Friday's Harbor

by Diane Hammond

  Once all the dishes had been passed and plates were heaping, Ivy said, “So catch me up! What’s the news? And speaking of that, how’s dear Martin?”

  “You know, he actually got an interview with the Huffington Post,” Truman told her. “You’d have thought he’d won a Pulitzer. Apparently his exposé on the Friends of Animals of the Sea was picked up by the wire services and got quite a bit of play. Trina Beemer has become a persona non grata lately. I guess she didn’t get the organization’s go-ahead before she poisoned our boy.”

  “Hey, they’re gone!” said Winslow, turning around in his chair and peering through the binoculars.

  “Who?” said Ivy.

  “The pod! The killer whales. I don’t see them anymore.”

  “They’re probably following a school of fish,” Gabriel said.

  “Okay, never mind the whales,” said Ivy, who had had several strong whiskey and sodas by then. “I want to propose a toast.”

  “Go,” said Gabriel.

  She raised her glass. “Here’s to the best people in the world. I’m honored to have you all under my roof and hope that good health, buoyancy, and wisdom follow you to the end of your days.”

  “Amen,” said Gabriel.

  “Hear, hear,” said Truman.

  They ate until they were groaning. The conversations around the table were lively, fueled by good food, good wine, and good company. Only Libertine seemed withdrawn. Ivy tried to engage her, but she kept lapsing into a pensive silence. When she and Ivy were alone in the kitchen, loading dishes into the dishwasher, Ivy said to her irritably, “What’s with you, anyway? You’re way too quiet. It’s a holiday. Be festive, for god’s sake.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Libertine. “I didn’t realize. I’ve been hearing something I can’t understand. Would it be rude if I go for a walk?”

  “If it’ll cheer you up, by all means go. You’re lousy company anyway.”

  “I think I’ll see if Winslow wants to come along. I might need some help.”

  Then she walked into the living room without further explanation, and even Ivy knew enough to let it go.

  THE GOOD WEATHER window had slammed shut and a light mist was falling, so the two zipped up anoraks and, at Libertine’s suggestion, headed down to the little beach at the foot of Ivy’s property, which fronted a pocket-sized bay. The Sound was cold and crystal clear; Libertine could see a few tiny crabs scrabbling along the rocks, and small fish flitted back and forth under cover of a few fronds of kelp. But none of this was what she’d come for. She’d been hearing an animal in great distress since arriving this morning, and from the time the killer whale pod moved out of sight, it had gotten louder and louder.

  “I need you to help me,” she told Winslow. “You know those whales you were watching? Something’s wrong with one of them. I don’t know what, but it’s a young animal, and it’s scared. We need to find it.”

  “Really?” said Winslow. “How do you know that?”

  “I just do. Does Ivy have a boat or something?”

  “No,” said Winslow. “Dad says the whole family’s afraid of drowning. Isn’t that weird?”

  “All right,” Libertine said, ignoring the added commentary. “It’s close—we should be able to see it if we look in the right place.”

  Winslow quickly scanned the little bay. “There’s nothing here.”

  “I know. That’s why we need to walk. I want to go around that little point. It looks like we can get there if we go up into the woods. Up and over. I think there’s another little inlet on the other side.”

  Winslow went first, holding branches out of the way for Libertine.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re just like your father—a gentleman.” She was silent for a minute. “You don’t feel anything, by any chance? In your head?”

  “No. You do?”

  “Yes,” said Libertine. “I’ve been feeling something young and in trouble ever since we got here. I think it’s in the water near here. And it’s so afraid!”

  They broke through the trees and found themselves on the shore of another tiny inlet. This beach, like Ivy’s, was littered with bleached driftwood that looked, in Libertine’s feverish mind, like the bones of giants. Libertine grabbed Winslow’s sleeve. “Look!” she cried. “Oh, look.”

  A tiny killer whale, no more than ten feet long, floated just off the shore.

  “Is it dead?” said Winslow. But then the calf took a small, light breath.

  “What’s the matter with it?” Winslow said. “Why didn’t it go with the rest of them? Do you think it’s lost?”

  “I don’t know. No, I don’t think it’s lost, but there’s some reason why the pod abandoned it. We need to get Gabriel. I’ll stay here and try to keep it calm, if you’ll go back. Go! Go!”

  Even Winslow could hear the calf’s keening, high and piercing. He turned around and ran.

  WHILE WINSLOW WAS gone Libertine tried to soothe the animal, but it had gone beyond her reach, just as Friday had so many months ago. She stayed at the water’s edge anyway, trying to send soothing energy until Gabriel, Neva, and Winslow appeared at last, followed by Truman, Ivy, and Johnson Johnson. Gabriel climbed down out of the woods and sat on a weather-smoothed driftwood log.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Ivy cried after a few minutes. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “I am doing something,” Gabriel snapped. “I’m watching.”

  “It’s so small,” Libertine said.

  “You’re comparing it to Friday. He’s a full-grown male; this animal’s probably a year old, plus or minus. So of course it’s small.”

  “Why is it here?” Ivy asked.

  “Could be lots of reasons. Maybe it’s injured. Maybe it’s sick. Maybe it has a parasite load that’s killing it.”

  “It’s been abandoned,” Libertine said.

  “Obviously,” Gabriel said. “What we need to know is why. I need to take a closer look before we lose the light.” He turned to Ivy. “Do you think the Whale Museum has wet suits, fins, and snorkels we can borrow?”

  “I’m sure they do. I’ll call the executive director.”

  “See if we can get three sets of everything, one for Neva, one for Libertine, and one for me. Make sure he understands it’s an emergency,” Gabriel said, “because we may need people to help. And a small boat and fishing net long enough to stretch across the mouth of the inlet.”

  “Aye-aye, cap’n,” said Ivy.

  Then Libertine overheard Truman whisper to Winslow, “Go with her, okay? Make sure she doesn’t slip or fall or anything.”

  “Is she drunk?”

  “No. Well, yes, but she seems functional. Just stay with her. If she has to go into town to pick things up, come get me. I don’t want her driving.”

  “No kidding,” said Winslow.

  AN HOUR LATER the three were suited up and ready to get in the water. The island was small and Ivy well-known; people came out of the woodwork to see if they could help, until a small crowd had gathered behind the band of driftwood.

  With a mask, snorkel, and fins, Gabriel swam slowly and quietly toward the calf. It regarded him with darting, panicky eyes but stayed put as he circled, examining its skin and pectoral flippers and flukes—and there he found the problem. Most of its left fluke and a part of its right one were gone. The injury looked like it was a day or two old; his guess was that it had probably been caught in a boat propeller. The severity of the wound would have made it almost impossible to keep up with the pod.

  He reached out and touched the animal lightly on the back, and when it flinched he whispered, “It’s going to be okay,” and returned to the beach to explain the problem.

  “Is it a boy? Girl? How old do you think it is?” Neva asked.

  “I don’t know if it’s male or female, but it’s a year old, plus or minus.”

  “So what’ll happen to it?” asked Ivy.

  “Here? Death,” said Gabriel. “Especially because it’s still young and
probably hasn’t mastered eating on his own. Mom may still be nursing it, if she isn’t pregnant again.”

  He and Neva locked eyes. “Could we?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” Gabriel said. “We’ll need a permit, but I think I can get that pushed through tomorrow. And we’ll need to run bloods and a blowhole swab. And fecal, if we can get it.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Ivy, looking from one to the other.

  “That’s all doable, isn’t it?” said Neva.

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Ivy cried.

  Gabriel turned to her. “If the calf’s in good enough shape, we might be able to bring him to the zoo.”

  Ivy drew in a quick breath. “You mean to live with Friday?”

  “Maybe—maybe. With the injury he has, he’s certainly not releasable.”

  “Oh, man!” said Ivy. “Oh man, oh man, oh man.”

  “Don’t get ahead of things,” Gabriel cautioned. “We have to keep it alive first. Do you know anyone at the urgent care here?”

  “I know everyone,” said Ivy.

  “Then see if they have a lab that can analyze some samples—and if they can, ask them to give you lab supplies—tonight, even if it means they have to bring someone in. You’d be willing to pay for that, right?”

  “Hah!” Ivy said. “In a heartbeat.” She turned to Truman and said, “Come with me. You’re going to be driving. I damned near went into a ditch on the way to the museum.”

  “I told Winslow to make sure you didn’t drive.”

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why I made him stay home.”

  IVY BELIEVED THAT every now and then, and usually when you least expected it, the universe looked out for its own. In the rapidly fading light, with the help of a Boston Whaler, Gabriel and Neva stretched a fishing net so the calf was contained for the night. Once it was in place they waded out and hydrated it with tubing, lubricant, and a funnel Ivy had found for them along with lab materials and the promise that a tech would stand by to analyze the samples as soon as they were brought in the next morning. Gabriel reached the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife guy in charge of permitting, with whom he’d worked for decades tagging seals and sea lions. He promised he’d push the paperwork through the next day, as long as a zoo representative was available to sign off. He also promised to loan them the transport gear, provided that Gabriel would vouch for the fact that it would come back promptly.

  Having done all they could until daybreak, they each took turns checking on the calf throughout the evening, listening in the darkness for his breathing. Finally Gabriel sent everyone to bed, stressing that the next day was likely to be long and punishing.

  But instead of going to her room, Ivy poured freshly brewed coffee and a generous measure of Bushmills Irish Whiskey into a thermos, pulled on a heavy sweater—the nights were cold here even in the height of summer—and tugged a windproof anorak over that. Then she stuck Julio Iglesias and an inflatable cushion into a canvas bag and, sweating fiercely, emerged from the house just a few minutes shy of midnight.

  The sky had cleared, and a full moon lit up the band of bleached driftwood on the beach. She struggled her way to the next-door bay, where she could make out the calf’s silhouetted dorsal fin, motionless in the moonlight. She froze until she heard its pneumatic exhale and inhale. Then she blew up the inflatable cushion, set Julio Iglesias on his feet, and lowered herself onto a driftwood log. There she listened to the calf breathe, all the way until morning; if it died in the night, at least someone would have borne witness to its passing. When first light came and it was still alive, she struggled to her feet, stuffed the empty thermos, Julio Iglesias, and her deflating cushion into the canvas bag, and climbed up to the house prepared to fix breakfast and brew up a large pot of coffee strong enough to strip paint.

  The household was already stirring when she came in. Gabriel had found eggs, cheese, bacon, and scallions in the refrigerator and was cooking; Winslow was manning the toaster; and Truman had found and brewed coffee and was getting glasses and orange juice out on the table. Neva was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in case they didn’t have time to stop for lunch later, and Libertine had run Johnson Johnson to the ferry, since he had promised his wait-staff he’d be back at the Oat Maiden by three o’clock that afternoon. Ivy told Gabriel that the calf had had an uneventful night, at least from the sounds of his breathing.

  “That was some dumb move, going alone,” he chastised her. “You could have broken an ankle out there, and no one would have known until morning.”

  “Now, see?” she agreed. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  “So?” said Gabriel.

  “I decided not to listen.”

  BY THE END of breakfast, they’d all agreed to name the calf, a male, San Juan—Juan, for short—to commemorate the place where they’d found him. They spent the rest of the morning preparing the stretcher and transport box that Gabriel’s Department of Fish and Wildlife contact had ferried over on the back of a small flatbed truck, and loading up the calf. Truman, with Gabriel, drove the truck onto the 12:10 ferry.

  As Gabriel had laid out for them on San Juan Island before they’d left, they would acclimatize the calf in an above-ground, circular fiberglass pool in the zoo’s holding area, which had once been used to house waterfowl while their exhibit was being upgraded. Neva now offered to take the overnight shift, but Gabriel wanted to be there to monitor the calf through the night.

  AT FOUR ON the nose the next morning, Neva, already wearing a wet suit, arrived at the pool and climbed in with two Dunkin’ Donuts to-go cups of coffee held high.

  “You’re an angel,” Gabriel said.

  “If I were an angel, I’d have brought donuts, too. I ran out of money.” She pushed her way through the four-foot-deep water until she’d come alongside Gabriel. Though it wasn’t quite as cold as Friday’s pool, she still shuddered.

  Gabriel set his coffee cup on a little deck on one side of the pool, beside a length of flexible tubing, funnel, and two gallons of water. “I want to hydrate him before I go.” With Neva’s help, Gabriel gaped the calf’s mouth with a dowel as thick as a broomstick and fed the lubricated tubing down his throat and into his stomach without difficulty. In less than five minutes they’d poured two gallons of fresh water and electrolytes down his throat.

  “Good,” Gabriel said. “We’ll feed him in an hour or so.”

  “So what am I going to be doing, exactly?” Neva asked.

  “Walking,” Gabriel said. “You’re going to be walking. This kid doesn’t know about walls, so unless we protect him he’ll swim right into them. I want him between you and the wall, so he can get used to its being there, but you’ll be directing him.”

  “Won’t echolocation tell him where they are?”

  “Sure, but when the sound bounces back at him he’s not going to have any idea what it means.”

  “So, the walking.”

  “Yep. Around and around. Okay, come all the way up to him.”

  The calf blew out a loud pneumatic huff. Despite all the time she’d spent with Friday, and the calf’s relatively tiny size, Neva jumped and then laughed at herself. “Why is his white skin yellow? Is that bad?”

  “Nope, normal for a young calf. He’ll whiten up later.”

  “It’s funny to see his dorsal fin standing straight up. Poor Friday.”

  “Okay, let’s show you what you’re going to be doing,” Gabriel said.

  “Can I just take a look at his flukes first? I haven’t had the chance.” At Gabriel’s nod, she held a diving mask up to her face and looked underwater, coming up grimacing. “Oh, man,” she said. “The poor guy. Do you think it still hurts?”

  “I’m sure it does, but at least the young ones tend to heal quickly.” Gabriel stepped away from the calf, indicating that Neva should take his place. “You’ll hold him this way”—he positioned her arms so they formed parentheses around Juan just behind his pector
al flippers—“and let him move as freely as you can, but keep him from making contact with the sides. That’s it—that’s all there is to it. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good,” Gabriel said. “I’ll be back in about an hour, and I’ll bring fish with me, so we can begin getting him used to being hand-fed. Sam said he’d come down and keep you company. Have him call me on the radio if you need anything.”

  GABRIEL HAD A yawning fit on his way back to Friday’s pool. As soon as he turned on the office lights Friday appeared in the window, and Gabriel banged on it with a flat palm, in greeting. The whale was looking for an indication that it was breakfast time, and when he saw none he swam off into the gloom. Gabriel had intended to do fish house, so Friday and Juan had food for the day, but what he did do was climb onto a desktop and roll onto his back, and rather than drift into sleep, fell into it headlong, as though from a high cliff.

  He was getting old for these animal transport marathons.

  Until the calf came into the picture, he’d intended to tell Truman that he’d be moving on just after the first of the year. Neva and Libertine had come along nicely, and there were any number of experienced marine mammal keepers who’d kill to join them. Gabriel wasn’t interested in maintaining exhibits and animals; exhausting though it was, he’d take a good crisis any day. Emergencies brought out the best in him.

  He awoke from an hour’s deep and dreamless sleep abruptly, looking up to see Friday in the window, peering down at him and blowing air-bubble rings from his blowhole. Gabriel smiled. He would miss Friday; he was a one-in-a-million whale. But once the calf was settled into the pool, Gabriel suspected that Friday wouldn’t need any of them as much. Bringing up an orphan would keep him busy for years—for the rest of his life, presumably, unless something unexpected happened. Gabriel was sure he’d be good at it, too.

  Now, getting up stiffly, he mentally amended his departure date to Labor Day. That should give them all plenty of time. In the meantime, he’d get in touch with a few of the young keepers he’d trained and see who might be interested in a position.