by Ros Baxter
None of us really had any sense of a precedent for this situation. Would the US Government try to intervene, to secure our release? Did the UN have any kind of role in this situation? Would anyone even be interested in helping, or would they just write us off as a bunch of typical amateurs who’d done the wrong thing in the first place and deserved to get a bit of a fright? Would the TV coverage back home evoke any public outcry? Oh no, in which case, had I breached the conditions of my suspended sentence?
Anyway, we were all blabbering like the crazy, useless, amateur fools we really were, and I could tell the guards were getting kind of freaked out by it. We started throwing ideas back and forth about how we might try to re-open negotiations with the Captain. I really didn’t like our chances. The man was made of stone. He was like a Japanese Clint Eastwood. Well, you know, except I’m not sure if Clint reads pink books.
The more we talked, the more freaked out the guards looked. I’m not sure whether or not they’d been told to keep us quiet, but the general level of noise and hysteria bubbling up from us didn’t seem like something they were going to tolerate for too long. Eventually, the oldest of the sailors yelled out the only two words of English I heard him speak for the whole three days we were on board.
‘Shuuut uuup!’
And we did.
Or at least, we only spoke infrequently and quietly when we did. And this seemed to keep the guards reasonably happy.
Don’t get me wrong, it was no picnic. It was really uncomfortable sitting tied up most of the time, although the Captain had ordered the sailors to release us for five minutes or so hourly to make our ‘ablutions’ and stretch our legs. And they untied us for sleep — which we did on these god-awful, uncomfortable mats that were produced and laid on the deck for the three nights we were on board — and for meals, which were uninteresting but sustaining. Nothing like the Japanese Emmy used to bring over.
And I could tell the sailors really didn’t like us.
Some of them regarded us with this cool disdain, others with open animosity. And, look, I tried to get it from their perspective. We had disrupted the hunt. They were sitting around twiddling their thumbs. And we were kind of…you know…the enemy. It was a horrible feeling. The dislike pulsing from the sailors. The disconnection from time and place. The lack of information about what was going on. The fear about what was going to happen next. I would sit there and watch the Rainbow Serpent, off in the distance, and have such a strong longing to be back on board I felt like my heart was breaking.
The only piece of succour I had was that my seasickness seemed to have completely disappeared. I was so relieved. The minute we’d been taken prisoner, my thoughts had turned to how the hell I was going to cope once my suppositories wore off. I had visions of Japanese sailors holding back my hair while I barfed endlessly over the side of their ship.
Anyway, as I started to say before, I only had one guy watching me and we were kind of out of earshot of the others. As I started surreptitiously checking him out, I realized my captor reminded me of someone. You know how you get a glimpse of a similarity and you can’t quite get hold of who someone reminds you of, but it drives you insane?
I started to worry that maybe he thought I was trying to come onto him, I was staring at him so hard. But hey, it was pretty boring out there and I was trying hard not to think about what the hell was going to happen. And about Eve.
And Wayne. And Wayne. And more Wayne.
I was squinting up at him, trying to catch the flighty edge of this recognition feeling, when it came to me like a lightning bolt. ‘Oh. My. God. Brad Pitt!’
Far from thinking I was insane, my guy — who turned out to be called Tommy; go figure — looked at me in utter delight, all his features transforming in a magical instant from hard-ass captor to delighted teenager, and clapped his hands excitedly.
‘Yes, yes!’ He nodded his head furiously at me in a universal sign of encouragement. ‘I look like him, yes?’ He started laughing, giggling, this really, incredibly gay giggle. ‘I get told this all the time in Tokyo, yes?’
Look, it sounds really weird, I know, to suggest that a nineteen-year-old Japanese boy looks like Brad Pitt, but it was true. He had the same flat, uniform features, the same twinkle in his sultry eyes, even the same beautiful mouth. In fact, later on he told me that his Dad had been American — a sailor, of course, in town on shore leave — and I even had a wild moment of wondering…
But no, it turned out he had met his Dad a few years back and he was now an insurance salesman back in Omaha. No hidden movie star lineage, much to Tommy’s disappointment. In fact, the only thing Tommy Senior had been able to contribute to Tommy’s life was American citizenship, which he had helped him secure. Apparently, Tommy was just using the sailing gig to save up enough money to go to America and become a movie star. Anyway, as you can tell from all this back story, Tommy and I began to bond over the whole Brad Pitt thing. You know, quietly, furtively.
‘You see Ocean Eleven?’ he would whisper excitedly to me. And I would nod. ‘Twelve? Thirteen?’
‘Yep,’ I confirmed. ‘Although the second two were kind of disappointing after the first one. Good eye candy, though.’
He looked puzzled for a moment, then ‘oh yes,’ he agreed. ‘That George Clooney. He a real hunka man.’
‘Amen to that,’ I sighed.
He paused. ‘What your favorite Brad Pitt movie?’
I considered this for a moment. Tough one. ‘Troy,’ I decided finally. ‘He is so cut in that one. Love that body armour.’
‘Cut?’ He looked horrified. I’d found out he was a little squeamish, which is kind of bizarre for a whale hunter, but, as I’ve learned, life is full of surprises. I raised my bicep quickly, in the age-old depiction of the muscle man, to reassure him.
‘Oh yeah,’ he agreed immediately. ‘So cut.’ And we both sighed.
‘But my favorite still Ocean Eleven,’ he went on. ‘I love the casinos. We love to gamble. In Japan.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You play poker?’
Now, I know you didn’t know this about me yet, and maybe wouldn’t have guessed it, but I really love poker. You need to remember that I am a mathematician, so let’s just excuse it by saying the math of the whole thing fascinates me. And I figured a few rounds of poker would mean Tommy would have to untie my hands, too.
‘Oh baby,’ I breathed. ‘Do I love poker! You got a pack?’
Of course he did. And we played and played until our fingers were sore. He shuffled us around so we were mostly hidden from the view of the other guards behind this large pipe thingy, and whenever anyone walked past, he quickly hid his cards and got me to do the same. He was pretty good, but I was better. And he was so impressed.
Through the whole thing, we got talking.
Mostly about movies, and Brad Pitt. But also about my life, and what I did, and why I was here. While he was pretty blasé about the whole ‘butchering whales’ thing, he kind of dug that I was on this crazy mission. He thought I was incredibly brave. And as two hours turned relentlessly into two days, he even made a surprising admission.
‘It tastes like sheet, you know,’ he said.
‘Sheet?’ I was confused.
‘Whale meat,’ he went on. ‘It tastes awful, you know, like sheet. Poo.’
‘Oh,’ I was startled.
Then I started laughing. At the comedic irony of the whole thing. And Tommy did too. I don’t think he knew why, but soon we were rolling around the deck like teenagers.
But don’t get me wrong. It was still awful. In between poker with Tommy — he didn’t stay with me all the time — there were long stretches of being watched by some other taciturn guard, and by the morning of the fourth day, the fear and anxiety had turned to boredom, discomfort and downright irritation. I tried to engage with El Capitan on my frequent visits to his quarters to use the bathroom, but he would simply nod courteously and motion towards his facilities. Several times I was sure I caught him consulting his pink book a
s I knocked on his big wooden door and pushed it quickly open.
I’d learned from Tommy that we were working our way relentlessly back towards port, and that the Captain had been in intense radio conversations almost constantly with various authorities. But Tommy had no idea what was being said, or what the outcome was going to be. It seemed El Capitan liked to manage these things himself and the crew had very little information, other than their orders to keep us secure and safe.
I wondered how long it would take to get wherever we were going, and whether they would really keep us tied up the whole time.
And whether the outside world really knew what was going on.
And whether they were doing anything at all about it.
I could still see the Rainbow Serpent on the horizon, so I knew they were staying around to keep an eye on us, but they had made no attempts to approach or to board. I figured there was a plan, but it was infuriating not knowing what it was. And the whole time, the relentless thrum of my thoughts was there to keep me company. I fretted about Eve, and my family. About how worried they must be by now. I knew Mom and Dad would be making sure Eve was okay, and not too worried, but it did nothing to lessen my guilt.
How could I have been so stupid?
How could I have taken such a risk?
And my mind turned over and over the Wayne thing. Did he know? What was he thinking? Was he angry with me? My God, I really had blown it now. I’d just realized I loved the man. Well, you know, still loved him, had always loved him.
And now I’d gone and messed up mightily.
I’d probably ruined any chance of ever being with him. I’d fed him this line — which I’d believed at the time — about getting my life together, and then I’d gone and been taken prisoner on the Southern Ocean in some foolish attempt to save the whales. And I’d left without telling him, without even saying good-bye. I turned it over and over, wondering if I would ever see him again, wondering what he would say, wondering what I would do.
And then, early on the morning of the fourth day, just when I had reached the lowest point of my self-flagellation, and didn’t think I could possibly face another round of poker, I saw the boat coming over the horizon.
To the rescue — The Southern Ocean; November 18, 2012, midday
There are no words to describe the relief that flooded through me at the sight of that third boat. In retrospect, I don’t know why, really. I mean, it was still so far away and it could have been anything. I didn’t know one boat from another. It could have been a mother ship sent to refuel the whalers. A passing luxury liner. Pirates.
But it says something for the inherent optimism of the human spirit that, from the moment I clapped eyes on it, every fibre of my being screamed ‘rescue!’. Within three seconds, I was already mentally off this hideous ship of death, and being airlifted to the nearest safe place — preferably one with a bar — to lick my wounds and plan the rest of my life. A life I intended to spend in anonymous, boring bliss.
We all watched, transfixed, as it inched along, becoming larger and larger against the horizon. We saw it pull alongside the Rainbow Serpent, and we kept watching it. Until its appearance caused some excitement among the crew, at which point we were hustled unceremoniously under cover and away from the view that was making us all so hopeful.
What was it? An American navy vessel? A UN ship?
We saw the Captain stride out of his cabin with a spyglass and train it upon the new ship as it drew closer and closer. Tommy told me later that no one actually requires a spyglass anymore. There is way more sophisticated technology now. But El Capitan was nothing if not old school.
After being moved out of the line of sight, we heard, rather than saw, the new boat’s approach. It seemed as though it docked next to the Rainbow Serpent for a couple of hours, and the mood on the whaling ship during this interlude was like a collectively held breath. Waiting, wondering. Then we heard it begin to move again. If I’d known anything about engines, I might have been able to work out what kind of ship it was, and conjecture with more authority about its mission. But I didn’t, so I couldn’t. I only knew three things.
One: I could hear the engine, so the boat was obviously reasonably big.
Two: it was getting louder, so I guessed it was moving towards us.
Three: we were remaining stationary, so I further figured that El Capitan was willing to meet it head-on.
Did this mean it was a ship friendly to the whalers? I didn’t think so, judging by the strident note of alarm I could hear in the voices of the sailors. More likely El Capitan didn’t want to look like a wuss by running away.
The next thing I knew, it sounded like the new boat was on top of us. El Capitan had bustled past our holding area back onto the deck, and I noticed he was decked out in full captain’s gear — all white with crazy little epaulettes and shoulder boards everywhere. Actually, I know it’s kind of sick, but I thought he looked pretty hot. You know, for a Japanese whaler who probably wanted to kill me.
The noise of the new ship’s arrival right next to us was so loud I started to worry that maybe some crazy military freak from back home was planning some kind of ram raid to retrieve us. But then the engine cut and I heard an unmistakable voice over what sounded like a handheld loudspeaker.
‘Captain Ichigawa, I call upon you to end your unlawful detention of the five Americans you have on board and release them immediately into our care.’
The deep, soothing voice stroked my insides. Wayne. Wayne? It couldn’t be…
I heard El Capitan’s throaty chuckle from our side. ‘Oh, you Americans are very amusing. Where is your government? Why have they sent this pitiful little mission?’
I wanted to yell ‘He’s Australian, you idiot. Jesus, can’t you tell from the accent?’ But then that seemed like a kind of picky thing to be concentrating on right now.
And I also wanted to scream with joy. And jump up and down. And sing. And praise the God I’d never really totally believed in but was reconsidering my stance on. My mind was spinning. How the hell was Wayne here? Who was he with? How had this happened? What was he going to do when El Capitan told him to get lost, which I suspected he was about to do? And, come to think of it, where was my government, if not there with him?
El Capitan was speaking again.
‘If you wish to take these…’ That sneering tone again, God he did that well. He should have been a judge on American Idol, ‘delinquents with you, you will have to board my ship and physically retrieve them.’
A pause.
‘And, if you do so, I will invoke my powers under the laws of the sea and use force to prevent your incursion.’
Holy shit.
I wanted to scream out ‘Don’t worry, Wayne. Go home. He’s a madman. He really will kill you.’ But the sailors with guns looked really tense and, to tell you the truth, as selfless as it would have been to scream that out, I really did not want Wayne to leave me here with them.
Wayne spoke again. ‘We aren’t going anywhere.’
Man, now he sounded like Clint Eastwood. Again, I know it was inappropriate, but I got seriously aroused by the sound of him being such a hard-ass. I wondered what he was wearing. Did he do the whole sailor suit thing for such expeditions? If you own a shipping company, does that mean you need to be a genuine sea captain yourself? I mean, he was able to drive that boat that day on the river, but does that mean he knows how to drive a great big boat like it sounds as though this one is? Just as I was pondering these important issues of life and death, El Capitan spoke again.
‘Well, Mr Yankee-doodle —’
Okay, now I really wanted to correct him. That was ridiculous. And kind of juvenile. He’s Australian, for God’s sake.
‘ — I cannot release these prisoners. It is a matter of honor, and as my father used to say, “a man’s honor is all he has to keep him company when he grows old”. If you have lived honorably, you will die peacefully. If you have lived without honor, your soul will know no rest f
or all eternity.’
I heard Wayne’s voice start to speak again, followed by the sounds of a scuffle, like someone else was trying to grab the loudspeaker. Suddenly the strident tones of an unmistakable voice blasted out over the quiet ocean.
‘Kenzo?!’ Emmy’s voice was clearly surprised and somewhat distressed, but I would have known it under any circumstances. ‘Is that you?’
Now, as you can imagine, about a million things went buzzing through my mind at this point. But I’ll try to separate them for you.
One: my sister. My sister was here. With Wayne. On this boat in the middle of the freaking Southern Ocean. My sister, who is even more of a wuss than me. My sister, who requires creature comforts like other people need food and sleep.
Let me tell you a quick story so you get how truly remarkable it is that she has made this journey. Emmy provides massive financial support to a group that helps recovering teenage heroin addicts. Part of their road to wellbeing is an excursion trekking in the Andes to build resilience and drive. I was visiting Emmy one time when the coordinator of the group came by to drop off some paperwork. She suggested to Emmy that she might consider going along to South America with the group and witnessing firsthand the life-changing impact of the program. A suggestion to which Emmy replied, ‘Look, I’m more than happy to give the little fuckers all the money they need to get well, but trust me, if I have to go climb some mountain, you’ll have another junkie on your hands.’
So, hearing that she was on this boat, I could not have been more surprised if El Capitan had said ‘oh sure, Wayne, have the prisoners. And tell you what, why don’t we all open a bottle of Bollinger and have a toast to our common humanity while we’re at it? Maybe we could all just go home and leave the whales in peace too. After all, we’re all mammals underneath it all.’