Look into the Eye

by Jennifer Barrett

  I started to really listen.

  “Unfortunately though, we can’t always make sense of what God sends our way, Richard, but we can try to learn, and to grow from it – the good, and especially the bad. Just as the waves beating against the rocks give the rugged cliffs their beauty, there is a sense to everything in this world. Our challenge is to try to understand what that sense is, and to grow from it.”

  I really wanted to understand, I desperately needed to find some sort of meaning to everything that had happened, but I was struggling.

  “But, Father, what can I learn from Ben’s death, other than that I let him down? I didn’t even know he was in trouble. I didn’t know, not a clue. I was too wrapped up in my own stupid, pathetic life to notice, or to care. What kind of friend is that? I didn’t deserve to be his friend, Father. I don’t deserve to be here, to be the one still alive.”

  It was too much.

  I stood up and turned towards the door. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry, Father,” I said with my back to him. “I know you mean well, but I can’t.”

  Jangler stood up himself, took my arm and turned me around to face him. “You’ve been through a lot, Richard. I don’t know how you’ve been able to get this far, to be honest, but believe me you are getting there, son. You may not realise it, but even by talking to me here today you’re taking a great step forward. It will get easier; please trust me on this. You’ll learn to let go a little more, your harmful thoughts will start to release you and you’ll find a way to finally be at peace with yourself.”

  I looked at him. I could see that he really meant what he was saying. Ben’s death still didn’t make any sense to me, but I trusted Jangler. He said it was going to get easier, and so, for the first time in months I started to think that it just might.

  After Jangler’s visit, I managed to pack away my guilt and my numb grief, almost as though I was packing away my old books into a box at the end of term. I crammed hard for my repeat exam and was relieved when I scraped through to second year.

  Jangler called me a few times after his visit, but the calls stopped once the new school year started at Ashvale in the autumn. He advised me to open up more to my parents, to Sheila and Derek, and to the lads. And even though I promised him I would, I never had any intention of talking to my parents. I did think about maybe talking more to Jonesy or Dec, or to Sheila and Derek, but it was just too hard to start the conversation. Then when I seemed to be getting myself back on track at college, everyone stopped asking me how I was, so that pretty soon we were all just back to normal – whatever normal was.

  I stared over the railing at the white, rippling, V-shaped trail in the sea behind the ship.

  I desperately wanted to stop the incessant memories of Ben from haunting me.

  I knew that if Ben had been alive, he would have been seriously angry with me for the way I’d treated Lucy. And I would have no defence: he’d be right. I should never have got involved with his sister in the first place. Stupid. Bloody stupid.

  And then there was my mother. I wanted to be able to feel now whatever it was I was supposed to be feeling when Ben died – that deep sense of loss, that crushing grief – whatever it was that everyone else felt. But it was the same now as it was then. I didn’t feel anything. I just felt numb. There on board the Illuminar, I felt more alone than I had done anywhere else in my entire life, and the painful memories and dark thoughts just kept coming.

  Chapter 18

  RICHARD

  I inhaled a long, deep breath of fresh sea air, then turned to head for the steps. Inside my cabin, I logged on to my laptop to try to work on my article. I’d been really struggling to find a fresh angle for my second piece but, with all that was on my mind, the ideas weren’t exactly flowing.

  Before I started, I opened up my email. There wasn’t much in my inbox, but I started flicking through the few new messages anyway. There were the usual few press releases and emails from the paper, then one forwarded to me and the whole crew by Ray. It was from a fourteen-year-old boy from the West of Ireland. He said he’d watched the report on television that day.

  Ray’s piece to camera must have gone out.

  I read through the email: I’m really glad that you are stopping them hurting whales. It’s mean, and we don’t want them to do that any more. Thank you for helping to save them.

  Nice.

  I smiled, and opened the second email from a Melanie McQuaid.

  That name sounded familiar.

  Wait a second. No, it couldn’t be . . . Miss McQuaid?

  I quickly scanned the mail.

  To: Richard Blake

  From: Melanie McQuaid

  Subject: Look into the Eye

  Date: 10 December 2007, 15:03 GMT

  Well, hello again, Mister Blake! Imagine my surprise when I turned on the news today only to find The Mill’s favourite (ahem!) journalist alive and well and spotting whales in the Pacific Ocean no less. How on earth did you end up out there? Things must be very quiet on the Chronicle’s business desk these days!

  I must say I was glad to see from the TV that the eye is all healed up now anyway, but perhaps the hair could do with a bit of attention? :-)

  Jokes aside, Richie, I’d like to apologise for my rubbish attempt at chatting you up that night in Dublin – all for my friends’ benefit. It was more than a bit childish and I’m pretty mortified about it to be honest. You were right to be annoyed with me. In fact, you were right about a few things – especially when you said I needed to work out exactly who I am. I wasn’t in a great place then and, though I didn’t like it that night (not one bit!), your words probably rang a little too true for my liking. But I think now that meeting you then – getting annoyed with you even – it all helped to push me out of my comfort zone. So, thank you for that, and sorry again.

  The main reason I’m writing to you, though, is because of the whales. I was particularly struck by what you said on the news report about looking into the eye of the whale. It’s so strange, and such a coincidence, but I had a very similar experience myself in Norway just last week. Yes, I heeded your advice from all those months ago: I brought the five-year plan forward and went to Norway to see the whales – and I looked into the eye of a wild orca. It was so amazing! I couldn’t fully get my head around it at first, but the encounter has been having a big effect on me ever since.

  It was only yesterday I heard it said that when you look into the eye of a whale you look through the window of your own soul. Okay, so I know it probably sounds a bit far-fetched, and it’s only been a few days since it happened to me, but I really have felt so different ever since. It’s almost as though, by looking into the eye of that whale, I was able to take a step back and really see myself and my life for what they are. Perhaps the whales appear just when we need them, to help teach us something like this? Something important? Whatever the case, I think I really needed to see those whales that day. In fact, I know I did.

  How about you, Richie? D’you think you might have needed to see them too? Or has life been treating you better since last we met? I do hope so – and that you’re where you want to be in life now.

  Until I saw your report today I must admit that I hadn’t realised whaling was still going on in the world – I was really gutted to hear it. So I’ve signed up with Greenpeace for updates on the anti-whaling campaign, and I’m trying to think of a way of fundraising so I can help support the expedition. So you’ll be pleased to hear your journalistic skills are having some effect – on me at least! :-)

  Anyway, best go. I’ve been sitting at this computer for far too long already. Look after yourself out there, and best of luck to all of the Greenpeace crew.

  Mel

  Well, well, well. That’s a turn-up for the books, I thought. Mel McQuaid, eh? She’s the last person I expected to hear from out here.

  I sat back in my chair.

  Jeez, but it was bloody good to hear from her. She had sounded good, very good in fact.

 
; I sat back up and read through the email again from start to finish – this time slowly.

  I laughed at the hair comment – then ran my fingers through my long, stringy tresses. She had a point – I really did need to get a haircut.

  The rest of the email was very open on the whole, but then I remembered that about Mel: she was easy to talk to. I smiled when I read how embarrassed she was about the fake seduction attempt. Not right to tease a fella like that. I was pissed off about it at the time. Or was I disappointed? I wasn’t quite sure.

  It was good to hear she took a break from the five-year plan anyway – at least for long enough to get to Norway. She needed that – bit stressed out, that girl.

  And funny that she had a similar whale encounter.

  “Right, anyway, enough of all that,” I said out loud. “Time to get some work done.”

  I pulled my chair in to my desk, then I shut down my email and brought my article up on screen. I typed a couple of sentences, reread them, then changed a couple of the words. I wrote another line, read it back, then realised it wasn’t working at all and deleted the whole lot.

  I shuffled in my chair, looked back at the screen and sat with my fingers poised on the keyboard. But it was no good – I couldn’t focus. I finally gave up and went to find out what was happening on the campaign front.

  Ray was in the campaign office on his own. He looked up when I came in. “Hey, Rich, you got a second?”

  “Yeah, sure. I was just coming in to see how it’s all going.” I went over to his desk.

  “All good here,” said Ray. “We wanted to give you something.” He handed me a large white envelope.

  “What’s this? Payment to place a few more articles in the paper during the year?”

  He smiled. “The crew all wanted to wish you well over the coming days.”

  I opened the envelope and took out a handmade card. On the front was a detailed pencil sketch of a group of small stick-insect figures in an inflatable speedboat in the middle of the ocean, and just in front of the boat a whale’s fluke loomed large above the water.

  “Sinéad drew it for you – not bad, eh?”

  I nodded. “Not bad at all, man. Your wife is a woman of many talents.”

  “I know,” said Ray with a proud smile. “Open it up.”

  Inside, every member of the crew had written me a message. There were words of sympathy about my mother, some more drawings, a couple of quotes, and even a short poem written by Takumi:

  Rippling sea stands still

  Teeming life continues below

  See and let go

  “It’s a Japanese haiku,” said Ray.

  “Yeah, I know.” I looked up at him. “This is really something. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” I was genuinely moved. “And thanks to the others too – now I know what Takumi gets up to when he’s on night watch.”

  Ray got up and put his hand on my shoulder. “You gonna be okay, Rich?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think so – thanks, man.” I sat down on a chair to read through the card properly.

  “I’ll see you later so,” he said. “I’m just going to help with the stock-take so we know what supplies we need to get tomorrow.”

  “Need a hand?” I asked.

  He looked surprised – I guess it was the first time I’d offered to help with crew duties.

  “Eh, yeah, sure,” he said. “That’d be great, Rich, if you don’t mind?”

  “Course not – I should have helped out before now. Sorry I’ve been such a dead weight to you all.” I nodded at the card. “And thanks again for this, man – means a lot.”

  I helped Ray, Sinéad and Pablo, one of the kitchen-hands, with the stock-take for a few hours. We had dinner soon after, so it was late in the evening by the time I got back to the cabin to work on my article again.

  I needn’t have bothered – I still couldn’t make any progress. I wrote a few more sentences about developments on the humpback campaign, but it seemed so stale, so bloody dull. I selected the few sentences I’d just typed, and deleted the lot.

  Takumi came in. “Hey, Rich, we’re all down in the crew room.” He grabbed a sweater from the cupboard. “You coming down?”

  “Nah, I need to try to finish writing this article before we dock, thanks, man. And hey, thanks again for the haiku.”

  He smiled and gave a little bow, then looked over my shoulder at the blank screen. “You still working on that? You make heavy work of it. Maybe you need look at it in different way? But hey, what I know?” He laughed, and pulled the cabin door closed behind him.

  I stared at the closed door for a few seconds, then I swivelled around in my chair – a full 360 degrees – the blank screen was still there taunting me when I got back round.

  What if Takumi’s right? I thought. What if I do need to try to look at this whole thing differently?

  I sat up straight and flicked into email. I opened up the note from Mel and read the same few lines several times over: When you look into the eye of a whale you look through the window of your own soul . . . Perhaps the whales appear just when we need them to, to help teach us something like this? Something important?

  Maybe they do . . .

  But what?

  I flopped back in my chair and heaved a long sigh. Then I just gave in, shoved the chair back and went outside.

  I stood out on deck in my usual spot, looking over the side rail. It was a warm, sticky evening, but the sea below was very dark. The moon and stars were blocked out by a sky of black clouds, and the sound of the guys laughing drifted up from the crew room below. I took in a long, deep breath while Mel’s words circled around my head: through the window of your own soul . . . to help teach us something . . . something important.

  I stared down at the dark sea below.

  If I had looked through the window of my own soul, when I looked into that whale’s eye, what had I seen? What had I learnt?

  It wasn’t like this anyway, I thought. It wasn’t dark then. In fact, for the short time I was with the whales, the darkness and the shadows disappeared. I could see everything clearly – the whales, the ocean, the people with me in the boat. I was alive. Right there, in the moment. It was exhilarating . . . uplifting . . . bright.

  I stared out at the unending, black ocean. So why did everything turn dark again after the whales? Yes, my mother was dead, and I was struggling with that, but it was more than that. This darkness and negativity had been with me a long time.

  I heaved a deep sigh.

  There was a time when life had felt brighter. A time when I had felt fully alive, felt good about myself. I was captain of Ashvale’s senior rugby team, best friend of Ben, brother of Ed, one of the lads. I belonged somewhere, had my whole future ahead of me.

  I kicked at the railing. “Why the hell can’t it be like the old days again? Why can’t I go back to that time?” I shouted at the night air.

  Then I froze, as there in the darkness, I suddenly started to see.

  I realised that I could never go back there. Life had moved on, and I’d made a bloody great mess of it. I’d turned into a pathetic, miserable loser who’d alienated everyone I ever cared about.

  I hit the rail with the palms of both my hands. And then the truth hit me: Where my soul, the real me, had once been, there now was an empty, black hole. I was completely lost.

  I looked out at the horizon. It was impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. All I could see was a black haze.

  Just then, I heard a loud squawking above. I looked up to see a tern flying in the wake of the ship. It flew directly in the narrow beam of one of the deck lights so that it appeared a dazzling white against the dark sky above.

  I watched it fly slowly along. It used the ship’s bulk to shield it from the wind, to ease its flight path for a few minutes until eventually it flew back out to sea.

  I sighed and looked back out at the dark horizon.

  But I was tired of the dark.

  Accepting that my
life was a total mess was one thing, working out what to do about it was going to be a lot harder. Then I had an idea.

  I swung around to face into the lights of the ship. I needed help with this – needed someone to talk to. Why not?

  Before I could change my mind I went back inside to my cabin, looked up the internet for the telephone number of the Dublin Millennium Centre for the Arts and dialled the Illuminar’s switchboard for an outside line.

  Chapter 19

  MELANIE

  I was wading through my post-holiday email backlog on Tuesday morning when Grace rapped on the door.

  She popped her head around. “Welcome back, boss. Are you feeling better?”

  I glanced up. “Yes, thanks, a lot better today, Grace – that bug really knocked me out for a couple of days. Norway was brilliant though.”

  “Ah good,” she said. “So did you see any whales?”

  I turned around in my seat to face her. “Not only did I see them, Grace, I came eye to eye with an orca – it was so beautiful.”

  “Really? Gosh, weren’t you scared it’d bite you, or eat you altogether?” she asked. “They’re big, those whales, aren’t they?”

  I smiled. “Yes, they’re quite big, but no, I wasn’t scared – quite the opposite in fact. It was really special.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows. “You’re a bit of dark horse, aren’t you, Melanie?”

  I smiled and turned back to my computer. “So how did the last couple of days go? Anything exciting?”

  She came in and pushed the door closed behind her. “Well, actually . . .”

  I glanced up, then seeing her expression turned my chair around fully to face her again. “What is it?”

  “Well, I don’t want to be the one telling tales . . .”

  I took a deep breath. “All right, let’s have it.”

  “It’s Shirley again,” she said.

  My heart sank at the mention of my chairwoman’s niece – the biggest pain in the butt of my department over the last six months. In Shirley’s wake there already trailed quite an impressive trail of destruction, and I had long since lost my patience with the situation.