Blues
The dry grass tickled Irene’s ankles as she waited for the shuttle. Alan caught up with her, carrying the picnic hamper and a beige canvas bag filled with striped beach towels. The sun was working its way up the sky, but the air on her cheek was still cool with dew. It was her first outing since the miscarriage.
The shuttle appeared down the road, just over the ridge. As it drew to a stop, the door sprang open and they clambered on, putting their gear on the racks in the front and plopping down in seats as the door shut and the bus moved along briskly.
Passengers bounced slightly in their seats, as the jitney wheels followed the sinuous curves in the road. The ride to town was brief, but on Opera Cup Sunday, the best way to get to the wharves in town. They hopped off at the last stop, the Whaling Museum, then walked briskly through the cobblestoned streets to reach the dock where the launch picked up skippers and their crews.
Wooden sailboats of all shapes and sizes, from up and down the Eastern Seaboard, had converged on Natocke Island. In summer, the harbour was already crowded with boats, small and large, tethered to the buoys that bobbed back and forth, up and down with the motion of the water. The rigging on the boats tinkled in the little gusts of wind. Now, it was as crowded as Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Alan put the bags down on the dock and ran towards a shop tucked off the square.
“Be right back,” he shouted over his right shoulder.
The launch was out in the harbour dropping off passengers.
The baked hot wood of the bench pressed on the back of her thighs.The island was full of the heat of the sun, drawing tourists and residents to the beaches for the cool sea breezes and bracing plunges into the waves. The gulf stream ran from the Gulf of Mexico, in a wide current, along the New England coastline, giving warmth to the icy waters.
Eric approached and said, “Where’s Alan?”
“Getting sandwiches and cookies, of course,” said Irene.
“Great,” Eric said and sat down next to her on the bench.
Susan approached with their daughter, Christine.
“Hello! So happy to see you,” Susan said, bending over and greeting Irene with a breath of a kiss. “Alan getting sandwiches again?”
“How did you know,” Irene laughed. “We’re so happy you invited us out on your boat today. The weather is perfect! Good to see you Christine,” she said, hugging her. Irene felt as fragile as a glass figurine. She hoped Christine didn’t know about the loss.
“I’m coming along, Beth isn’t. Where’s Alan?” Doug asked as he strolled up to the bench and kissed her hello.
“I’m here. Looks like the launch is coming in,” Alan called as he came jogging back.
He shook hands with the two men, kissed Susan and then said to Christine, “Hello, Sport. Everybody looks great.”
“Good timing,” Eric said. He stood up as the launch approached.
The launch tipped and bobbed as the young man at the tiller steered it to the dock, knocking against the tires protecting the side of the boat. He reached out his tan arm, covered with a tangle of sun-bleached hair, to pull the launch closer to the ladder that led from the surface of the planks into the slapping waters of the harbour. Eric caught the rope the captain tossed to him, pulled the side of the boat toward him and tied the thick sinew of hemp to the large iron cleat nailed to the dock. He twisted the rope expertly in a figure eight, dropped the end, then ran along the dock to fasten the loop of rope to the next cleat.
A few passengers disembarked, rushing away to their next destination. Eric clambered down into the launch, Susan passing him large canvas bags packed with towels and food for the boat trip. She grasped the top of the handles to the ladder, backing into the boat under Eric’s watchful eye. Alan handed down his bags to Eric, jumped onto the ladder and then reached for Irene’s hand. Irene took the steps and balanced with the waves bumping the boat against the pier as the ferry entered the dock area, causing the boats to move abruptly and haphazardly in the turbulent wake. The driver ran along the length of the interior, released the ropes and headed the launch out into the harbour.
The waters were teeming with activity. Boats of all sizes and shapes, tethered to moorings, bobbed up and down in the brilliance of the sunshine as the launch ploughed through the waters sending a salty splash of water to their prows. Irene placed her right hand on her cap and held the railing with her left, safeguarding her balance in the motion of the waves. As the launch slowed on the approach to Eric’s boat, he stood and put his arms out to brace the landing.
The fishing boat was a white Raptor with a sheltered tower looming above the centre like a church pulpit. Eric helped his wife and guests onto the boat, reaching down to grasp each person’s arm and guide their first steps into the centre. Then he took his place at the helm, unleashing the lashed down wheel, pulling the plastic cover off the captain’s chair.
Doug tossed his bag into the cabin and clambered up the stainless-steel silver ladder attached to the tower. Atop the boat was a fisherman’s chair bolted to the floor, shaded by a fiberglass roof. He sat down and surveyed the deck below.
“Let me know if you need me, Eric,” Doug stated as he stretched his legs out and pulled his cap down over his eyes.
“He always sits up there,” said Susan. “He claims it’s calmer up there. I think he just likes to be alone. The real estate market is slow and Beth says his business isn’t doing well.”
She slipped down the stairs into the cabin and started putting drinks in the small fridge. The kitchenette was compact with everything needed for preparing a meal. Built into the prow was a bunk for sleeping, latched doors beneath providing access to storage. Christine curled up on the mattress.
“Wild beach party last night,” Christine sighed and closed her eyes.
Above deck, Eric was pulling nautical blue cushions out of the hinged benches lining the deck sides. Irene tucked her tote under the bench, then sat on the port side. Eric went to the front of the boat to check the chain. Then he returned to the helm and pushed the button to bring up the heavy iron anchor. The engine jumped to life and he began to steer the boat through the congested harbour.
As the boat approached the landmark lighthouse perched near the Coast Guard Station, a line of catboats, each with a different colour sail, were rounding the point, the twelve-foot boats gliding like goslings across the surface of the green, blue, frothy water. One bright colour followed another, a red, vibrant as a ladybug, blue, stark as sunny sky, green, bright as spring leaves, stripes, classic as Tiffany blue.
“There’s the Rainbow Fleet,” Irene shouted, a forgotten joy briefly bubbling up, trying to pierce the dull ache that seemed to cover her spirit like a firm skin over boiling milk.
Eric steered toward the mouth of the harbour, passing other boats headed toward the open waters. There were wooden single hull boats with crews of men clad in sports shirts and shorts dotting the decks like toy soldiers, as the boats’ sails luffed in the breeze. The committee boat was on its way out with the Commodore and his team on board. Eric pushed the throttle forward and soon the harbour receded into the distance as he turned out to sea at the end of the jetties, the long tumble of stones protecting the entrance to the harbour.
“We have to go out past the shipping lanes,” he explained to Alan. “Bluefin tuna are out in the deep waters.” Eric derived great pleasure from hunting and catching tuna, the bigger the better. Last year, he had won ten thousand dollars in the Annual Tuna Tournament.
“It will take a while, so relax and enjoy the trip,” he ordered and settled in behind the wheel.
“Anyone thirsty?” Susan asked.
She peered out from the cabin entry. Hearing a chorus of assent, she ducked back in and soon appeared with tumblers. She pulled a cooler out from under the port bench.
“There are sodas, beer, wine, sparkling water.” She handed Eric a tumbler of cold designer water.
“Let me help,” Irene said as she leapt to her feet. She called up to Doug who was still sitting placidly in the immoveable chair above. “Doug, want a drink?”
“Beer, please,” he said. He lifted the brim of his cap and nodded thanks.
“He’ll just stay up there, guzzling beer all afternoon,” said Susan. She fished a bottle out of the cooler, then handed it to Irene.
“Need a cup?” Irene asked. She stepped up on the ladder, extended the bottle and Doug leaned down to get it. Doug just grunted in reply. “I’ll take that as a no,” she said and hopped gingerly down from the ladder. She picked up a water from the cooler. “Thanks, Susan.”
“Sure. I have sandwiches in the galley for later,” Susan said, leaning against the railing.
“Hey, I’ve got sandwiches and those great cookies the Wharf Bakery is making,” Alan said as he turned from the stern where he was watching the shore recede into a miniature painting.
“Could we put the provisions in the fridge?” he asked as he reached over and dragged a packed brown paper bag out of his carrier.
“Sure, just to the left when you go down the steps. There should be plenty of room,” replied Susan.
“Thanks,” Alan said and disappeared into the inky darkness of the cabin for a moment.
The boat pushed through the sea, occasionally slapping a rogue wave. They crossed the shipping lanes, dwarfed by the tall iron buoys rocking back and forth, marking the channel on either side. The big ships came this way bringing in freight from foreign ports to the Mainland. Eric pushed on, eventually circling to the other side of the island. Here, he slowed and searched for a spot. The sandy bluffs were way in the distance, creating a pale brown line across the cool greens of the sea. Houses perched like specks atop the treacherous sands. To the right, a tall, white brick lighthouse stood sentry, guarding ships in the night from unseen shoals.
“Do you need help?” Doug shouted to Eric.
“No thank you, Doug,” Eric replied. He was busy climbing along the side of the boat, peering down into the cool depths of the water when he reached the prow. Looking up, he said, “I think we can stay here.” He gestured into the distance. “See, there’s a flotilla of boats. Best to be in a different spot and hope the tuna are here.”
“Where are we?” Christine peeped out from the cabin, blinking in the bright sunlight.
“The fishing grounds. Here Christine, go to the tiller and hold the prow facing the shore, while I toss the anchor,” Eric directed. He lifted the anchor and pulled the chain towards him. Christine went to the console and pointed the bouncing sea craft inland.
“Now, Poppy,” she asked, her hand at the ready to pull the lever to release the chain.
“Now,” he shouted. Eric tossed the anchor away from the boat and watched the chain run until it slowed and stopped. “Back her up, now,” he said. “Steady, steady, now stop.”
“We make a good team, Poppy.” Christine put the engine in neutral. She tossed her long blonde tresses over her shoulders.
“You make a good first mate,” he laughed. He went to the tackle box on the deck and undid the latch to take out two six-foot-long rods. Attached to the stern were two stainless-steel angular cups. He put the handles of the rods there and placed the hooks on one of the circular aluminium hoops that lined the rod like the spikes on the ridge back of a dinosaur. He checked the spools of fiberglass wire by winding the lines taut.
“Let me do something,” pleaded Alan as he watched his friend working.
“No, no, nothing. I’ll get everything set up,” Eric muttered as he kept to his routine of checking the equipment.
Susan brought out a plate of sandwiches to pass around. Everyone started munching quietly to the rocking of the boat.
“I just got these new lures,” Eric said as he attached glittering flat lures to the end of the line, just above the hook.
“Are those made for the bluefins?” asked Doug from above. “Never seen them before.”
“Yes, they should be attracted by the flashes, we’ll see,” Eric said, surveying the waters. “Phil said he had some luck out here, probably over there. Word gets around,” he shrugged, in the direction of the distant fishing boats. “Let’s see how it goes.”
Picking up the nearest rod, he pulled up a length of wire, twisting it around his index finger. He reached over the side with the rod and after a few gentle movements, let the reel spin out line away from the stern. The hook hit the water with a splash and sank below the surface. Once he was satisfied, he went to the other rod and firmly cast it about three feet from the first lure. With a flash, it disappeared into the turquoise depths winking at them as it floated down out of view.
“Susan, I’ll take that sandwich now.” He took a half and bit into it, then sat down by the rods and watched the water.
“Hey, Doug! Can you see anything?” Alan asked, sitting on the railing.
“Not a thing. Sometimes there are schools of smaller fish. I’ll keep a lookout,” Doug answered. He gazed out at the ocean from his perch.
The water slapped rhythmically against the sides of the boat. Christine and Irene stripped down to their bathing suits and started slathering on the sunscreen. Christine tiptoed out to the front of the boat to stretch out in the sun. Irene spread her long legs the length of the bench and braced herself with her arms. The sunlight felt good on her skin. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the warmth, relaxing to the rocking of the boat.
“Careful, Irene,” called Susan from the galley, “the sun is strong today and you won’t feel you’ve gotten burned until it’s too late.”
“Thanks.” Irene put on her cap. Out here on the water, she felt peaceful. A soft breeze was tickling the ocean, spraying her with salty drops. It was heavenly.
“Careful out there, Christina,” Susan said and joined them on the deck.
“OK, Mom,” she called out.
“The port reel is moving,” Doug shouted.
“It stopped. Maybe just the current.” Eric stood up and watched. He kept looking at the ripples of water.
Alan moved over to Irene and was rubbing her feet.
Suddenly, twenty feet from the stern, a smooth angular head broke the surface of the water, rising, reaching into the air, until a side fin was revealed and the long body turned agilely, water pouring down the glistening black brown skin, long black gills marking the tuxedo bib on its other side. With a tremendous smack on the water, the fish plunged into the depths, its tail partially submerged, then disappeared.
“What is it? What’s that noise?” Christine jumped to her feet to run along the side, balancing against the window.
“Careful, honey. Your Dad may have found his tuna,” Susan said. They turned to watch the water.
“It stopped again,” Eric puzzled and peered over the side. He leaned on the railing with the palms of his hands. Suddenly the water roiled closer to the boat, turning a beautiful azure blue outlined with stark white foam.
“Eric, what is it?” asked Susan. “Do you know?” Now they all were watching intently. The silver lures glinted beneath the surface.
A black forehead broke the surface nine feet from the stern with force as a massive body rose into the air, higher than before, twisted and slapped the surface.
“A whale.” Eric started pulling in his tackle with alacrity. “Alan, please pull in the other rod before it tangles in it.”
Alan leapt to his feet and carefully reeled in the other rod.
“Oh my god, a whale!” Christina started jumping up and down with delight.
“Isn’t this dangerous?” Irene asked. A nervous thrill had jolted through her as the creature had appeared. “Should we move before it breeches again?”
“No.” Eric moved the rod onto the floor of the boat and indicated that Alan should do the same. “It takes a long time for them to re-surface. There’s no telling where.”
“What if it comes up under the boat,” Irene whispered tensely to Alan.
“Unlikely, honey,” Alan said. They watched the brilliant blue colours dissipating in a large circle, as if an errant painter had flung a bucket of bright paint on a mahogany deck.
They were quiet, waiting and watching. Suddenly, a roar of water punctuated the silence, even closer to the stern. With an energetic leap, the whale shot into the air, turned and splashed them as it entered the ocean again. The water roiled with bright blues, contrasting with the dark depths of shadows as the whale spouted.
“You’re beautiful! We love you!”, Christina and Susan shouted with delight.
Irene didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her skin prickled with electricity, just as it had when the bleeding had started. Nothing prepared her for the void when the tiny life slid out of her body into the toilet. She felt a wave of nausea. The magnificent creature could smash their boat into smithereens at any moment.
“Look,” Susan cried, “it’s looking at us.” She gazed into the water.
In the water next to the boat, an eye turned up and stared, as they stared back. The whale then turned and dove.
Eric took off his white sports shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Susan.
“I want to go swimming. In Scandinavia it’s good luck to swim in the same water with a whale,” Eric answered. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“Please don’t Eric, it’s dangerous,” Susan implored. She touched his arm.
“It’s dangerous just being here,” he said. He playfully kissed her hand. “Don’t worry.” With a leap, he dove off the back of the boat, his legs tucked like a frog’s. He disappeared beneath the surface.
“Oh great, the captain’s overboard,” cracked Alan.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Susan said. She turned to Irene. “Just like a man. He had to do it.” They anxiously watched the spot where Eric’s feet had disappeared.
Finally, two hands came up onto the back platform of the boat.
“The water’s great. You should all go in.” Eric said as he hoisted himself up into the boat and vigorously shook droplets from his hair.
“No friggin’ way,” Alan tossed him a towel, as Eric dripped seawater onto the fiberglass deck.
“Look, it’s a calf!” Christina whispered.
A large but more diminutive creature shimmered in the water, near the stern. It was somersaulting in the water, so close to the boat that Christina reached out to touch it.
“We love you,” she said.
As the calf spun a lumbering circle in the water, the mature whale appeared beside it, turning so its eye was watching the friends, watching it.
“It’s the mother,” Susan leaned over the water. “She’s showing us her baby! Christina and I went on a cruise in Alaska and the whales would travel by the boat and show off their offspring, but never as close as this!”
“Eric, can we back off, please,” Doug implored. He clung to the arms of his seat.
“No, we’re too close. Federal law won’t let a motor run within one hundred fifty feet of a whale. We’re two feet away, if that.”
Irene stood and looked over at the boats in the distance. At least they could rescue them from the water if worse came to worst. Then she noticed a smooth hump on the distant surface. Eric was standing near.
“Is that another one, Eric?” Irene asked and gestured to the horizon. He stepped next to her.
“Look there, and there, and there,” he said, pointing to glistening black humps spaced around them in a distinct circle, like the numbers on a clock. “We’re surrounded by a pod of whales. Sometimes they hunt for food that way.”
“Lucky I brought provisions,” chuckled Alan.
“How long will we be here, Eric? We have dinner reservations,” Susan laughed.
Irene shivered and tried to smile. She felt a surge of anger encountering a mother and her baby, cavorting and carefree in the salty sea. All this joy should have been hers. Life wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t right. What did it matter? Suddenly she jumped to her feet and strode to the stern.
“I’m going in.” She clambered down to the platform and before anyone could stop her, she slipped into the sea, then dove.
Her eyes wide open, Irene looked around and spied the mother and her calf nearby. The glistening skin taunted her with its healthy sheen and its eye pierced hers, harpooning her numb heart.
Suddenly, the whale moved away, rolling easily in the dense water, lifting its fins playfully. The calf was rolling too. Irene followed, tumbling in a full circle. As she twisted downwards, her sadness seemed to peel away like barnacles. An unspeakable elation bubbled up within, pushing through the hard milky skin of sorrow, slowly bubbling into the ocean leaving a buoyant hope. She turned towards the surface, eventually breaking through the wavy mirror of the water with a shuddering gasp.
Her arms flailed around for the ladder. Suddenly, sure, strong hands found hers, hoisting her onto the deck, wrapping her in a towel, hugging her tightly. Alan’s embrace warmed her shivering body, his kiss brushed her blue lips.
“It’s alright”, Alan whispered. “We’ll try again.”
Around them, the twilight stained blue as the water from the breath of the whale.
Adele O'Grady Botticelli received her Masters in Creative Writing with a First from the University of Limerick in 2018. Her short stories have been published in the Ogham Stone, Heartland Society of Women Writers and her poetry in Pendemic.ie. Her screenplay, IT'S A MAN'S WORLD placed in the "next 100" in the American Academy. She is completing her first novel. Adele lives in New York.