Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Zoe tried to help, but she was no expert either. Just because she appreciated Josh’s uncanny ability didn’t mean she could emulate him. It didn’t help, of course, that nobody was on the same page. The dolphins were getting too many mixed signals from too many people. But even when Zoe followed the strict scientific rules of operant conditioning and achieved a degree of success, something was still missing. That indefinable connection that trainers called rapport, when an animal responds intuitively to a person’s body language and emotions, and vice versa. In time she hoped it would come, but the Dancing Dolphins didn’t have time. At the rate things were going, it would only be a few more weeks before they stopped performing anything remotely recognisable as a show.

  None of this bothered Zoe too much. Her passion was for conservation, not training. In fact, the more she came to know about dolphins the less she approved of them turning tricks for crowds, day after day. Learning was a useful enrichment tool for the bored captives, nothing more. Sometimes she wondered how the Reef Centre was tracking financially. Visitors brought in money, and dolphin shows brought in visitors. Gate takings would drop pretty quickly once the dolphins stopped performing. But that wasn’t really her problem, except for the fact that she still hadn’t been paid this month. Leo was loaded. He’d bail his daughter out if needed. Zoe had more important things on her mind, namely her stalled research project.

  The seagrass specimens she’d given to Bridget for analysis after her first day out on the boat with Josh were taking forever to come back. Growing impatient, Zoe had sent some samples off independently to the University of Sydney. The results were startling. Dangerous levels of chemicals had shown up in water, sediment and tissue samples across all the seagrass monitoring sites. Even more disturbing was that the banned pesticide Dieldrin had been detected. The worst contamination was in near-shore meadows around the river mouth. This pointed the finger directly at run-off from Kiawa’s sugarcane farms. She hadn’t discussed any of this with Bridget, and not just because of the subtle frostiness between them. Her boss had shown a distinct lack of interest in the project all along, which was strange, considering it was her idea in the first place.

  Zoe headed through the centre gates and hurried towards the hospital compound. Good, the vet’s jeep was parked up ahead. She’d asked George to do two autopsies. One subject was a juvenile dolphin found dying by snorklers on Turtle Reef. The other was a dugong calf washed up in mangroves not far from the river mouth. Today was reporting day.

  Zoe waited more than two hours for the results. The compound was chock-a-block with close to twenty sea turtles, apparently three times more than this time last year. They were coming in malnourished, dehydrated and underweight. X-rays revealed a few had swallowed plastic, leading to floater’s syndrome. Trapped gas in the gut kept the turtles stranded on the surface, so they couldn’t dive to feed. George treated these impactions with fibre, Metamucil and vegetable oil. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes they needed surgery, like when fish hooks were caught in their throats or intestines. But a surprising number of otherwise healthy sea turtles were simply starving for no apparent reason.

  ‘It’s the same with your dugong, and another one I dissected last week,’ said George, as he administered antibiotics to a young loggerhead while Zoe struggled to hold it still. ‘Half the expected weight and no food in its stomach. It’s quite a mystery.’

  Zoe bit her tongue. No mystery to her. Confirmation of the disappearing seagrass meadows was mounting by the minute, but she didn’t want to go off half-cocked. All the pieces of the puzzle needed to fit.

  After George finished his rounds, Zoe made him a coffee and they sat down with the autopsy results. He handed her a few stapled pages. ‘Your dugong died of starvation.’ Zoe began to read through the report. ‘But your dolphin’s a different case altogether.’ George handed over the second set of results. ‘She was a very sick animal. Anaemic. Lesions all over her body and respiratory system. White blood cell count through the roof. Bacterial, fungal and viral infections – she had the lot.’

  Zoe looked up sharply. ‘Viral?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ He looked grave. ‘A potent pathogen – morbillivirus. The first confirmed case I’ve seen.’

  She shook her head in shock. A potent pathogen? That was an understatement. Morbillivirus had been ravaging overseas dolphin populations for years, and there was no cure. The first record in Australia involved a stranded bottlenose at Marion Bay in Tasmania in 1997. She’d studied the case in first-year marine biology. Morbillivirus was still rare, but had been linked to mass mortality of inshore bottlenose dolphins in Perth’s Swan River.

  Zoe leafed through the detailed report, not really taking it in. George drained his coffee. ‘It’s all there. Read it for yourself.’ He rose to leave.

  ‘Wait.’ She put the pages down on the table. ‘Just tell me what else you found.’

  George sat back down with a sigh. ‘There was a banned toxin in the dolphin’s tissue samples.’

  ‘Dieldrin?’ He raised an eyebrow and nodded. It was all adding up. Healthy, older animals could often fight off morbillivirus, but juveniles had little resistance. If the Turtle Reef dolphins faced added stress factors, like pollution in their environment? Well, the virus could wipe out the younger generation. ‘I found Dieldrin too,’ said Zoe. ‘In seagrass sediment samples. Along with high amounts of Diuron – fifty times the safe levels.’

  George whistled low through his teeth. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me. Kiawa’s a funny place. The locals have some very old-fashioned ideas when it comes to farming.’

  ‘I’ve noticed that.’ Zoe frowned. ‘They’re a pretty traditional bunch.’

  George snorted. ‘Traditional? More like stuck in a time warp. Farmers around here don’t take any notice of current rules and regulations about handling chemicals. “If it was good enough for my father and for my grandfather, then it’s good enough for me.” I hear that all the time. Somebody needs to drag them into the twenty-first century.’ He stood to go. ‘I’ll be reporting my findings to the department. I suggest you do the same.’

  Zoe followed him to the door, his words repeating in her head. Somebody needs to drag them into the twenty-first century. ‘Thank you, George.’ He nodded goodbye, grim-faced. She trailed after him, weaving through people heading in the direction of Dolphin Harbour where the day’s performance was about to begin. The music started. Zoe checked her watch. She’d be pushing it to feed the seaquarium tanks before the Octo Show. Bridget kept saying she’d hire someone else to help in the mornings. Zoe ran fingers through her untidy hair and apologised to a small boy in front of her who she’d just walked into. When would she learn? Even after everything that had happened, she was still believing Bridget’s promises.

  Zoe set about preparing daily feeds for the smaller aquarium residents. Chopped squid for the blue-spotted rays. Vitamin-soaked shrimp for the baby cat sharks. Blood worms for the striped angelfish. She made up fresh reef blocks from plaster of Paris mixed with peas, pellets and chopped spinach. Specialised coral feeders like pufferfish, parrot fish and triggerfish used their beak-like teeth to bite off chunks. Then they ground up the plaster and filtered out the nutrients, like they would with living coral in the wild.

  When she finished, Zoe selected a few choice pilchards from the fridge. Time to head for Tentacle Town, the catchy name she’d chosen for the darkened storeroom with the red light bulb, where she kept the cephalopods. Technically octopuses had arms, not tentacles, but nobody had called her on it. Archie seemed to enjoy bringing them to her, and Zoe had quite a collection now, along with cuttlefish and some big-fin reef squid. The beautiful and mysterious nautilus, with its pearly spiral shell, was next on her cephalopod wish list.

  ‘Good morning, gang.’ At the sound of her voice, Einstein flowed out from under her rock and glowed green in greeting. She’d become friendly, and enjoyed having her arms stroked after being fed. But not in front of an audience. That little intimacy was reserved fo
r when they were alone. ‘Hope you’re hungry,’ Zoe said. ‘I’ve saved the fattest pilchard for you.’ Einstein’s arms snaked towards the top of the tank. ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a show to do first, and you’re growing a little bit lazy.’

  Zoe moved down the rows of tanks, checking on the wellbeing of her charges. She stopped to watch the reef squids ripple through the water. Surprisingly beautiful, with scintillating bands ranging in colour from black to almost transparent, and pairs of iridescent spots on their billowing mantles. All well and healthy. Next was her new mangrove display. Since many estuarine creatures were active at night, it made sense to set up a tank in the nocturnal room to showcase this vital ecosystem. She’d stocked it with mangrove seedlings, snails, sea cucumbers and an assortment of mud, hermit and fiddler crabs. Archie was on a quest to find her some mudskippers. These lightning-fast little fish were equally at home on land as in water, making them particularly difficult to catch. Slogging around on foot in smelly mud with a hand-held net wasn’t the sort of thing the veteran deep-sea fisherman was known for, but he’d vowed not to return empty-handed. Bless his heart. Zoe was growing quite fond of the rough old man. She inspected the mangrove tank. What? Half a dozen empty shells lay piled in the corner. Something had been eating her crabs.

  ‘Einstein,’ said a voice. Zoe jumped a foot in the air. Josh was standing behind her, right up close in that unsettling way he had. But she didn’t mind; she was far too glad to see him. ‘Einstein climbs out at night and goes into the other aquariums.’ Josh took her hand and led her to the tank. He pointed to where the lid was askew, just the tiniest bit, but an octopus could squeeze through something the circumference of its beak.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Zoe got the stepladder for a closer look. Sure enough, there were traces of dried octo-slime outside the glass at the top. So that’s why fish had been disappearing. At night the place had become an all-you-can-eat octopus buffet.

  ‘She needs more food now that she’s having babies.’

  Zoe looked at him in horror. Babies? She peered into Einstein’s den. It was impossible to see properly in this strange red glow. Zoe fetched a bright white torch and directed it into the tank. Damn, Josh was right. The startled octopus dived for cover, but not before Zoe spotted dozens of pale, teardrop-shaped eggs hanging from the underside of the rock by delicate stalks. She turned off the torch. Einstein shimmied forwards and placed one glowing, suckered arm against the glass. Zoe pressed her hand against it, eyes swimming with tears.

  Josh added his own hand into the mix. ‘Don’t cry, Zoe.’ His tone was puzzled.

  She checked her watch and wiped her eyes. Time for the show. Outside the room a dozen people had gathered.

  ‘Welcome everybody,’ said Zoe, her voice catching. She cleared her throat. ‘Today will be a bit different from usual. I’m debuting a new octopus, Houdini – his first public performance.’

  ‘We want to see Einstein,’ said a red-headed woman. ‘I saw the show last week and it was fantastic. I’ve brought my husband along this time.’

  ‘You’ll still be able to see Einstein,’ said Zoe, ‘but she won’t be performing any more. As of today she’s on permanent maternity leave.’

  ‘Permanent? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Come with me and I’ll explain.’

  A curious group of people, including Josh, stood watching Einstein eat the plump pilchard. Zoe pointed to the tank. ‘Beneath that rock is a clutch of newly laid eggs,’ she said. ‘It’s a sad reality that bringing new life into the world is a death sentence for octopus mothers. They’re the definition of maternal self-sacrifice. Einstein will devote all her time and energy to those eggs from now on. Protecting them twenty-four hours a day. Aerating them with gentle jets of water, grooming them to keep them clean and stop algae growing. In a little while she’ll cease eating altogether for fear of fouling her den with food waste or faeces. Einstein will slowly starve herself to death.’ She could hear the break in her own voice and the red-headed woman gasped. A murmur ran through the crowd. ‘It sounds like a Greek tragedy, doesn’t it?’ she continued. ‘But it happens to every female octopus in the world who lays eggs. So whenever you see an octopus, spare a thought for the mother who gave her life to bring it into the world.’

  Josh turned on his heel and left. Houdini proved himself a capable understudy, but he didn’t have Einstein’s panache or gift for improvisation. After the show, Zoe went looking for Josh. She found him playing with Mirrhi, spraying her with the saltwater hose. The boy swam to the lagoon edge when he saw her, and she sat down with her legs in the water. Dark clouds rolled in off the bay above her.

  ‘I don’t want Einstein to die,’ Josh said.

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Zoe. ‘But I’m afraid it’s nature’s way. She’ll love and care for her eggs until the little octopuses are born. Then she’ll die happy, knowing that she gave her babies the best start in life that she possibly could.’

  ‘Like my mother did.’

  The hairs lifted on the back of Zoe’s neck. Of course. Josh’s mother had died giving birth to him. ‘We’ll release Einstein’s babies on Turtle Reef so a little bit of her will always live there.’

  Josh nodded then patted Mirrhi as she nosed her way into his arms. ‘Dolphins don’t die when they have babies, do they?’

  Zoe smiled. ‘You know they don’t.’

  ‘Good,’ said Josh. ‘Cause I’d die too if anything happened to Mirrhi.’

  ‘That’s quite enough talk about dying. Mirrhi’s not going to have a baby any time soon. Now hop out of there. It’s starting to rain.’ It wasn’t cold, but Zoe hugged her arms to her chest.

  ‘Mirrhi is going to have a baby. Bridget said.’

  Zoe examined his face for any sign of pretence and found none. Oh dear, poor Mirrhi. This was certainly a day for unpleasant surprises. In the wild, living with a family pod of mature females: mothers, grandmothers, aunties . . . well, a dolphin as young as Mirrhi would never fall pregnant. But here at the centre, bored, confined all day with only an eager male like Echo for company? Things were bound to happen. Once more, Zoe questioned Bridget’s decision not to release the young dolphins. They might be safe and well fed in this gilded cage, but at what cost?

  Karen arrived with eye-drops, and cheered when she saw Josh. ‘Have we ever missed you, mate.’

  ‘Did you know Mirrhi was pregnant?’ Zoe asked her.

  Karen nodded. ‘George confirmed it last week with an ultrasound. If you ask me, Mirrhi’s too young to be bred. Chances are she’ll never successfully raise a calf.’

  ‘What about Koko?’ asked Zoe. ‘She managed. Maybe Mirrhi can learn from her?’

  ‘Koko’s a totally different case,’ Karen said. ‘She was already an experienced mother when Baby was born.’ Mirrhi rolled onto her left side for an eye-drop. ‘And Koko’s a spinner, not a bottlenose. Mirrhi needs females of her own species to teach her, don’t you, darling?’ As if in answer, the young dolphin uttered a series of plaintive high-pitched whistles and rolled the other way for the second drop. ‘There, all done.’ Karen rubbed Mirrhi’s back and gave her the last fish. Josh jumped back in the water. Boy and dolphin began a noisy splashing game. ‘Hop out, will you, Josh?’ asked Karen. ‘Bridget could use a hand with Kane. You too, Zoe. I’ll go on ahead.’

  Josh kissed Mirrhi’s rostrum and climbed from the water. ‘Since you’ve been missing in action,’ said Zoe as they followed Karen, ‘this place has been falling apart.’ Josh looked around, as if he expected to see buildings literally tumbling down. ‘I mean that, without you, the dolphins aren’t doing their tricks the way they used to.’

  Josh gave her a shy grin, as if secretly pleased to hear how indispensable he was. ‘I’ve been really busy. Quinn’s letting me drive the cane haul-out.’

  ‘That sounds like fun. And I’ve noticed you guys riding the horses.’

  ‘Every day,’ said Josh. ‘I’m still not allowed to ride Aisha though.’

  ‘Giv
e it time. Now let’s get things done before the storm hits.’

  ‘I miss Mirrhi,’ said Josh. ‘Quinn’s letting me visit while he goes to the mill.’

  ‘I’m sure she was thrilled to see you.’

  ‘I miss you too, Zoe.’ The words were so sweet, so unexpected, that they stopped her in her tracks. ‘Why don’t you come up to the house any more?’

  ‘I’ve been really busy too.’

  ‘I wish you would come. Quinn and Bridget don’t fight when there are visitors.’

  Zoe couldn’t help herself. ‘Fight? What about?’

  ‘Me,’ said Josh. ‘And sometimes you.’

  Zoe was dying to know more, but there wasn’t time. Bridget waited up ahead with Karen, wearing her dolphin show outfit – short shorts and a gold satin bikini top. They were standing beside the disused pens at the far end of the lagoon, where a low seawall and some steel mesh gateways cut the park off from open water. It was a fragile separation. Winds ahead of the approaching storm were whipping up waves, sending them crashing over the barrier. In combination with the high tide, it seemed like the ocean was trying to reunite its divided parts into one awe-inspiring whole.

  Bridget’s eyes lit up when she saw Josh. ‘Kane’s got himself in here somehow and now he won’t come out.’ The big dolphin prowled around the enclosures, veering away whenever Bridget tried to tempt him through the rusty gate with fish.

  ‘What are these old ponds for?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Years ago they used to lock dolphins up here at night and sometimes even in between shows,’ said Karen.

  ‘How awful,’ said Zoe. ‘And what about those metal grates?’

  ‘Before the pumps were installed, they relied on those grates to let fresh seawater into the lagoons.’