by Lori Weber
“Most of the computers will be set up in town libraries, but in towns where they don’t have libraries, they’re putting them in wherever they can, even local stores,” he continues. I wonder if the store Jim described, the one that sells underwear and sausages, will get one. And if they do, will my father be able to spy on that town, gathering information from local people.
I’m wearing the whale sweater Jim’s mom made me. I’m still amazed by the way she could whip up a sweater exactly my size just by laying eyes on me a couple of times. She’s like my mom that way, I guess. They both see things really deeply.
Every time I look down at the whale fins, I hear Jim’s mom say that I’ve been such a good friend to Jim, but I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve been going over and over what he said to me, trying to figure out if he was right. I hear him snap at me about how I’ve been all over the country, and how it all meant nothing to me. He made me sound like some kind of spoiled brat.
The words gnaw at me, like they’ve got teeth.
Then I remember the other thing Jim’s mom said to me, about whales being beautiful. It’s kind of like she was sending me a message. It’s true that everywhere we went, Jim looked for whales. On Signal Hill he talked about seeing whales with his brothers from Mary’s Hill back home. The way he kept staring out at the water as he talked, it was like he didn’t want the memory of those times to end.
I trace the whale fins on my sweater, feeling the bumpy ridges of the thickly knit stitches. I think about how if one stitch is cut the whole sweater is ruined.
If my life were a piece of knitting, it would still be in one piece. The moving around would just be big loops, but not a cut. Jim’s life, on the other hand, has been cut. First, by his father, going off for work and then going off from his family altogether, practically forgetting them except for his monthly payments. And now, by missing his trip to Horton. Like he said, that could’ve been the first link in a chain to get him into a geology program. That means so much to him. I get that now, but I should have been able to see it more clearly before. I should’ve known how much fossils mean to him. Even an idiot could figure that out just by standing in his room.
I close my eyes and try to imagine how Jim must feel when he actually finds a rare and special fossil. I can see him holding it in his hand and letting the find sink in, connecting with it and, through it, all of history. There’d be yellow sparkles of excitement in his hazel eyes, and a mischievous grin on his face, playing the moment out for as long as he could.
He said I’d never get it, and maybe he’s right. Nothing I’ve ever done has given me that feeling.
It occurs to me that I’ve probably stepped over hundreds of amazing fossils. The deserts of Osoyoos are filled with geological treasures. And Murdochville, too. After all, that whole area is known for its mines.
I just never looked close enough to see. I was too busy wanting to be elsewhere.
•
THE WHALE IS SLICING through the water of the harbour, way down deep. The waves of its incredible voice weave through the thick, salty water. They are like flares that hit the ocean floor then bounce back up again, in a spiral of colour, to send the whale a message.
Even after I tear open my eyes, I see the flashes, almost like they are bouncing off my walls, giant sparks of purple and blue.
The whole room is humming and vibrating, as though a message is etched in the air, as clear as the lines on the fossils Jim brought over. I couldn’t see the scratches, but I could feel them so clearly that finally I did see them. After a while, I could even imagine the little animals pressing down between the rocks, rustling leaves on their way.
Now, even though it’s dark, I close my eyes to try to feel the message the same way.
It has to do with whales. Everything is pointing in their direction.
Maybe I have to help Jim see some whales. Maybe that would make up for Horton and show him that I really do care. Maybe that’s what his mom was trying to tell me.
I tiptoe downstairs and log on to Google, Advanced Search.When I punch in “whales Newfoundland,” I get 895,000 hits. When I narrow my search to “St. John’s Newfoundland whales,” I get 540. A couple of the tourist sites and a few of the personal testimonials keep referring to a place called St. Vincent’s Beach. I go to MapQuest and see that it’s located on the Avalon Peninsula, south of St. John’s, probably about an hour or so away, judging by the mileage key. The sites all recommend that you get there either early in the morning or in the evening, just like the man told us at Middle Cove, if you want to see whales.
Which I do. In fact, at this precise moment I want to see whales more than I’ve ever wanted anything, maybe even more than I’ve wanted to go home. Going home doesn’t even seem that important now. It’s like some faraway wish, a faint one that is no longer connected to me. Like it’s still up there on that shaky plane, light as a whisper, high above the icebergs.
Chapter Twelve
On the Edge of Time
THE SKY IS STILL grey, with only the tiniest specks of light poking through the clouds. I haven’t been up before the sun since I had to catch that seven o’clock school bus in Saskatchewan.
Downstairs, I slap together some peanut butter sandwiches, then throw them and some apples, juice, and chips into a bag. I leave the note I prepared last night against the kettle—that way my parents are sure to see it.
As I get dressed, I start having doubts about my plan. Jim couldn’t even look me in the eye yesterday—it was as if he really didn’t want me anywhere near him. If he’s in the same mood today, I’ll have to persist. And I’ll pretty much have to ignore the way it makes me feel, like there’s big crack in my chest. Plus, I’m not even sure Jim will be able to drive. If he can’t, I’ll just have to do it. I know how, even though I don’t have a licence. I taught myself, out of boredom, in Saskatchewan. I would just drive round and round our farmhouse on the deserted country roads. All the kids did it, some were driving tractors by the age of twelve, so my parents didn’t mind.
I close the front door super-quietly and step outside. The air is crisp and fresh. Early birds caw in the distance. I open Nanny’s door as quietly as I can and step inside. The house is still, just as I expected. I tape Nanny’s note onto the TV screen, then tiptoe up to Jim’s room. His jaw falls open when he sees me.
“What the hell—”
“Good morning to you, too,” I say. “Can you get dressed quickly? I want to take you somewhere.” I try to sound as cheerful as possible, like yesterday never happened.
“Take me somewhere? Where? I can barely walk.”
“I’ll help you, no problem. Besides, I came with you to Signal Hill and to Cape Spear. Now it’s your turn to follow me.” I stand there with my arms folded across my chest, letting him know I won’t budge until he agrees. Eventually, Jim swings his legs over the edge of his bed. I can tell by his face that moving still hurts. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and a white bandage is wrapped around his rib cage. I can see the muscles of his chest straining below the bandage.
“Here, I’ll help you get this on.” I grab a sweatshirt hanging on a hook behind his door, then pull it over his head and work his arms into the sleeves. Jim barely has to move. He’s already in sweatpants, so I just tell him to wear those. I bend down and pull some socks over his feet, then help him into a pair of running shoes. I think about how the old Jim would’ve cracked some joke about me dressing him.
“We’ll need Nanny’s car,” I say. “Do you think she’ll mind?”
“She might not mind, but I don’t know if I can drive.”
“Well, if you can’t, I will.” I help Jim down the stairs and pick up the picnic bag that I left in the porch. Boss comes running out of the kitchen, whimpering and jumping.
“Poor Boss is all confused,” Jim says.
“Let’s bring her,” I say, grabbing the leash off the hook and attaching it to her collar. She’s spinning with excitement.
I help Jim into the driver�
��s seat, settle Boss in the back, then climb into the passenger seat. “Okay, we need to get onto Highway 10 south,” I say, looking at the piece of paper that I wrote the directions on.
“You mean toward Trepassey?”
“If you say so.” I don’t want to tell Jim exactly where we’re going, it would ruin the surprise. Steering doesn’t seem too hard, until he has to make a sharp turn. The leaning hurts his ribs, but he breathes through it.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’ll survive. I’m tough, remember?”
I hold my breath, hoping he won’t crack a joke about my dad’s book, but he doesn’t.
We drive in silence for a long time. It’s a bit lighter out now, with the sun starting to burn away the clouds, casting a muted light on the deserted landscape. I like the feeling of being alone out here, while everyone and everything is still sleeping. It’s like we own the whole world, even if Jim still hasn’t come round. We pass towns with strange names like Bay Bulls, Burnt Cove, and Aquaforte. Signs point out places called Black Head, Bald Head, and Shingle Head.
“People had a thing for body parts in the early days,” Jim says.
“So I see,” I reply, relief that Jim’s finally a bit more talkative flooding through me.
“Better than noses. There’s a Jerry’s Nose on the island. And lots of arms, like Joe Batt’s.”
“Could be worse,” I say. “I mean, they could’ve used other body parts, like butts and armpits, you know?”
Jim smiles, but doesn’t respond. A while later, I say, “Hey, there’s Mistaken Point,” pointing to the road sign. “Isn’t that’s where you snatched your illegal fossils from?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean, if I hang my head out the window and yell, I could have the RCMP after us?”
“Maybe.” Jim’s head turns to follow the sign as it disappears behind us, but he isn’t laughing. He’s probably thinking of all the fossil activity going on out there without him, similar to what his classmates are doing at Horton Bluffs.
As we drive farther south, the landscape changes, becoming much more treeless and barren. Large, round stones dot the gold-coloured ground, looking as though they have sprung up, randomly, from the earth. We drive for ages without passing any houses, until we near the town of Trepassy. I’m kind of relieved to see the ocean again, because it reminds me of why we are here.
“Maybe we’ll see caribou,” Jim says. “They like the bogs here. Sometimes you see whole herds of them. Block the road if they’re crossing over.”
“Wow. I don’t even know what a caribou looks like.”
“A cross between a deer and a moose,” Jim says matter-of-factly. I wait for him to tease me about my urban ignorance, but he doesn’t. “How much farther?” he asks.
“I don’t know, but I think it’s soon.” We’ve been on the road for over an hour already. St. Vincent’s is obviously farther than I expected. What if Jim’s in really bad pain and just doesn’t want to tell me?
“I want you to stop when we come to a town called St. Stephens,” I say, trying to sound excited. Jim just looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. Before long, he’s pulling off to the side of the road.
“Okay, now we have to switch places. I’ll drive the rest of the way.” I hope he doesn’t ask me if I have a licence, because I don’t want him to try to stop me from taking the wheel, if he cares. I run around to the other side of the car and help Jim out. I can tell that it really hurts him to push up against the seat and lift his weight. I help him walk around the car and into the passenger seat. Finally, I take out one of my crazy scarves, a purple and pink plaid one, with green caterpillars jumping around it, and tie it around his eyes. “I don’t want you to see where we’re going.”
Jim doesn’t argue. He just sits still while I blindfold him.
I haven’t actually driven on a highway before, and I’m kind of nervous. The only good thing is that it’s still pretty early, and there isn’t much traffic on the road. It’s not exactly a super-highway anyway, like the 401 outside Toronto. For a split second, I picture myself emailing Janna and telling her about this little adventure when I get back. She’d probably think that I had seriously lost it. She might also think it sounded boring—driving around looking for whales—compared to what she and Stephan do.
“Watch out for moose,” Jim says, seriously, without any sarcasm in his voice.
“Okay, thanks.”
That didn’t exactly put me at ease.
•
ST. VINCENT’S BEACH, according to the sign, is the low plateau of sand and rock stretching along the shore to our left. I turn into the parking lot, which is completely deserted, making me wonder whether those websites were just lying, or pumping up the truth for the sake of tourism. If this is such a whale hot spot, wouldn’t it be teeming with people?
I help Jim out of the car once more. His whole face contracts with the pushing-up motion. Boss leaps out of the car before I can grab the leash and runs off, leaping toward the water.
“Okay, put your arm over my shoulder, and I’ll help you walk.” We follow Boss’s path. Jim winces whenever he has to shift his weight in the loose stones. Once again, I wonder if I’m nuts to do this. What if he cracks another rib while we’re here?
“Not much further to go,” I say to encourage him. “Just …” I catch my breath. Out in the water a huge grey whale jumps up, in the shape of an arc. Its splash creates a huge boom over the water. Beyond it, two more emerge like twin images of the first.
“What is it?” Jim asks, showing the first sign of excitement all morning. I pull him just a bit further along, until we are standing at the top of a tall wall of dark wet rocks. The ocean is at our feet, on the other side of the mound. As far as I can tell, there is no shallow edge. The deep dark water comes right up to the rock wall.
I unknot the scarf from around Jim’s head and pull. It’s as though the whales were waiting for us to get in place before beginning their show. They are now jumping and spiralling, pirouetting even on the surface of the water, their huge mouths snapping at the seagulls that swoop down to tease them. The water roars as the whales split it open, then booms again when they dive back down, no more than twenty feet away. It’s as though I could reach out and scratch their slick skin, they’re that close.
I look at Jim, at the side of his face darkened by the bruise. A cloud seems to lift, and his face breaks into a wide smile.
“This is totally amazing. Where are we?”
“St. Vincent’s Beach,” I say.
“I’ve heard of this place, but I’ve never seen it. How did you …” Jim takes my hand. A whale jumps, and the spray washes over us. Boss is running along the ridge, leaping as though she’s trying to imitate the whales.
“I just Googled it,” I say.
“You’re too much,” Jim says.
Two whales jump and open their enormous mouths, as though they’re talking to us. The spray of mist that surrounds us is a curtain that blocks out the rest of the world. It’s just me and Jim and the whales. Before long, we are covered in water. And then we are standing close together, closer even than we were in that bunker.
Neither of us speaks for a long time. We just watch the whales slicing through the water, right at our feet.
“Aren’t they awesome?” I call to Jim.
“Yeah, more than awesome,” he says. There are so many whales jumping now that we can hardly hear each other speak. The air is vibrating with their energy.
Jim puts his arms around me and pulls me against him. I squeeze him back, my arms around his waist.
“Sorry. I forgot about your ribs,” I say.
“So did I. I’ve forgotten about everything right now, even Horton. The sight of those whales breaching knocked it right out of my head.”
“I really am sorry about your trip.”
“I know. Look, about yesterday, I—”
“Forget it,” I say.
We stand like that, watching the whales,
breathing in the salty air, listening to the thunder of the water. I have no idea how much time has passed, because everything is happening in some other time—whale time.
The sun is getting stronger in the sky, beyond the water, lighting up the whale s’ stage more and more every minute. It’s like the whole world is just beginning and Jim and I are standing right on the edge of time.
Then suddenly, from far off, the metallic sound of car doors slamming cuts through the air. Our moment is about to be shattered.
“We’re being invaded,” I say, pointing at the parking lot.
“Damn tourists!” Jim says. “What pains in the ass.”
“Is that what you think I am?”
“What? A pain in the ass?”
“No, a tourist.”
“Well, aren’t you? If you don’t live here, you’re a tourist, right? And you keep saying you don’t want to live here.”
I don’t answer. I just nestle my head into the hollow of Jim’s neck. When he nuzzles the top of my head with his chin, I feel my knees go weak. I tighten my grip.
I can hear the tourists coming closer now. I bet they’ll scare the whales off, with cameras or something. I don’t want them cutting into this space. This perfect space.
I look up at Jim. He bends down and kisses me. His lips are soft and salty. Our tongues move together, like the whales. The kiss lasts forever, until the tourists start squealing and gasping at the whales. It’s like we’re being blasted apart again, just like in the bunker.
Jim rolls his eyes. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, smiling.
I help Jim down from the hill, and we walk hand in hand back up the beach to the car. I turn and call out to Boss every now and then to make sure she’s following. She’s completely soaked, but she looks incredibly happy.
Jim takes the driver’s seat gingerly, but he doesn’t start the car. He takes my hand instead. “You are full of surprises, Cheryl from the city.”