Little Black Lies

by Sharon Bolton

  I pick up my bag, gesture to Pete to bring the stretchers and stride up the beach. When I’m close to the biggest group of people I give two short blasts on my whistle.

  ‘I need your attention, ladies and gentlemen. Can you all gather round and listen up.’

  Not everyone is listening. I give one more blast, shout at a man who is ignoring me. ‘Mate, I need you over here now. We’re running out of time.’

  I go on quickly, while I have their attention.

  ‘My name’s Catrin Quinn. I work for Falkland Conservation and my speciality is cetaceans. I’m in charge of the operation.’ I don’t say rescue operation. I don’t want to give them false hope. ‘Thank you for coming. Now, when you approach the whales, move slowly and quietly. They are very distressed and we don’t want them any more frightened than they are already. Be very careful. Keep away from their tails and their mouths. Watch for them rolling on you. They can still hurt you a lot more than you them. No children or animals are to go anywhere near.’

  Everyone is listening to me now.

  ‘The first priority is to keep them cool and wet. Protect them from the sun. Put sheets and covers over as many as you can and keep them soaking with seawater. Those of you with spades, start digging channels to get water to the whales. I’m going to go along the beach now, marking them with flags. Red means they’re small enough to be stretchered back to the water. My colleague Pete is in charge of that, and he’ll tell you when we’re ready to start lifting. Blue is for the bigger ones that we can try to harness and pull back in using the boats. Black means cover them up and keep them cool.’

  ‘How do we get the black ones back?’

  I look at him. Big, middle-aged, self-important. In the red anorak that will make it easier for the ship’s steward to spot him when it’s time to herd all the passengers on board. He thinks he’s being clever, catching me out.

  ‘I’m hoping the RAF will spare us a helicopter,’ I say. I don’t tell him that airlifting a whale back into the water is a time-consuming and tricky task. Even if we do get a helicopter and some men to help on the ground, the chances of our saving more than one or two are slim.

  ‘The best thing you can do for them now is make them more comfortable. And try to keep those birds off. OK, let’s go.’

  ‘Come on, you heard the woman.’ Janey’s voice follows me down the beach. ‘Get some chains formed.’

  Starting at one end of the beach, I begin examining the whales. Pilot whales are the second largest of the oceanic dolphins, orcas being the biggest. The males can grow up to six and a half metres long. Not massive, by the standard of whales, but big enough. They’re playful creatures, fond of following boats, riding bow waves, and they have this habit of spy-holing, when they hang vertically in the water and peep their heads out to give you a good looking at. They are one of my favourites of all the cetacean species.

  After forty minutes, we’re ready to start lifting the smaller whales. Out on the water, a flotilla of boats is on standby to nudge and coax them into deeper water.

  ‘We need to roll them on to the stretchers.’ I have to shout to make sure everyone can hear me. ‘Take care because, although they’re big, they’re quite delicate and they’re in pain because the weight of their bodies will be pressing down on their internal organs. Sand in their blowholes will be very distressing. On the other hand, once we start we should work as quickly as possible.’

  No one knows how to begin, so I kneel down beside the closest whale and gesture for others to join me. I slide my hands under her body just as a large pair of hands that I recognize appears at my side. Others copy us.

  ‘And lift,’ I say.

  We can only raise the creature an inch or so, and only then for a second, but Janey is at the head, and her friend Katie at its tail and they’ve done this before. The man next to me gives us the muscle we need.

  ‘And slide,’ Janey says, and the two women slide the groundsheet beneath the whale.

  ‘Nicely done.’ I turn to Callum. ‘Where’s Queenie?’

  ‘In my car on the mainland. Asleep probably. Stopford’s not very pleased with you.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘But he’s happy for you to be here?’

  ‘I’m bigger than he is.’

  Six of us stand on either side of the whale, bend and take hold of the groundsheet. Callum, being the tallest, moves to the head.

  ‘And lift.’ The whale gives a huge sigh. We can’t hold it for long. ‘And walking.’

  This whale is only feet from the sea. Callum strides off and we do our best to follow. The water laps up around my legs and I don’t look down. I don’t want to see that I’m wading in diluted blood. The whale is panting, emitting small distressed sounds, but Callum is deep enough now to lower it and let the water take some of the weight.

  ‘As soon as the groundsheet’s removed we need to get clear,’ I say. ‘Ready, and let her go.’

  We loosen the improvised stretcher. The whale hovers in the water for a second. I can see her getting ready to roll.

  ‘Callum, get out of the way.’

  He moves to the side as the whale rolls on to her back. Her tail flicks and catches me on the thigh. I stagger but stay upright. ‘Get to shore, everyone.’

  Other groups are following our example, wrapping and lifting the smaller animals. Slowly, but steadily, the whales around us are being returned to the sea.

  ‘Any news?’ I ask. ‘About … you know?’

  Callum looks round to make sure no one is in earshot. ‘Nothing I was told directly. Rumour is that the military will start searching the wrecks today. Less encouraging is that both Fred Harper and Jimmy Brown’s families have apparently made contact with Archie West’s. There’s talk about them getting in touch with British newspapers.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that will help enormously.’

  ‘It won’t help Stopford’s efforts to play the whole thing down. He’s under pressure from the Governor, too. The powers that be really don’t want this place getting a reputation for being a dodgy place to bring a kid.’

  I look at the chaos surrounding us. Right now, this doesn’t feel like a great place for anyone to come for a couple of weeks’ R and R.

  ‘How many can we save?’ Callum asks.

  I’ve been wondering the same thing. Fewer than a third of the beached animals are small enough to lift. If everyone on the beach stays for the rest of the day, without food and rest, if we get additional help from the military, we have a chance of getting around seventy back into the sea.

  ‘Reinforcements.’ I look towards the dunes and breathe a sigh of relief. Just one squad, around a dozen soldiers, but a whole lot better than nothing. I thank the red-haired, freckle-faced sergeant in charge and ask him to get his men helping the lifting teams, while I harness one of the bigger whales. If we can get a larger one back, I’m going to contact the RAF and beg the use of a Chinook.

  With military help, we can save even the biggest whales and suddenly it feels like the right thing to do. More than that, it feels as though, for the first time in years, I have a purpose. An interest in the living.

  Blimey, how did that happen?

  With a sudden burst of energy, I jog back to the shoreline. Callum is waiting, but he’s not looking at me. ‘Cat, they’re coming back.’

  8

  The words I’ve been dreading. Even so, I try not to hear them.

  ‘The whales.’ Callum is looking about fifty metres off shore. ‘The ones we rescued. They’re coming back in.’

  I walk to the water’s edge. I have to make sure Callum’s right, although I have no doubt he is. I can see three, no four, of the smaller whales we carried out nosing their way back to shore. Beaching themselves again. Around me, other people are noticing. Word spreads and the rescue effort stops.

  ‘Why are they doing that?’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  I tell myself it’s not the end of the world. These waters have a healthy population of pilot whales
. We can afford to lose a couple of hundred. These things happen. Everyone is looking at me.

  ‘Are they the same ones?’

  ‘They’re not going to beach themselves again, are they?’

  It’s exactly what they are going to do. No one knows why they do that either, but it’s all too common. Either the beaching was deliberate in the first place and they’re not going to let human sentimentality get in the way of the plan, or they simply can’t bear to leave the group behind.

  ‘Keep going,’ I tell Callum. ‘Try and get some more back.’

  ‘Come on, everyone, we’re not giving up now.’ I leave Callum behind and step into the water. Aunt Janey and her friend, Katie, follow, and one or two others from the islands. We stride out, meeting the returning whales head on. Janey slaps her hands on the surface. Someone else shouts at them. Janey resorts to language that would scare me away. It works, for a while. The whales hang back, some even turn away, but their hearts aren’t in the retreat. They’re hanging around, or looking for another route, staring at us with their big, reproachful eyes. One way or another, they’re coming back in.

  I allow six more whales to be carried out to sea before I admit defeat. We can’t spend any amount of time in the water, it’s too cold. Now, we just have to see what happens.

  * * *

  What happens is that they all come back. They nose their way towards shore, pushing through the corpses of those already dead, squeezing past the dying. They roll and flap and push themselves out of the water, back on to the sand.

  The dismay around me is pitiful. Some of the women and youngsters have started to cry. The men look pale, are blinking hard, rubbing their faces. It isn’t fair. These people have tried so hard and they deserve something back. Unfortunately, nature doesn’t work that way.

  ‘What now?’ Callum is keeping his voice low. I suspect he knows what comes next. I shake my head at him and he follows me as I walk towards the sergeant. The three of us move away from the crowd.

  ‘I have to euthanize them,’ I tell the sergeant. ‘It doesn’t matter how many times we carry them out, they’ll keep coming back in.’

  The soldier, who isn’t much more than a boy himself, looks shocked. He turns back to the carnage on shore, at the sheer numbers involved.

  ‘What if we get them deeper?’ says Callum. ‘Tow them out with the RIB?’

  I knew this would happen. Arguments and counter-suggestions that do nothing other than prolong the inevitable and increase the distress to the animals.

  I shake my head. ‘When whales re-beach themselves, there is nothing anyone can do.’

  A pause, while they try to come up with another answer and fail. ‘How are you going to do it?’ asks the sergeant, who is looking younger and less sure of himself by the minute.

  ‘Gunshot to the head. If you and your men can assist, that will be a big help. If you can’t, then I need to ask you to clear the beach. No one is going to want to see this.’

  Callum runs a hand through his hair. ‘Catrin, is there really no alternative?’

  I feel anger welling up. This is going to be difficult enough and I need these two on side. ‘No. If we do nothing, they’ll die slowly and painfully. It could take some of them a couple of days. Continually dragging them back is just going to increase their distress and exhaust these people.’

  ‘I’ll talk to my CO.’ The sergeant walks up the beach. At the water’s edge, people are still carrying the smaller whales back, trying to shoo the returning creatures out of the shallows.

  ‘Do you not … I don’t know, need some authority to do this?’ asks Callum.

  ‘Who do you suggest I ask? God?’

  ‘Where’s John?’

  The implication that my judgement isn’t sufficiently sound, that I need to check with my boss infuriates me. Does he honestly think John and I didn’t discuss exactly this possibility before I came out here? That we didn’t carefully count and sign out the number of bullets I was going to need?

  The sergeant returns, radio still in hand. ‘My CO can’t approve a cull without proper authority. He’s phoning the Governor’s House.’

  ‘Your CO has no authority over this beach or over me,’ I tell him. ‘I’m getting started.’

  I stride away. I think I see the sergeant gesture to one of his men to stop me but Callum gets to me first. ‘Give it a minute.’ He’s speaking very quietly, his voice just above my ear. ‘The Governor’s staff will phone John who’ll back you up. You might not need this guy’s authority to go ahead, but you do need his help.’

  ‘What I need is for him to stay out of my way.’

  He grabs my shoulder, physically stops me moving. ‘Catrin, there must be fifty people on this beach. Fewer than half are local. They won’t understand what you’re doing and why it’s necessary.’

  The sergeant is talking on the radio. It will take time, precious time, for his boss to call the Governor, for the Governor to call John, for the persuasive, soothing words to be said. Time when the whales are suffering and I’m hanging round thinking about one of the worst jobs I can imagine.

  ‘They don’t have to understand,’ I tell him.

  ‘What will you do if they decide to protect the whales? Form a physical barrier between you and them? Half of them have cameras. You can’t do this without the army’s help.’

  He’s right. I hate him for it, but he’s right.

  Aunt Janey, meantime, knows something’s up. She and her friend walk up the beach towards me. Pete and Mitchell have brought the RIB back in and they’re coming over too. I’m not completely on my own. It just feels like it.

  ‘I’m going to invite everyone to our house,’ Janey says. ‘We can show them round the farm and that side of the island. I’ve got cakes in the freezer. And Ashley’s got a new trick. She actually sits up and begs now.’

  I manage a weak smile. Her plan, if it works, will get the visitors off the beach. They won’t see me shoot a hundred and seventy-six whales in the head. A crunching on the sand tells us the sergeant is on his way back. He’s squinting in the sun and his freckles stand out sharply against his pale face.

  ‘My CO can’t authorize me or my men to take part in the actual cull,’ he says. I’m disappointed but not surprised. No senior army officer is going to want to see pictures of his men shooting helpless animals. ‘We’ll give you space to work, offer what assistance we can,’ he finishes.

  I nod my thanks. It’s better than nothing.

  ‘Are we sure we’ve given it enough time?’ Callum is looking out across the beach, at the ranks of panting, miserable animals.

  ‘We’ve had a clearer view out on the water,’ says Pete. ‘Every single whale we returned to the sea is making its way back in. Some have done it twice.’

  Mitchell nods his agreement. ‘We’re not going to get a different result if we put it off another hour.’

  Enough. I turn to the sergeant. ‘Can you ask people to leave the beach? They’ve all worked incredibly hard but they need to leave it to us now.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Janey takes the young soldier’s arm and gently pushes him over towards the waiting crowd.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s that easy.’ Callum takes up the rear and follows them.

  Telling me he’ll get the gun, Pete heads back to the RIB and I’m alone.

  A petrel swoops so low I can feel the rush of air above my head. The unexpected bounty has made them even more aggressive than usual. Knowing I can’t put it off, I head over to the crowd who have already heard the worst from the platoon sergeant.

  People start shouting at me as I approach. Some are genuinely trying to be helpful, they have suggestions for helping the whales that they honestly think I haven’t thought of. Others just want their voices to be heard above the crowd. The headache I hadn’t realized I had starts pounding at my temples.

  I hold my hand up.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, but it was always a strong possibility,’ I say when they’re quiet
enough to hear me. ‘In roughly fifty per cent of cases, whales re-beach themselves. Nobody knows why they do it, but to continue with the rescue operation now will only add to their distress. Euthanasia is the kindest solution.’

  I wait. Let my eyes drift from one shocked face to another.

  ‘You should probably leave the beach now. Thank you once again.’

  A flurry of questions and protests follow me as I turn away. One young woman runs past me, heading for one of the bigger whales. A soldier sprints after her and grabs her by the arm. I walk on. Crowd control is the military’s job now.

  I take a less direct route back to Pete, stepping among the dead and dying animals. We know so little about these creatures. Apart from the relatively small number, mainly of the dolphin species, which we keep in captivity, we have so few opportunities to study them. Much is talked about the intelligence of whales and dolphins. Their brain size, in absolute terms and in relation to body mass, suggests that they deserve a place among the most intelligent species on the planet. They exhibit problem-solving abilities and creative thinking. They show evidence of strong social cohesion, form long-lasting and intense relationships, have been known to display cross-species cooperation. It is even believed that they are self-aware, can recognize themselves in mirrors and on video footage. But the truth is we have so much more to learn.

  Do they know what I’m planning, I think, as I walk among them, shooing away petrels, stopping to scoop up water and pour it over noses. It seems to me that they do. That there is a tremor of awareness running through this pod as I make my way back to my gun.

  ‘Have you ever killed anything before?’ Callum has fallen in step beside me.

  I have to think for a moment before shaking my head. I’ve never shot game for sport. I’ve been present when animals have been euthanized but I’ve never been the one pulling the trigger.

  ‘Want me to do it?’ he offers.