.

  I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the en-suite to turn on the shower, but it took all my energy. I had to cling to the basin for support while waiting for the running water in the shower to heat up. As I stood there, I glanced at the mirror: I was a sorry sight. My hair, wet with sweat, was stuck to my forehead, and I could barely recognise the pale reflection and sunken eyes that stared back at me.

  I somehow managed to drag myself into the shower, then over to the airport and onto my flight home to Dublin.

  Katy had been house-sitting while I was away – mainly to let in the builder who was working over the weekend to finish off the living-room renovations. She met me at the front door as I arrived home late Sunday morning. She was obviously about to leave. She had her jacket on and her gear bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Hey there, welcome back!” she said. “Your living room looks great. I’ve got to dash to my yoga class now, but I’ll call you later to hear all about the holiday.”

  “Okay, thanks for looking after the place, Katy.” I walked passed her into the house.

  “Hey, are you okay, hon?” she asked.

  I dropped my bags inside the door. “Not really. I think I may have caught some kind of bug, I woke up this morning feeling lousy.”

  Katy put her hand up to my forehead. “Yes, you’ve a bit of a temperature all right. Will I take you to a doctor?”

  “No, I think I’ll be okay, thanks, Katy.” I walked towards the stairs.

  “I can stay for a while longer?” She let her gear bag slide down to the floor. “I don’t need to go to yoga.”

  “No need, thanks, hon. You head on out. I’m just going to go straight on up to bed to sleep it off.”

  “All right then, if you’re sure?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “Well, just shout if you need anything – anything at all. I’ll call you later on. Feel better, hon.” She closed the front door gently behind her and I went straight to bed.

  I didn’t wake up again until after three in the afternoon. I eased myself up in the bed. My limbs were very sore, my whole body was weak, and I felt more than a little sorry for myself.

  I so wished I could just go back to Norway, back to the bay with the orcas.

  As I recalled the memory of the moment with the orca, I started to feel a lump rising in my throat.

  I just couldn’t work it out – why was I feeling so strange and emotional about the whole thing? I knew that the orcas were beautiful, and the setting there was stunning, but was it more than that? What was it about those whales, that encounter, that had this effect on me?

  That’s when I remembered Angie’s DVD.

  Angie had left very early the day we were checking out – she was continuing her world tour by flying on to Iceland. She left me a lovely note wishing me well on my journey, but didn’t leave any contact details. I tried to get them from the hotel, but they weren’t able to give them to me. It was a shame – she was such a great lady I would have really liked to stay in touch. I rummaged in my suitcase for the DVD, finally found it, then grabbed my duvet and went downstairs. I made myself a cup of tea and some toast, and settled down to watch it.

  I could immediately see what so inspired Angie’s husband. The documentary really was very good. The photography and video footage of the orcas in particular was wonderful, and watching them swimming along in the dark-green arctic water was almost like being transported back to Norway. I couldn’t have been any happier – snuggled warm under my duvet, reliving the magic of that moment when I had seen them with my own eyes.

  At one point, the narrator was talking about the whale’s ability to communicate. A whale swam right up to the screen, and the footage zoomed in to give us a close-up of its eye as it swam past. The film cut to an interview with an Australian artist and writer who’d apparently spent years travelling the world to paint wild dolphins and whales.

  “The therapeutic effects of close encounters with dolphins and whales have been well documented,” he said, “but the question is, why do they bring such healing? It is without doubt a very humbling and special experience to come so close to nature’s largest mammals, but I would go further than that. When I
’m with the whales I can feel my own presence with such intensity and such joy, that all thinking, all emotions, my entire physical body, as well as the whole world around me become insignificant. It might only last a moment, but when I look into the eye of a whale, I am looking through the window of my own soul. I am in a state of pure consciousness – my true self.”

  I sat bolt upright.

  I searched around on the sofa for the remote, rewound a few minutes and pressed play. I sat transfixed to the screen, watching the eye of the whale pass by again, listening to the man’s words . . . when I look into the eye of a whale, I am looking through the window of my own soul . . . my true self.

  That’s it! I sat forward. Being in Norway, being with the whales – it helped me to see into my own soul, to see me again – the real me.

  And I will be here waiting for you.

  I smiled as I realised exactly why Angie had given me the DVD.

  The “I” wasn’t Angie at all. The “I”was me. I was there waiting for me.

  It’s like the artist on the film said: when I was in Norway I was able to be myself again, my true self. For the first time in such a very long time, there was nothing to worry about – no work, no studying, no house refurbishments, no disastrous love life – it was just me – the real me, there enjoying the moment. I had to go to Norway to look into the window of my soul, to get back to myself again, to remember who I really was.

  I sat back on the sofa.

  The really big question was, now that I was back to being me, how could I make the most of it? And how was I going to make sure I didn’t get lost again?

  I didn’t go in to work the next day. I probably could have managed it if I’d pushed myself a bit, but I still felt a little grotty, and the thought of having to deal with Marcus and the few days’ inevitable backlog didn’t appeal. So instead I took another day at home. Somehow work just didn’t seem so important.

  After a long lie-in, I got dressed in a comfortable pair of leggings, and the new red orca hoodie that I’d purchased in the gift shop at the Tysfjord Centre. It was a change from my usual head-to-toe black, and even though it had been a bit of an impulse buy, the hoodie was so baggy and comfortable that it felt great.

  After I’d unpacked and put a wash on, I took out my laptop and spent several hours looking up photography courses and classes on the internet. I found an intensive course that I could do at night over two weeks. It started in January and even included an optional extra module on underwater photography. Before I had time to remember all of the events at The Mill that would make it difficult to get out on time for evening classes, I called the number and booked myself a place.

  Then I looked up the details for my old tennis club in Greystones, vowing to get back to tennis in the spring. After all, Niamh Delaney needed a bit of competition. I smiled to myself. Then feeling empowered, I entered the words “top scuba diving destinations” into the search engine, and it wasn’t long before I became engrossed in the underwater worlds of Egypt and the Great Barrier Reef. I couldn’t decide where I wanted to go the following year, so I bookmarked a few pages to revisit over the coming days.

  It felt like quite a productive morning, so after a quick lunch I decided to reward myself with a break and a bit of television. I brought my mug of tea into the living room, and searched the guide for some easy daytime viewing, spotting the Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly movie High Society due on at half past one.

  Just what the doctor ordered: a nice spot of romance and cheesy musical tunes. What better way to recuperate for the afternoon?

  I checked my watch – still ten minutes to go before the movie – so I turned on the channel and sat back to flick through the rest of the TV guide. The news was on, and I was only half aware of the reports in the background until I thought I heard the newscaster say something about whales.

  I looked up, and turned up the volume on the remote.

  What I saw next on screen was sickening – dramatic images flashed across the screen – whales being struck by harpoons from a towering ship above; dead whales being dragged up on to the rear of the ship, oceans red with blood. I flinched and closed my eyes, but I couldn’t keep them closed. I was horrified. I thought whaling had stopped decades ago.

  A voice came on in the background: “Irishman Ray Kelly is a spokesperson for Greenpeace. He sent this film from on board the Illuminar, the Greenpeace ship that is following the whaling fleet to the Southern Ocean in a bid to increase international pressure on the Japanese government to stop the hunt.”

  The news report crossed to Ray Kelly, wearing a Greenpeace jacket and cap, standing by a ship’s railing at sea. “The whales are completely defenceless against the technology, money and power of this wealthy fleet,” he said. “We are out here to help them, and to try to make the Japanese government and other whaling nations see sense. The slaughter, under the guise of scientific research, cannot be allowed to continue.”

  “Absolutely!” I shouted at the television, sitting forward.

  “Justtoday we came across a pod of curious, energetic humpbacks,” Ray’s voice continued in the background as the images switched back to the whales.

  I smiled as I watched their dorsal fins glide gracefully through the water.

  “It seems incredible that anyone would want to kill any of these gentle animals, but sadly they do.”

  The picture panned around then to another man who was watching the whales from the boat. He turned to face the screen.

  Richard Blake, The Irish Chronicle, it said at the bottom of the picture.

  No way!

  I couldn’t believe it. What on earth was Richie doing out there?

  And I just had to laugh. The usually sharp-dressed Richie Blake was looking more than a bit dishevelled on the screen: his now longish hair was sticking up in a quiff on one side and even seemed to have something stuck in it in places. His eyes looked quite red and he had very dark stubble on his chin. And I wasn’t sure if it was the camera, but he also seemed to have gained a bit of weight, even had a double chin I’d never noticed before.

  But despite his rough appearance, the guy was beaming.

  “So what’s it like to see humpbacks up this close, Richie?” Ray Kelly was saying.

  “It’s incredible, man! Unbelievable!” He looked back at the whale, then turned back to the camera. “I’ve seen some things in my time, but this tops it all. I just looked into the eye of that whale and it was pretty damned amazing.” He was rubbing the back of his head. “It’s at times like this that it feels good just to be alive!”

  I couldn’t help but smile when he laughed.

  So Richie looked into the eye of a whale too?

  I knew exactly what he meant – that feeling of pure joy and feeling good just to be alive.

  Ray Kelly came back on screen. “We don’t know how long these and other whales in the Southern Ocean will stay alive. Time is running out for those that have been targeted in this year’s hunt. We need people all around the world to come together now to get the Japanese government to call for a halt to this.”

  I slumped back on the sofa and muted the volume after the segment finished. I couldn’t get the images of the blood-red sea and the shooting harpoons out of my head.

  And then there was Richie . . . The last time I’d seen him was almost six months before when we’d literally bumped into each other in Dublin. What on earth was he doing on a Greenpeace ship in the middle of the Pacific? The guy was a business journalist for goodness’ sake!

  I smiled to myself.

  It was nice to see him though.

  He seemed different, very different. Funny, I’d never have figured him for the kind of guy who would be so affected by an encounter with a whale – I guess a moment like that would get to anyone though.

  I stared at the silent, moving pictures on the television, then turned the volume back up and tried to settle back to tune in to Louis Armstrong who was singing his way through the opening number of the movie’s t
itle song.

  But it was no good. I couldn’t stop thinking about Richie, and about the whales being hunted.

  I gave up, turned off the TV and sat staring at the blank screen.

  Honestly, how could anyone hunt whales down? I thought. They were so awesome in size and power, and yet they could be such beautiful, gentle giants. They had to be among the smartest animals in the world – sure their brains were several times larger than ours – and they had their own complex languages and unique ways of communicating with each other over hundreds of ocean miles. I closed my eyes as I thought about the poor animals that had met their fate at the hands of the whalers on the news clip – no doubt some of them had been mothers, perhaps even young calves. Whales live their lives within the same close-knit family unit – they must suffer so much when one of their family is hunted and killed. Why on earth would you kill an animal for research purposes anyway? Surely it could tell us more about its behaviours alive than dead?

  The more I thought about it all, the angrier I got. However they’d done it, the whales had helped me over there in Norway. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing – it was my turn to try to help them.

  I leapt up and went straight out to the kitchen, opened my laptop on the kitchen table and put “Greenpeace and whales” into the search engine. Bit by bit, I pieced together the details of their anti-whaling campaign. I read the expedition blog that the crew of the Illuminar had been updating every day. Their supporters had been leaving comments and messages of support on the posts, and the website was buzzing. It was a passionate, international online forum. I quickly moved about the keyboard, tapping away on pure adrenalin. Before long I’d signed up for all the campaign updates, put my name to the online petitions, and became an “International Whale Defender” – setting up my own profile page on the Greenpeace website and promising to raise money and awareness for the campaign.