Free The Whale Caller by Zakes Mda

Unless you are a Norwegian, a Japanese or an Icelandic whaler. Those whalers don’t care if you are a blue whale or a sperm whale or any kind of whale. In the name of culture and tradition, they harpoon you… just as their forebears killed whales and reduced their blubber to oil in trypots. You can laugh as much as you like, I am a blue whale. Oreas? What are oreas? Killer whales, of course! It is just like you, Mr. Yodd, to bring up something like that just to rain on the blue whale’s parade. Oreas! Ferocious they are, for they devour seals and dolphins without any mercy. Yes, I do know that they themselves are dolphins. Perhaps you stretch it too far when you say they are cannibalistic dolphins for they don’t eat other killer whales. They eat the harmless man-loving dolphins. The trusting ones that man has always betrayed. Killer whales are much smaller than the blue whale, yet they have been known to attack blue whales and tear them to pieces for lunch. So what’s the use of the blue whale’s great size, you ask, if it can be eaten by a dolphin one-tenth its weight? And you say if I am a blue whale, then Saluni is my killer whale? Saluni will never be my killer whale. You can say that about her because you don’t know her.You are right, I don’t know her either. But I have talked to her at least. She is a lady. She doesn’t strike me as a killer whale. You are still laughing! You are laughing at me, Mr. Yodd! I suspect tears are running down your cheeks. And I can tell you, if you are doing what I think you are doing—rolling on the ground—you look undignified. Okay, okay! Maybe it’s not such a great idea after all. Maybe I am not a blue whale at all. She got it all wrong; I am not a blue whale.

    The usual mortification after confession. And this time he feels it weighing heavily on his shoulders. When you are carrying a load of mortification it is as if everyone you meet can see it. You want to steer away from people. You want the security of the wilderness. But it is not possible to have that in a town like Hermanus, especially at a place like Walker Bay The eyes of the world are on him. The world has joined Mr. Yodd in his guffaws.
    Sharisha. That will be the balm that heals his heart. Sharisha never judges him. Never makes fun of his insecurities. She will bring back his shattered dignity. He feels guilty that she, who is usually the subject of confession to Mr. Yodd, did not feature at all this time. Only Saluni. The whole confession was about Saluni. Once more he is attacked by feelings of guilt. Despite the weight on his shoulders he walks faster. He has a good idea where Sharisha might be at this time of the day. If she is not there he will blow his horn and play her song and she will manifest herself by breaching. Even if she is not that close to shore he will know it is Sharisha because when he plays the horn she breaches rapidly, up to fifteen times in a row, keeping to the rhythm of the horn. She doesn’t have to be close to shore to respond to him because the sound of the horn, like the songs of the whales, carries for many kilometres.
    He doesn’t have to walk far, for there is Sharisha rubbing her head against the kelp. She must be irritated by lice. Normally Sharisha’s callosities are free of lice; that is why they are surf white and not pink or orange or even yellow like those of other southern rights. It seems now lice are beginning to infest her, and the Whale Caller suspects it is from the randy males who had their way with her the other day. Although whale lice are quite harmless, they can irritate the joy out of a whale. Sharisha does look annoyed.
    He stands there for some time, watching her struggle with the floating kelp. But soon his attention is drawn to a prolonged cough just below the crag. There is Saluni sitting on a rock, her feet in the emerald green water. Her coat is spread on the rock next to her, and her dress is up to her waist. With her thumbnails she is crushing