The Stranding

by Karen Viggers

  Thirty-two

  As the day grew late, the cordons were dropped and everyone moved forward to the water’s edge. A new heavy quiet fell on the beach. The tide turned and shifted out, and the whale was pushed further out to prevent it wedging in the sand as the water retreated. The wetsuit team continued to rotate on and off the beach, growing colder with each shift. With only an hour and a half of daylight remaining, surely the release time was near.

  Eventually, Tim rode the Zodiac ashore to meet with Taylor and Jimmy, and they stood near the tent, punctuating their lengthy discussion with frowns and waving hands. Finally, Tim left the huddle, white-faced, and headed back into the surf. He looked small and lonely as he waded through the waves. The Zodiac scooped him up and rode past the whale and over the swell to the boats.

  They must be about to move the whale out at last and Callista was glad. There had to be an end to it, and she hoped it would be before dark. Everyone was cold and weary, and the grey afternoon light was oppressive. Spirits were sinking. She was pleased to hear Taylor’s voice again, crackling in the loudspeaker. But he sounded tired and flat and, as he spoke, outlining the plans for the release, Callista felt dread creep through her.

  The whale had been in the water recuperating for at least a couple of hours, and Taylor was pleased about this. But he was adamant that decisions had to be made now that dark was coming on. In a perfect world, the whale would be held a few hours longer before being pushed out to sea. But unfortunately, with daylight running out, Taylor wasn’t willing to take this risk. The overnight weather forecast was for gale-force winds and more rain, and if the whale was released at night and in a storm, it’d be hard to follow his movements and there would be a significant chance of a restranding. Taylor said the other option was to hold the whale overnight in shallow waters. But he wasn’t keen to do that, because the longer large whales were held ashore, the more likely they were to die.

  The final option was to release the whale tonight, and soon. Shortly, Taylor said, the whale would be pushed further out and the wetsuit team would come ashore. Once the whale was in deeper water, they would release the harness and move the boats in behind to herd him out to sea. He ought to be able to swim by now, if he was going to make it. And if he was released soon, there’d still be sufficient daylight left to follow him out to sea and keep monitoring him. If possible, they wanted to put a few kilometres between the whale and the shore.

  The assumption was that the whale would be able to swim away. Tim Lawton had cautioned that, despite all the rescue efforts, there was a considerable chance the whale might have significant lung damage. He had been breathing fairly regularly, but wasn’t as alert and responsive as Tim had expected after a return to the water. Taylor warned everyone that although they were all hoping the whale would swim successfully out to sea, there was a chance he may not.

  Lex came in with the last shift, cold and exhausted. He stumbled out of the water on legs that were numb and felt his mind blurring around the edges. Probably a bit hypothermic, he thought, bumbling with the towel that someone handed him. He staggered into the shelter tent before accepting the hands trying to wrench his wetsuit off. He was so drowsy he could just lie down there in the tent and go to sleep. But people kept pushing at him, holding him up and dragging at the sticky tightness of the wetsuit. Strangers’ hands rubbed him with towels and insistently pressed hot fluid to his lips, forced him to swallow. Somebody brought his pile of clothes. Normally he’d have been indignant to have someone help him into his trousers, like a child. But this afternoon, it didn’t matter.

  More hot chocolate. He could taste the drink now. The snugness of his thermals and then the weight of warm layers. Wool. Extra clothes from the volunteer tent. Finally, the cocoon of his coat. He held his arms out and let them help him. He realised Callista was among them, watching him with eyes that were dark with concern.

  The others went outside to see if there were other wetsuit men requiring assistance, and suddenly Lex and Callista were alone in the tent.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ll have a look in a minute,’ she said, zipping up his jacket. ‘They’ve started pushing the whale out into deeper water. The vet’s going to assess him out there and see how he’s going.’

  Lex allowed her to tug woollen gloves onto his hands.

  ‘Good,’ he said, sliding his tongue around the thickness of his cold lips. ‘That whale hasn’t much energy left for waiting around.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  Lex hesitated. He was spent. Physically and emotionally. He was ground down by the cold and fighting the surf and waiting for the whale to breathe. Who knew how long he had spent with his shoulder dug into the firm flesh of the whale’s back, his fingers hooked into one of the throat pleats, trying to hold the whale straight.

  They hadn’t talked out there. The cold was too intense, the exertion too draining. Each man had been mired in his own internal journey, trying to cope with the magnitude of the whale’s fatigue, the apparent impossibility of the rescue. How could he explain all this to Callista?

  ‘The whale’s tired,’ he said. ‘He’s sick, and he’s tired. Out there, you keep thinking each breath is his last . . . Maybe he hasn’t got it in him to swim back out to sea. Maybe he doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Callista said sharply. ‘You can’t say that. Everyone has worked so hard to get that whale back out there.’

  Her face tightened and it almost made Lex cry to think he may have triggered her again. But he had to be honest. There was nothing to be gained by deluding her. She hadn’t been out there. She hadn’t felt the weight of all that flesh trying to list sideways in the water. She couldn’t know about the tremor that had slid through that great body as they pushed it into deeper water. It hadn’t been easy. Lex could still feel his feet struggling to find a foothold on the sandy bottom while the waves pushed through. All they could really do was hold the whale straight, facing seawards.

  They had guided the whale out as far as they could. Once their feet were off the sand, they could only bob in the water alongside, while the men near the tail unhooked the sling and let it slip off. They had stayed there, riding the waves beside the whale, until the boats came around behind, rolling wildly in the slap of the waves. And then Lex and the others had swum wide of the boats and back to shore, labouring their frozen limbs into some kind of flailing stroke to slowly inch back into the shallows. There had been moments when he didn’t think he could make it, even though it was only twenty or thirty metres to swim. How could he describe all this to Callista without sounding like he had given up?

  ‘I don’t know if he’s got the will,’ he said finally, hoping she wouldn’t close him out again.

  But she patted his arm and handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

  ‘Let’s go and see,’ she said. ‘You’re tired and addled with the cold.’

  He accepted that, and followed her outside into the onshore breeze, cold as ice off the water.

  It took nearly half an hour to follow the whale a kilometre out to sea. By then, the boats were black smudges rocking against the steely sky. Low clouds, dense as burrs, scuttled beneath the higher cloud mass. A bulk-carrier pushed across the horizon. The pulsing throb of the generators further up the beach mingled with the roar of the sea. And the waiting continued.

  On the beach, Taylor kept everyone informed via messages relayed from the shark-cat. Far out to sea the whale had stopped and was resting quietly at the surface. The boats stayed with him to prevent him from turning towards the shore. They would sit there with him until after dark, or until he swam further out. Either he was too tired to swim, or just biding time, storing strength.

  Lex left Callista with her father and took more hot tea from Mrs Jensen’s tent. It seemed he just couldn’t get enough warm fluids into him. Each time he emptied a cup, the cold would return and within five minutes he would be shaking again. He suspected it was as much about reaching his li
mits as about suffering from hypothermia.

  Darren served him in the tent. The boy was wearing a smile almost as wide as his face. He nodded towards the back of the tent where Helen Beck was sitting with Beryl, Mrs Jensen and the minister. The minister was holding Helen’s hand. Lex stood holding his tea, wishing he felt comfortable enough to sit with them. Even after all that had passed during his time in Merrigan, he was still hovering on the edges with these people. Perhaps he’d never belong. But maybe in his tiredness he was being melodramatic. He had made friends here: Sue, Ben Hackett, Sally, Mrs B. In his own way he was starting to belong, even if he could never be entirely at ease with the church crowd.

  For a long time he stood near them, warming himself with the tea and their quiet conversation. He should be helping to set up the lights, but he was more tired than he had ever been. Exhausted to the bone. It was soothing somehow to remain in the tent among people he knew, even if they didn’t encourage him into their midst. They were familiar and he was linked to them by shared experience, and for now that was enough.

  Standing quietly gave him space for the first time today to hear a small voice within that had been trying to get his attention all afternoon. There was a worm in him. He could feel it, despite his tiredness, and it was new. Something was settling in him. It was some sort of resolve and acceptance. A way forward that was both heavy and light. For a moment he considered it, then let it ride, allowed it to wash with the burble of conversation around him. He could think about everything tomorrow, when he was fresher.

  He ruffled Darren’s beanie as the boy pushed past him through the door of the tent.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘It’s freezing out there.’

  ‘I can hear someone coming.’ Darren leaned outside. ‘It’s Mr Jensen.’

  Mrs Jensen leapt up and bustled out of the tent. Lex looked outside too and saw Denis Jensen hobbling towards the tent with Mrs B.

  ‘Good Lord, man!’ Mrs Jensen cried. ‘Have you been sitting up there all day? Of all the silly things to do! I thought you’d have driven home after you dropped me off.’

  Lex joined her in helping them into the tent and onto folding chairs. He saw Beryl leap up, flustered, to start making cups of tea. He noticed she was dodging Mrs B’s sharp eyes.

  ‘You silly man,’ Mrs Jensen said. ‘I could have taken a lift home with someone else. And now poor Mrs B has to bring you down here, when she can hardly make the distance herself.’

  ‘I can manage well enough,’ Mrs B said in her gravelly old voice. She glanced at Lex and took in his fatigue. With a curt nod, she accepted a cup of tea from Mrs Jensen.

  ‘I was out at the Point all morning just knowing something was going on,’ she said. ‘I should have listened to my intuition, shouldn’t I? But when you get to my age, you’re never sure whether it’s your intuition or insanity talking.’

  She leaned forward on her walking stick and examined them all with fierce eyes.

  ‘Looks like insanity’s closer to the truth,’ she snapped. ‘What’s been going on down here? Is this supposed to be some sort of rescue?’ She glared at them all. ‘I went to town early this afternoon and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. The whole of Merrigan is down here, it appears. I had to take myself up to the church to find out what was going on. The minister was the only living soul around.’ She nodded at him, still sitting with Helen.

  ‘It’s happened before around here, you know. A stranding. Years ago. But not like this.’ She waved her arms in the air expressively. ‘They blew the last one up. The army did it. And a damned sight more humane it was than what’s going on here. Denis and I have been watching it all from on the hill. The poor damned thing being dragged into the water. You should all be ashamed, the lot of you, for being involved in it.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Now,’ she said, poking at the sand with her walking stick. ‘Where’s Jimmy Wallace? If anyone can explain this to me, it’ll be him. The Wallaces know more about whales than anyone else around here.’

  ‘He’s down at the water’s edge,’ Lex said.

  ‘Take me,’ she said.

  Lex took the old lady’s elbow and they walked down towards the water where they found Jimmy and Callista together. Jimmy sensed their approach and turned to Mrs B, his eyes meshing silently with hers for several long moments. Not a word was spoken.

  ‘I see,’ she said, taking the large rough hand he held out to her.

  The old woman’s shoulders sagged and the anger passed. Somehow in that wordless exchange, Jimmy had communicated everything Mrs B needed to know. He put an arm around her shoulders and they stood staring silently out to sea for a long while.

  Lex left them and scuffed away along the sand until he was alone. He sat down in the congealing dusk, aware of his heart thumping anxiously and goose bumps prickling along his arms. Uncertainty chilled him. He looked along the beach. Everyone else must be feeling the same way. Most people were clustering quietly around the shoreline. They couldn’t see much in the late afternoon light. Just the dark shapes of the boats far out, merging with the horizon.

  Lex hung his head between his knees and closed his eyes. He could still see the mistiness of the morning as he and Callista had walked down the beach together, pushing into the wind. There had been hope between them then, possibilities, the suggestion of a future. But today had sealed the lid on everything, again, for the last time. In a way, their disagreement over the whale was symbolic of their struggle to find common ground. It surprised him that on the beach today he had been the level one, the steady one, who had seen no sense in continued suffering to fulfil an entirely human will for rescue. He had wanted to find a peaceful end for the whale. But Callista, always so broadminded and practical when it came to emotive issues like modern whaling, she had been the one caught up in the mindless race to rescue, the life-at-all-costs approach. It wasn’t what he had expected of her. And it had brought them to loggerheads again. He felt the shock of the entire day tumbling inside him.

  He was vaguely aware of Taylor’s voice scratching out over the loudspeaker again, and then the sudden note of excitement caught his attention. He leapt to his feet and tried to see out into the deepening murkiness of early evening. There was a long pause as Taylor waited for information to dribble in via his two-way radio.

  ‘There’s some unexpected activity going on out there,’ he said. ‘Apparently, the whale’s rolling from side to side in the water as if he’s testing himself out . . . He’s lifted a pectoral fin on each side. Given them a slap . . . Tim says his breathing’s fairly regular . . . maybe a bit laboured . . . but he’s moving around some more . . . They think he might be preparing to dive . . . They’re staying in behind him to keep him pointed in the right direction . . .’

  Lex hoped the whale would dive soon. Get the hell out of there, with dark coming on. He imagined the whale rolling down beneath the rising swell, the dorsal fin peaking just before the flukes rose out of the water and then slipped under. He hoped the whale would do it spectacularly and wave those flukes high on the way down. It would be a victory for the whale then, departing like that.

  He glanced along the beach to where everyone was waiting. In the gloom, he could see the flare of an occasional cigarette being lit down by the water’s edge. There was a dull murmuring of voices and the constant sound of the waves breaking and scuttling into shore. He felt strangely detached. And the sand was getting colder. With everything happening so far offshore, there was a lack of tangibility, a lack of reality. But it was best they couldn’t see what was going on out there. Then they could imagine the finale as they wished. The reality would probably be far less liberating.

  He thought of Callista and felt resignation settle. A flush of loneliness, knowing he was on his own again. The momentary ache of not knowing where to go. Then Taylor crackled over the loudspeaker.

  ‘We’re a bit unsure why the whale’s still hanging around. They thought he was going to dive, but he’s stopped still again at
the surface . . . They’re going to take the Zodiac up close to encourage him to head out to sea . . .’

  Lex’s heart began to gallop. His resignation fled and hope surfaced, intermingled with fear. Taylor’s voice came over the speaker, tight and guarded.

  ‘They’re up alongside the whale now. They’ve got the lights on him because it’s getting dark out there. Tim’s leaning out from the Zodiac to stir him up a little . . . That’s good. Apparently, he’s responding . . . They say he’s moving. Maybe having a bit of a look around . . . Looks like he might swim. . . . They’re shifting in to keep him facing out to sea . . . He’s moving out, they’re telling me, swimming along a bit . . . they’re having to follow him . . . It looks like he might dive . . . Yes. There it is. He’s done the up-flukes. And he’s gone. That’s it!’

  Lex touched his cheeks with his fingertips and was surprised to find tears there.

  The boats followed the whale further offshore, but the crowd was finished with it now. They had the ending they wanted and so the day was over. Everyone milled around under the sudden glare of the floodlights, shaking hands and patting each other on the back. It was a quiet celebration. Now that everything was over, there was a mood of exhausted elation and a weary lack of direction.

  Taylor wandered around quietly, shaking hands and saying little. Jarrah slapped him on the back with enthusiastic jubilance and Taylor took his hand, but offered only a small smile. Callista was surprised Taylor wasn’t more animated. Maybe he was too tired and had done this sort of thing too often. With the excitement over, nausea swamped her. She couldn’t remember ever being so exhausted. She merged with the shadows on the edge of the camp to look for her father. The Parks staff had already started packing away. He would be helping with that.

  Jimmy was down near the water’s edge, deflating mattresses and looping ropes in large coils on the sand. In the shadows, he looked gaunt and haggard. His motions were mechanical; the deliberate slow movements of a tired, ageing man.