Whale Song: A Novel

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  “She’s coming around,” my father told me.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  He impatiently brushed a hand through his hair. “They don’t know yet. Dr. Anders has ordered more tests. Mom will have to go to Victoria for them. As soon as she’s stronger.”

  I didn’t want my mother to go anywhere away from me.

  “Why can’t they do them here, Dad?”

  He swallowed hard. “The tests they want to do are special ones. And they’re very expensive.”

  An hour later, Dr. Anders returned. “Daniella is fully awake and lucid,” he said. “Her breathing has stabilized and her pulse is normal. You can visit, but just for a few minutes. We’re making arrangements for a helicopter to take her to the Royal Jubilee Hospital in Victoria.”

  He led us to a small room where my mother was hooked up to a variety of strange, beeping machines.

  “Sarah,” she whispered, reaching for my hand. Her eyes were shadowed with pain and her grip was weak and shaky.

  I leaned forward carefully and lightly kissed her cheek. I was afraid that my actions might hurt her. “Mom?”

  She struggled to smile. “I’ll be okay.”

  I didn’t believe her. I was petrified that she was going to die, that she would die holding onto my hand. Right there, right then. I tried to be brave, but I couldn’t stop the tears.

  “I…was…so scared, Mom.”

  “Don’t cry,” she pleaded.

  I bravely wiped my eyes with my sleeve while my father leaned over and kissed her.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  She stared at him for a long moment. “My chest hurts a bit.”

  “We have to keep this visit short,” Dr. Anders interrupted. He checked one of the monitors, frowned and adjusted one of the liquids flowing into my mother’s hand. “We need to get her ready for transport right away.”

  I followed my father back to the waiting room. It was oddly silent. The only thing that broke the silence was an occasional sniffle from my father or me.

  Ten minutes passed.

  Then fifteen.

  Still no Dr. Anders.

  “Sarah?” a voice called.

  I twisted in my chair.

  Goldie and her grandmother stood in the doorway.

  “We were in town, at the shop,” Nana explained. “One of the paramedics came in to buy a basket for his wife. He told us that Daniella had been admitted.”

  “How’s your Mom doing?” Goldie asked me.

  “She’s going to another hospital for some tests.”

  Nana reached over and murmured in my ear. “Hai Nai Yu…”

  Dr. Anders interrupted us. “Mr. Richardson, I’m sorry it took so long. Your wife has just left. She should reach Royal Jubilee in about twenty minutes. She’ll be seeing Dr. Terry Michaels.”

  The doctor and my father exchanged quiet words, then we left the hospital and headed for the car. I walked with Goldie while my father hung back to talk to Nana privately.

  I quickly found out why.

  “I’m going to Victoria, to see your mother,” he told me. “I’ll have to stay there for maybe a week. We’ll see how things go. Goldie’s grandmother has offered to have you stay with them.”

  “Why can’t I come too?” I demanded tearfully.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Sarah. And you’ve got school on Monday. But I’ll be back as soon as I can. Okay?”

  I glanced at Nana. “Okay.”

  Goldie linked her arm through mine. “Can I come and help you pack?”

  “Sure,” I said, suddenly exhausted.

  My father dropped Nana off at her driveway and we drove home. Upstairs, Goldie and I stuffed a backpack with enough clothes for a few days. I tossed my bathing suit into it at the last moment.

  “Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” Goldie asked.

  “Dad said I could always walk home and get more if I want.”

  Her expression turned serious. “Are you…scared?”

  I nodded. With a troubled sigh, I glanced around my room, closed the door and followed my friend downstairs.

  My father drove us back to Nana’s and kissed me goodbye.

  That particular day was one of the worst days of my life. I felt almost abandoned by my parents. If it wasn’t for Nana and her native wisdom, I think I would have gone insane.

  That first night, I sat in the living room with the Dixon family. They taught me about the Nootka Indian ways. Nana told me stories about people who had been injured and then healed by ancient Indian herbal remedies.

  “I wish I had some of those herbs,” I murmured.

  “I think I have something,” she said.

  She walked over to a cupboard, opened it and rummaged inside. A few minutes later, I heard her grunt with satisfaction.

  “This is what your mother needs, Hai Nai Yu. Put it under her pillow and it’ll take away her pain.” She placed something in my lap. “Don’t open it or the magic will escape.”

  I examined the gift. It was a small, blue cloth pouch tied with a yellow ribbon. I pressed it to my nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled mysterious and fragrant, like the musky vanilla cologne that my father often wore.

  “Thank you, Nana.”

  “You’re very welcome, child. And don’t you worry about your mother. The Great Spirit will watch over her.”

  I missed my parents more than I thought possible and the fear of losing my mother consumed me. As Goldie and I prepared for bed, I said a quiet prayer for my mother. I wasn’t sure if it was God or Nana’s spirits that were listening, so I prayed to both.

  Much later, after Goldie was asleep, I stared up at the window and listened to the comforting murmurs of voices below. I could see nothing outside except for the moon. It was full and clear. Even the craters were visible.

  Far off into the woods, I heard a lone owl hooting.

  It was a long, lonely night for both of us.

  The days passed in a blur of anxiety and phone calls. Each night my father called from Victoria to inform us of my mother’s progress. He explained that her new doctor had ordered a variety of tests. He sounded very technical as he struggled to tell me what the tests revealed.

  “The ECG shows that Mom’s pulmonary artery has an increased pressure. Her heart isn’t pumping properly. The doctors ran some other tests too―a CT scan and an MRI.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked impatiently. “Is she going to be all right?”

  My father’s voice trembled. “It means…that her lungs and her heart are working overtime, honey. It’s a condition called Primary Pulmonary Hypertension. That’s why she’s been so dizzy. That’s also the reason she fainted.”

  My heart felt as though it were in a vise. “But they can fix her…right?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Dad?” I held my breath.

  “I’m here, Sarah. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

  I spoke to him for a few minutes longer and he reassured me that my mother would be coming home soon. I asked when, but he couldn’t say for sure. After I hung up, Goldie and Nana questioned me about my mother’s health. I told them what my father had said, although I couldn’t remember the name of the condition my mother had.

  Nana gave me a hug. “Your mother is as strong as a Nootka warrior. The spirits will watch over her.”

  My mother remained in the hospital for over two weeks. Every few days my father drove home. I was so happy to see him, but I fiercely longed for my mother.

  One Saturday afternoon while I was walking on the shore with Goldie, I heard my mother’s soft voice calling out to me. My head jerked toward the grass and there she stood.

  “Mom!” I shouted.

  I raced toward her and she caught me around my waist, swinging me high into the air. She laughed, her face slightly pale but her eyes glittering with happiness. She looked beautiful in the sunlight.

  “Oh my,” she said. “You�
��re getting heavy.”

  My father joined us at the water’s edge. “Don’t overdo it.”

  “I’m fine, Jack. Really, I am.” She turned to me. “I missed you so much, Sarah.”

  She squeezed me and I wondered for a moment if she was ever going to let me breathe. When she did let go, I felt like a whale surfacing for air.

  “Hi, Mrs. Richardson,” Goldie called out.

  “Tell Nana and your parents I said thank you,” my mother told her. “I’ll drop by for a visit in a couple of days.”

  With a wave, Goldie headed down the beach. “Sure, Mrs. Richardson. I’m glad you’re home.”

  My mother smiled. “So am I.”

  “Me too,” my father agreed.

  My parents gazed at each other, their hands entwined.

  “Me three,” I whispered.

  That evening while my parents were watching TV, I crept into their room with the magic pouch that Nana had given me. I slipped it inside the zippered section of my mother’s pillow. Then I gently shut the door and went into my room.

  Before climbing into bed, I knelt by my bedside. I prayed that the magic pouch would work―that my mother would be healed.

  Unfortunately, neither God nor the Great Spirit was listening.

  nine

  At first, the pouch seemed to be working its magic. My mother complained that the cold dampness made her body ache, but other than that her ‘condition’, as they referred to it, appeared to be under control. Most of the time my parents called it PPH. Whenever I heard that phrase, my ears would perk up.

  A week before Christmas, my father left early in the morning and returned mid-afternoon with a surprise. My grandparents. Nonna Sofia and Nonno Rocco lived in Vancouver, but for the past five months they had been visiting family in Italy.

  “Mom, Dad!” my mother exclaimed. “I thought you were still in Italy. What are you doing here?”

  Nonno Rocco winked at me. “Visiting Sarah, of course.”

  My grandfather was a burly man with a wide, infectious grin and snow-white hair. He was always full of jokes and stories. Nonna Sofia somehow put up with him, sometimes clucking at him in reprimand. She was a typical Italian grandmother. She wore her gray-streaked black hair twisted into a bun. I loved it when she visited us because she always cooked her secret family recipes and made cookies and delicious sweets.

  My grandmother handed a tin to my mother. “You’re too skinny, Daniella. Good thing I’m here. Now…tell me more about this Pulmonary Hyper…thing.”

  My mother’s smile drooped.

  “Come,” my grandmother said, leading her upstairs.

  My father patted my head. “You’ll have to give them your room for ten days.” He looked worried, as though he thought I would argue.

  I smiled. “I’ll survive sleeping in the living room.”

  An hour passed before I saw my grandmother again. And when I did, she looked miserable. Her shoulders slumped and her wrinkled eyes drifted toward me, then darted away.

  “Sarah?” she called. “Come see what I have.”

  She had brought me some drawing and art books illustrated by an Italian artist. I politely thanked her and took the books to my room. I enjoyed drawing, but compared to my mother, my figures were one-dimensional sticks with goofy faces. I never dreamt that I’d become an artist like my mother.

  My parents invited the Dixons to spend Christmas Eve with us and it was one of the most magical nights of my childhood. They arrived in the afternoon, carrying gifts and freshly baked sweets. While Goldie, Shonda and I played board games, the women puttered around in the kitchen and Mr. Dixon, Nonno Rocco and my father sat outside on the deck and discussed river fishing and deer hunting.

  Later, we exchanged Christmas gifts.

  I gave Goldie a scented, fabric-covered photo album.

  “I can put Robert’s pictures in it,” she said with a smile.

  I was pleased when my parents gave the Dixons a sculpture my mother had ordered from the gallery in San Francisco. Nonna Sofia gave them four jars of her famous homemade spaghetti sauce and a bottle of Italian wine. She received a beautiful basket, a jade pendant and some special tea in return.

  “Jack,” my mother said. “Can you get Nana’s gift?”

  My father disappeared for a moment and returned with something that brought tears to Nana’s eyes. The painting of the gray wolf and the Indian girl.

  Nana squeezed my mother’s hand. “Thank you, Daniella. I’ll treasure this always.”

  Mrs. Dixon brought out some beautifully wrapped gifts and passed them to my parents.

  “This is terrific,” my father said, admiring a new tackle box filled with flashy lures.

  “Now maybe you’ll catch bigger fish,” my mother teased.

  She opened her gift and pulled out a pair of silver eagle earrings and a large hand-woven basket. Painted on it was a bald eagle soaring above a spruce tree.

  “I love these,” she said, her face beaming.

  Goldie pressed a small box into my hands. Without waiting for an invitation, I tore it open. Inside was a beautiful, hand-carved silver bracelet.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “It was carved ‘specially for you by my brother Andy,” Nana said. “See, Hai Nai Yu? This is a mama killer whale and her baby. Because we know how much you love them.”

  “Nana got it engraved too,” Goldie said, her eyes sparkling.

  I flipped it over.

  The writing on the inside was etched in a beautiful scroll.

  To Hai Nai Yu―The Wise One of the One Who Knows.

  I heard a sharp crack and swiveled my head just in time to see an icicle snap off the roof outside and stab the snow below.

  A shiver raced up my spine.

  My grandparents returned home to Vancouver in January and the chilly winter months passed by swiftly. By March, my mother appeared to have made a complete recovery. She even went back to painting, although my father cautioned her constantly to take it easy. I’m not sure she knew what that meant. She seemed almost driven by an unidentifiable force. She finished two paintings in record time and started on a third.

  One Friday morning, my father joined us for breakfast instead of hurrying off to work like he usually did.

  “Want to go out on the schooner tomorrow?” he asked me.

  “That’s a great idea,” my mother said. “I’ll pack us a picnic lunch.”

  My father frowned. “Dani, perhaps you should stay―”

  “I feel great, Jack. Quit being such a worry-wart.”

  Early the next morning, we packed a large basket and drove to the harbor. When we reached the dock where the Finland Fancy was moored, I noticed another schooner in her place.

  “Where’s your boat, Dad?” I asked, confused. “And what’s that one doing in your spot?”

  My father chuckled. “That’s her, Sarah.”

  I eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. “What?”

  “She’s been refinished, inside and out,” he explained. “Looks great, huh?”

  Stunned, I examined the Finland Fancy. She had been given a fresh coat of paint to see her through the winter months and looked sparkling clean. Her deck had been stained in a cherrywood finish and the hull was painted a pale blue with a royal blue trim.

  “Wow,” I said, awestruck. “I didn’t even recognize her.”

  “Yeah, me too when I first saw her,” he said.

  Skip greeted us with a friendly salute, his white hair curling under his captain’s hat. He patted me on the head, went to his cabin and prepared to leave the harbor.

  “Get Mom a glass of water,” my father told me as he untied the moor lines and pushed off from the dock.

  I headed below deck to the galley and poured ice water into two glasses―one for my mother and one for me. I took them up top where my father was fussing over my mother.

  “Go below if the sun gets too hot,” he warned her.

  Rolling her eyes, she settled into her chair and slip
ped on some sunglasses. “Yes, dear.”

  I released a pent-up sigh. It was wonderful to see her healthy again. Everything seemed normal and I tried to put my fears to rest.

  Bundled warmly in blankets on the deck, we listened to the songs of the sea. With the echolocation equipment, we heard numerous fish, a couple of seal lions and at last the familiar sound of the killer whale. My father scribbled constantly in his notebook―seemingly in another world―while my mother and I stared up at the clouds and tried to distinguish shapes and creatures.

  “That one looks like a fairy,” she said, pointing at a fluffy, cotton candy cloud.

  “Or an angel,” I added.

  We gazed at the sky and watched the fairy angel dissipate until it stretched into an abstract design. It made me think of something I’d been meaning to ask her for a long time.

  “Mom, do you believe in Heaven?”

  There was an imperceptible tremble in my mother’s hand as she carefully plucked off her sunglasses and folded them in her lap. Then she released a long breath and her eyes skimmed across the water.

  “I think it must be a wonderful place with no pain or sorrow, a place to be free. Kind of like a big ocean where you can swim around in warm water without fear.” Her eyes rested on me. “Why do you ask, Sarah?”

  I shrugged. “I just wondered. Nana says that sometimes people can come back as an animal―after they die, I mean. At least that’s what the Nootka believe.”

  “What would you come back as?” my father asked me. “An eagle?”

  “No way. I’m too afraid of heights.”

  My parents snickered loudly.

  “I know what I’d come back as,” my mother said.

  “What?” I asked.

  She reached over, picked up the headphones and slipped them over her head. She grinned and passed them to me. At first, there was only silence. Then I heard the soft keening of a whale.

  “A whale,” I guessed.

  She grinned. “Then Dad could study me.”

  Her eyes met my father’s and they gazed intently at each other for a long time. I studied them apprehensively, engraving that memory on my mind. Suddenly, I sensed a change in the air around me. It was as if we were in a vacuum. For a second, the breath was sucked right out of me. A shiver ran up my spine.