The Stranding (34 page)

As she stared at its eye, the whale heaved a deep grinding moan that seemed to reverberate hollowly through the water and underneath her feet. It was the depth of wretchedness. Callista began to sing, tears wet on her cheeks. Tremulous sound rolled forth from her chest—a haunting undulating coo that was more reassurance for herself than it was a song for the whale. It was so lonely on this awful beach.

She splashed out of the water and lay down on the sand, listening to the crashing thunder of the sea and the agony of slow breaths and occasional moans from the whale. Time became the long spaces between exhalations. She was useless and superfluous. She could not share the whale’s pain. She should have gone with Lex. Her presence was as relevant as a grain of sand.

Forever seemed to pass and the drizzle eventually lifted.

Suddenly she couldn’t bear it any longer. She stood up and wandered along the beach, kicking over kelp piles and fractured cuttlefish floats. About a hundred metres away from the whale she sat down and looked back at it. Maybe they should have walked away and let it die. But what sort of peace was this? Beached and struggling to breathe, with seagulls hovering around trying to take a peck wherever they could? Why should this creature die a painful lingering death on the sands? Was there any harm in trying to help it back into the sea even just to take its final gasp among the deeper swell of black waves far out? Was it any worse than this?

Callista straightened and walked back towards the whale. No, they had to try something. It was the right thing to do.

Twenty-six

Lex stopped the Kombi outside the newsagency. It was the only shop open in town this early on a Sunday morning— close to eight o’clock. He bent his head onto the steering wheel for a moment, struggling with his next move. Then he shrugged off his wet coat, threw it in the back of the van and walked into the shop.

John Watson was sorting magazines behind the counter. A cup of steaming coffee was perched up on the till.

‘Can I pay to use the phone?’ Lex asked, not bothering with casual chat.

Watson looked mildly surprised by his bluntness, but handed the phone over with its coiled length of extension line.

‘I need a phone directory too. Do you have one?’

Watson gave him the white pages and watched with clear assessing eyes. Lex had never been sure whether this man liked him or not. His manner was neither friendly nor unfriendly. But Lex’s performance at the Show hadn’t helped things. It had made Watson suspicious of him. Lex could see it in the way Watson watched him as he leafed through the phone directory. He found a National Parks number, called through, and then dialled the emergency after-hours contact given on the recorded message. A man’s voice answered the phone.

‘I want to report a stranded whale,’ Lex said, looking straight at John Watson as he spoke. ‘Yes, it’s still alive . . . No, I don’t know the name of the beach, but I can take you there . . . My name’s Lex Henderson . . . So you’ll come down? I’ll be at the Merrigan newsagency. How long? . . . okay, see you in half an hour.’

He passed the phone back. ‘He has to make some calls first,’ he explained.

‘Which beach?’ Watson asked.

Lex described it to him.

‘Sounds like Long Beach. Were you by yourself?’

‘No. With Callista Wallace. She’s still there.’

‘You’d better call her old man.’ Watson handed the phone back and wrote a number on a piece of paper. ‘You’ll be needing him as well. And what about the girl? In this weather?’

‘She’ll be okay. She’s a Wallace, isn’t she?’

Watson laughed.

‘Does this happen often ’round here?’ Lex asked as he dialled the number.

‘Not as long as I can remember. But Wallace is whales ’round here. He’ll want to be involved.’

He disappeared out the back and came back with a second mug of coffee which he placed on the counter. ‘Cold day,’ he said. ‘This might help.’

Half an hour later, the Parks ranger pulled up outside the newsagency. Lex and John Watson watched him climb out of the white Toyota and slip a mobile phone into his back pocket.

‘That won’t be much use to him down at Long Beach,’ Watson said.

A new easiness had emerged between them with the cup of coffee.

The ranger looked up and down the street then walked into the shop. ‘Hi there,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for a guy called Henderson.’

‘That’s me.’ Lex set down his coffee.

‘Jack Coffey.’ The ranger reached forward to shake hands.

He was a tall man, lean, with wide boxy shoulders and a long, pointy nose. Broken vessels crisscrossed his thin-skinned brown cheeks. He had a face that had seen too much weather. Lex figured he was late forties. Probably midway through a lifelong career in Parks.

‘We’d better get going,’ Lex said. ‘The whale’s in pretty bad shape. It’s going to be a hell of a job to get it back in the water.’

‘Sorry.’ Coffey jingled a bunch of keys in his pocket. ‘We have to wait for my boss to arrive.’

Lex shrugged and John Watson refreshed their cups of coffee which they drank while Jack Coffey walked outside for a smoke. They watched Coffey hook out his phone and walk up the street. About five minutes later he came back looking flushed and stressed.

‘So what do you reckon?’ Lex asked. ‘Can we go?’

‘My wife says we should. She says bugger the boss. But I dunno . . .’

‘It’s your call,’ Lex said.

Coffey went outside for another cigarette. It was then that Lex heard the distant thrumming of a helicopter.

‘That didn’t take long,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ asked Coffey from the doorway.

‘Could be part of your rescue team or it could be the media.’

‘The media? How would they find out?’

‘One of your crowd would have been instructed to notify the press. If we wait any longer we could have the
Sydney
Morning Herald
following us out there.’

‘Okay, we’ll go,’ Coffey said. He stubbed out his cigarette on the door frame and threw it towards the bin.

Jack Coffey gripped the steering wheel in silence as Lex directed him off the highway and across the farmlands. He bounced the vehicle too fast over the potholes and they almost struck a cow meandering across the track.

‘Watch out!’ Lex cursed. ‘Look where you’re going, man.’

‘We should have waited,’ Coffey said. ‘They’ll slaughter me for not following protocol.’

‘There’s a protocol?’

Coffey nodded, his brow a thicket of wrinkles. ‘It’s a step-by-step thing. Who to contact, what to do. My head will roll for this.’

‘The end of a beautiful Parks career, eh?’

‘We should go back.’

‘Forget it. We’re here. Pull up over there,’ said Lex, as they crested the ridge below the cemetery.

Coffey surveyed the long stretch of beach way below. The wipers flicked spots of drizzle off the windscreen and far down the beach they could just see the dark shape of the whale. Lex climbed out and pulled on his wet coat. The wind hadn’t relented. He watched Coffey ferreting a plastic raincoat out of the back of the Toyota. Then they walked to the edge of the dunes.

‘Is there any other access?’ Coffey asked.

‘I think this is it.’

They stood in the wind and spattering rain and looked down the beach.

‘How will we get equipment in? Machinery?’ Coffey said.

‘Carry the equipment from here, I suppose. They’ll need to bulldoze a track for machinery.’

‘That’ll take hours.’

‘Are these things ever easy?’

‘I’ll be honest, mate,’ Coffey said, ‘I know bugger all about strandings. This is the first one I’ve been to. I’m just the lucky sucker on duty this weekend. So I get to be first at the scene. Fact is, I have no authority to make decisions about anything. I just fill in till the head honchos arrive.’

Lex nodded. ‘Who are they?’

‘Fellow called Peter Taylor. Nice guy, actually. Seems quiet and reserved but he’s tough under pressure. Won’t stand for bullshit.’

‘There’s going to be plenty of that here,’ Lex said.

‘Plenty of what?’

‘Bullshit.’

‘You know a bit about strandings?’ Coffey asked.

‘Not much. But I do know that it’s going to be one hell of an ugly affair once the media and the public arrive. Which they will.’

‘What do you think’ll happen?’

‘I’m just hoping the poor damned whale dies before they all get here. I suppose you’d better call your boss then.’

Coffey reached inside his coat and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He squinted down the beach. ‘Think I’ll have a smoke first. What’s another five minutes if I’m going to lose my job and the whale’s going to die anyway?’

Sitting stiff with cold by the groaning bulk of the whale, Callista saw vehicles lining up on the hill near the cemetery. She watched tiny figures scurrying like ants down the hill onto the beach. The wind had dropped and everything was peaceful. Over time, the cold had seeped deep into her bones. Each shuddering breath and wretched moan from the whale had hollowed her out so there was no longer any feeling in her body. It was surreal. She felt so dislocated she could be hanging on the wind like those evil seagulls that kept drifting by, trying to find an opening on the whale’s succulent flesh. The dark figures dashing down the beach seemed completely irrelevant. She stood up and walked slowly in the opposite direction.

A camera crew was first to reach the whale. Callista heard their hoarse shouting voices.

‘Get the tripod rigged up, will ya? Gotta get some close-ups quick as we can.’

She sprinted back along the beach to stop them. They were right inside the whale’s space, angling for the best view. Worse than the seagulls. She stepped in front of the camera and tried to push it over.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ yelled the presenter.

The cameraman cursed. ‘Get that chick out of the way.’

They shoved Callista aside onto the sand.

‘Sorry, love. We’re just doing our job.’

‘You’re too close,’ she said.

The presenter shielded her out of the way while the cameraman spun around the whale shooting footage.

‘Just get everything you can before they get here and we’ll do the voice-over later,’ the presenter called. He strong-armed Callista up the beach. ‘Just keep out of the way, girlie.’ He twisted his grip on her arm and smiled menacingly. ‘And remember, love. It isn’t your whale. It belongs to the public.’

A strong voice broke into their exchange. ‘Let her go.’

Jimmy Wallace’s blue eyes were steely and the presenter released Callista immediately. Jimmy was accompanied by another grey-bearded man and Callista sensed an instant shift in the control of the situation. Authority had been assumed.

‘Sorry, fellas,’ Jimmy’s companion said. He was thickset with short grey hair and his beard was clipped short. ‘I’m Peter Taylor. National Parks. You’ll be allowed access, but not that close.’

The cameraman reluctantly lowered his camera and stepped back.

‘You’ve got a zoom lens,’ Taylor said. ‘Come on. Move back. The whale’s raising its tail. Sign of stress.’

Callista stood aside. Glancing up the beach, she could see the rest of the Parks contingent trudging slowly towards them laden with boxes and backpacks. She wondered whether Lex was among them. But her father and Peter Taylor were approaching the whale to assess its condition, so she stopped looking for Lex and watched them as they moved slowly around the stranded animal. Taylor’s voice carried on the wind.

‘What’s the sea floor like ’round here? Steep or shallow?’

‘She’s a pretty rough beach,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Changing all the time. Lots of rips and gutters, a few sandbars.’

‘Confusion? Misnavigation?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Aren’t they heading north right now? Shouldn’t they be moving further out to sea?’

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yep. Not sure why this one came in so close.’

‘What the hell is it doing here? Have there been any electrical storms to knock it off course?’

‘Not recently. But you never know what’s happening out to sea.’

The men moved in and squatted to check the blowhole. The tide was going out and they were able to get close without getting wet. Jimmy seemed to be counting time intervals between breaths. After a while the two men moved to the far side of the whale and Callista couldn’t hear them any more until they were walking back towards her.

‘I’ll call the vet,’ Taylor was saying. ‘Then we’ll talk access. We’ll need heavy machinery, a digger of some sort. And we need to get a track bulldozed in here. What’s available locally?’

‘We’ll have to get onto Trevor Baker,’ Jimmy replied. ‘He drives an excavator part-time for the local council. And he might know how to find a bulldozer.’

Taylor nodded at Callista as he hurried past to see if he could get mobile phone reception from the nearby dunes. When he was gone, she turned to her father. In his wet-weather trousers, bare feet and knee-length oilskin he was the only one who seemed to belong here. His eyes narrowed with concern as he looked at her, but she thought she saw a quick smile flicker across his face.

‘How’s the whale going?’ she asked.

‘Hard to tell. There’s not a lot to go on. Did you happen to count respirations while you were waiting?’

‘No. I didn’t think of it.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Any impressions?’

‘I think the breaths are slower now. Less frequent than when I first arrived.’

‘Anything else?’

‘It was groaning a lot at first.’

‘Less now?’

‘I think so.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘Not a good sign.’

‘Do you think there’s a chance?’

‘I don’t know.’

Callista searched her father’s eyes. ‘What’s going to happen, Dad?’

‘There’s a protocol,’ Jimmy said. The wind was rippling in his soft grey beard. ‘Taylor will follow that. It’s only one whale, but it’ll still cause a sensation. There’ll be other people arriving soon. Maybe crowds. Tricky stuff. Lots of emotions.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I do more than run whale tours, kid. They put me on the Whale Response team ’round here. Been to a few lectures. They reckon I know a bit about whales.’ He glanced along the beach. ‘Here comes that feller of yours. They saw those shoulders of his and gave him a canvas tent to carry.’ He winked. ‘Mother of a job.’