Eye of the Whale

by Douglas Carlton Abrams

  Elizabeth was surging up and down with the surf. She knew that she could be knocked unconscious by the ceaseless waves, so she pushed off from the rocks with her feet and hands, waiting for the water to ebb before a large wave. Knowing the risk she was taking, she scrambled out of the cove onto the sharp mussel-covered rocks, shredding her clothing and the skin of her arms and knees as the wave crashed over her. The pain was intense, but she breathed through it and grasped the slippery rocks to keep herself from falling backward. The wave receded and she crawled onto higher ground. Deep nausea welled up inside her as she retched out all the seawater and the terror she had swallowed with it.

  We’re alive. We’re alive.

  She collapsed against the rock and inhaled a great breath of gratitude.

  ELIZABETH LOOKED DOWN at her watch. The glowing numbers told her what she had feared. She was saved, but Apollo was still in danger. Dragging herself to her feet, she began to limp forward on the uneven rock. The wind howled against her as she climbed over the jagged and slippery granite shards piled on the hills of Cormorant Blind and East Seal. Half of each agonizing step was lost to an inevitable, backward slide. Only her determination to help Apollo kept her numb and exhausted body going. The rhythmic beam from the lighthouse was like a heartbeat of hope, and the moon fought its way through the clouds, revealing the flatter ground of the marine terrace. She could see the researchers’ house.

  She dragged her feet up the steps. The four small square windows on either side were dark. She was so cold her bones ached. It took every ounce of remaining strength to raise her hand high enough to bang on the door and awaken the resident scientists. The light switched on, and one of the biologists opened the door. The man had graying black hair, disheveled by sleep, and a two-day beard. Wide-eyed and openmouthed, he stared at her as if she were a ghost. But she knew she was not a ghost. Her body hurt too much to be dead.

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  5:00 A.M.

  “I NEED TO CALL the Coast Guard.”

  Burt Thompson, one of the resident bird scientists, finally managed to speak. “Come in, come in. How did you get here?”

  Elizabeth shuffled into the living room while her host hurried around the room, turning on lights. Her eyes blinked as she adjusted to the brightness. White skulls, stuffed birds, and three other researchers all stared at her. A marine radio whispered in the background, interrupting a stream of static with a weather warning. Thompson led her over to an armchair draped with a colorful Mexican blanket. Her body collapsed into the chair, and she could feel her muscles shaking uncontrollably. She saw a television in the corner. “Does the TV work?”

  Her host crouched in front of her, pulling the blanket around her, trying to warm her.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said.

  “You’re in shock. Now try to rest.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no time to rest. Please.”

  One of the other researchers flipped on the satellite television and handed Elizabeth the remote. She’d hoped the story would be on one of the local news stations, but to her surprise, CNN was showing live coverage of the “mercy killing.” Apollo’s plight had made worldwide news. The reporter was aglow with camera lights; behind her, the slough was dark in the predawn gloom. “It seems that time is about up for Apollo, who is supposed to be euthanized before sunrise today. Apparently, the decision has come as a surprise to many. We have just arrived with other television stations after an anonymous leak. There are also a few hard-core Apollo fans who have camped out overnight.” The camera revealed several people holding up signs that said DON’T KILL APOLLO and ELIZABETH, WHERE ARE YOU?

  “I need a Coast Guard evacuation immediately,” Elizabeth said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Thompson said with the pragmatism and detachment of a field scientist. “There is no way they are going to bring a boat out in a storm like this unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “It is a matter of life and death, and I don’t have time for a boat. I need a helicopter.”

  The TV reporter continued, “Everyone here is asking what happened to Elizabeth McKay, the graduate student who was trying to communicate with the whale and has been called a modern Dr. Dolittle. Elizabeth has not been seen at the slough since yesterday afternoon. It seems there has been some controversy about the legitimacy of her research.” A picture of Elizabeth flashed on the screen. It was the not particularly flattering picture from her graduate application. “With no sign of Elizabeth and no other options, Coast Guard Lieutenant Isaac James says he has no alternative but to harpoon the whale.”

  Thompson looked at Elizabeth, having recognized her. He picked up the plastic mouthpiece of the marine VHF radio and tried to hail a call on Channel 16. “Coast Guard, Coast Guard, this is Farallon Islands, over.”

  “Farallones, this is Coast Guard. Go ahead.”

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Elizabeth was on the cement helipad in front of the research station, wearing dry, borrowed clothing. Air Station San Francisco, an HH-65 Dolphin helicopter, was hovering overhead. Its red shell was glowing, and its four rotor blades whirled above, creating a downdraft of hurricane force. Its snout and domed front did resemble a dolphin. Thompson was shouting into a handheld, talking with the pilot as Elizabeth climbed into the steel cage and was hoisted up.

  While waiting for the helicopter rescue, she had used the research station’s satellite phone to call Lieutenant James on his cell phone. But neither she nor Coast Guard Island in Alameda was able to raise him. She had reached Frank, who was beside himself with worry. She told him she would explain everything and asked him to meet her at the slough with the CD that she had dropped in the house.

  “Welcome aboard, ma’am,” the rescue swimmer said with the military formality that exudes confidence and safety. Elizabeth looked around at the crew of four men and then pointed to her ear, signaling for a headset.

  “Where are the other survivors?” the copilot asked. His voice was hollow, as if in a canyon, and in the background she could hear the muffled noise of the rotors.

  “Liberty Slough,” she said slowly and forcefully to make sure she was understood.

  “Liberty Slough? There are no survivors out here?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said as she looked down at the dark water and thought of Skilling in Mother’s jaws. “No survivors.”

  “I don’t understand,” the copilot said as the pilot started to fly back toward the Golden Gate Bridge. “We were told this was an emergency rescue.”

  “It is. I’m the researcher who’s been trying to rescue the whale at Liberty Slough,” Elizabeth said. “I need to stop the Coast Guard from killing the whale.”

  “You’re Elizabeth McKay?” the copilot said. “I saw you on top of Apollo!”

  The rescue swimmer and mechanic were equally impressed. “Wait until the guys back at base hear about our cargo!” said the mechanic.

  “Lieutenant Isaac James and I were classmates at the academy,” the pilot said, speaking for the first time. “He was number one in our class.”

  Elizabeth checked her watch. There was less than a half hour left. “I need you to take me directly to Liberty Slough.”

  The pilot shook his head, knowing the impossibility of her request. “Sorry, ma’am, our orders are to recover any survivors and return to base. Period.”

  Elizabeth’s heart sank as she heard the pilot’s radio check with base: “Sector San Francisco, this is Helo 6554.”

  “Helo 6554, this is Sector San Francisco. Send your traffic over.”

  “OPS, normal. Current position just west of Golden Gate Bridge. Five souls on board. Returning to base.”

  “Roger, out.”

  “You said you were friends with Lieutenant James, right?” Elizabeth said as they flew south toward the San Francisco airport. “Well, what do you think is going to happen if he kills Apollo? Do you want to be responsible for letting your friend ruin his career—and for the death of this whale?”

  EI
GHTY-FIVE

  5:55 A.M.

  Liberty Slough

  LIEUTENANT JAMES was out of time. The veterinarian had not shown up, and it was up to him to finish it. He stood in the bow of the rigid-hull inflatable. The bright orange buoyancy tubes looked gray-brown in the gathering light. He had turned off his radio and cell phone to stop the barrage of calls from headquarters pushing him to kill the whale immediately. But as the sun peeked over the wetlands to the east, he knew that he was out of options. There was no way to get this whale out alive.

  Apparently, no one had told the small crowd of gathered protesters that there was no hope. They were chanting, “Don’t kill Apollo. Don’t kill Apollo.”

  The cold gray harpoon cannon hung down on the gun mount, the weight of the harpoon tilting it forward. The machine gun usually mounted there had been removed to accommodate the new weapon.

  As Apollo surfaced, Lieutenant James looked down the long metal sight and pointed in front of the dorsal fin, wondering where the whale’s shoulder blades might be. He aimed the crude weapon with his right hand, two fingers on the trigger lever.

  CONNIE’S CELL PHONE rang. It was Frank. Maybe he’d know where Elizabeth was.

  “I have Elizabeth’s CD,” Frank said.

  “Her CD?” Connie heard a loud noise like wood splintering and then sirens. “What was that?”

  “A security barricade,” Frank said. “Got to go. Just stop them from killing the whale.” Connie saw in the distance Frank’s car racing down the dirt road, with dust and a group of black security cars behind him. Connie looked at Lieutenant James. He was aiming the harpoon gun at Apollo.

  “Teo! He’s going to fire!”

  TEO LOOKED DOWN at the orange boat floating near the bridge. He knew he had to do something dramatic to stop them from killing Elizabeth’s whale. Teo climbed over the cement railing and jumped into the water. He swam quickly around to the bow of the boat and placed his body in the path of the harpoon.

  LIEUTENANT JAMES HEARD a splash and then saw a man swimming from the bridge, distracting him from sighting on the whale. He knew it was one of the protesters. His heart was with them, but he had his orders. The boat sped to where the man was treading water, the bow wave covering him. The Coast Guard seamen pulled the protester in, despite his resistance, and quickly handcuffed him in the stern.

  James looked back at his crew and the protester, all watching him silently. He hated to kill the whale, but he sure as hell was not going to make any of his men do it. He looked at the whale’s back, still floating calmly, seemingly undisturbed. Now, where are those damn shoulder blades? He sighted on the whale again as it exhaled its last breath. Lieutenant James winced as he started to squeeze the trigger lever.

  EIGHTY-SIX

  6:00 A.M.

  AIR STATION SAN FRANCISCO dropped out of the clouds with a roaring downdraft. Concentric circles of small waves spread out in every direction toward the shore. The helicopter hovered over Apollo, who dove beneath the water.

  “Hold your fire,” the Coast Guard pilot’s voice shouted through the helicopter loudspeakers.

  The helicopter lowered Elizabeth onto the bank in a cage. She climbed out and ran to the bridge, pushing aside the security guards who stood staring at her.

  Frank drove right onto the bridge as the security cars chasing him stopped. His mouth hung open. She must have looked like hell, but there was no time to explain what had happened. He gave Elizabeth the CD.

  “Play this!” Elizabeth shouted down to Lieutenant James, whose boat was still floating near the bridge.

  She threw down the CD, which Lieutenant James caught in both hands, like a starving man receiving a morsel of bread.

  Lieutenant James checked his watch. Elizabeth glanced at hers. It was already past six o’clock. Would Lieutenant James go against his orders? Elizabeth’s heart stopped as she waited.

  Lieutenant James tapped the CD case against his fingers.

  “Please, just one more time,” she said.

  He looked up at her and slowly raised his right arm. He was holding up his pointer finger. He would give it one more try.

  The crewmen lowered the speaker and tied it off to the side of the boat. After a few moments of silence, over the loudspeakers came the haunting sound of the whale song, which was also being broadcast through the water. Elizabeth heard creaks and moans and then the social sounds:

  w-OP w-OP

  EEh-EEh-EEh

  w-OP w-OP

  EEh-EEh-EEh

  Would the song, recorded from Echo in Bequia, communicate to Apollo that his song had been heard and he could leave?

  The song ended.

  Silence.

  Nothing.

  The song echoed again through the slough.

  On the banks, people stood silently. Even the wind had died down.

  There was a slight swirl in the water.

  What did she expect to see? A tail? A flipper? Apollo was not going to wave goodbye.

  APOLLO HID at the bottom of the slough—

  He heard the sounds from above—

  His eyes bulged in the dark water as he listened—

  He sloped his tail upward and hung like a floating dark cloud in the posture of the singer—

  ELIZABETH’S HANDS RESTED on the railing of the bridge. Her shoulders fell as she witnessed her plan—the whale’s last hope—failing. Her hands were trembling. Her eyes were tearing up. She exhaled in defeat.

  It wasn’t her hands that were trembling. It was the bridge. She looked for cars, but no one was moving.

  She turned to Frank. “He’s singing! Apollo’s singing!” After a few moments, Apollo’s song stopped.

  APOLLO SHIFTED his great weight—thrusting his tail—twisting his body—

  Ahead was the narrow passage—

  IN THE GATHERING LIGHT, Elizabeth saw Apollo’s dorsal fin above the water. He was swimming toward the bridge. “He’s going!” she shouted as a wave of excitement flooded her body, quickly followed by dread. The tide was much lower than when Apollo swam under the bridge into the slough. Below, Elizabeth could see wooden pilings, the remains of a former bridge, jutting out of the water.

  APOLLO DOVE DOWN—

  Propelled forward by his powerful tail—

  His skin scraping against the old wood—

  He thrashed his tail—

  But he could not move—

  His flippers pinned to his sides—

  “OH MY GOD, he’s stuck!” Elizabeth shouted.

  “He’s a whale,” Frank said, trying to comfort her.

  “If he can’t surface, he’ll drown.”

  “We’ve got to move those wooden pilings,” Frank said, pointing at where they stuck out above the water. “We need a rope.”

  Elizabeth echoed the request to Lieutenant James, who saw what was happening. Frank pulled off his shoes and jacket, climbed over the railing, and jumped into the water.

  “Let me go,” Teo was saying, holding up his handcuffed wrists and pointing to the water.

  “He’s a whaler,” Elizabeth shouted.

  “A whaler?” Lieutenant James said. He shook his head with disbelief but decided to follow Elizabeth’s directions, which were working so far. “Okay. Let him go.” Teo went overboard, dragging a thick line of rope attached to the boat.

  Frank and Teo dove below the water, trying to tie the rope as low as possible on the piling. When they surfaced, Lieutenant James gave the order.

  “Pull!”

  Elizabeth heard the ferocious roar of the two Honda 225s as they raced away from Apollo. The rope’s slack was quickly taken up. She heard the revving and straining of the engine tethered to the old piling.

  After an endless minute, the piling started to move, first inches and then several feet. Apollo was able to surface with a great exhalation that rose twenty feet or more. Everyone cheered, even the security guards.

  But Apollo still had to push his massive body over the piling and to the other side.

&nb
sp; “He still can’t get through,” Frank shouted from where he was treading water below the bridge. He and Teo swam into the open water. They did not want to be near the whale when he breached.

  APOLLO WHIPPED HIS TAIL in a downward power stroke and convulsed every muscle—

  He propelled the front half of his body up and forward—

  His skin scraped against the barriers—

  He twisted his body and raised one winglike flipper out of the water—seeing the creature above him—

  ELIZABETH HUNG OVER the railing and saw Apollo’s eye looking up at her, glimmering in the morning light. She recognized once again that great and unknown intelligence.

  Apollo’s fin fell away as his giant body returned to the water, and a huge splash erupted in all directions. He had made it over the piling and was free of the bridge. The crowd cheered all around her.

  Apollo “spy-hopped,” raising his head vertically out of the water, and then began swimming back down the river with the Coast Guard boat trailing behind as an escort.

  The black storm clouds hanging over the slough at last released their heavy load. The rain poured down on Elizabeth, a purifying stream. She shivered as she watched the water begin running into the holes in the bridge and down into the slough and back to the sea.