for recreation but for procreation. Sharisha will have a calf next time she returns from the southern seas. And he is blessed for he was there at its conception. He was a participant with his horn. He feels like a father already.
Then a scary thought strikes him. What if Sharisha is about to go back to the southern seas? What if what he witnessed yesterdayafternoon was a final romp, a farewell orgy? Southern rights mate in winter Like the rains, this friskiness in the middle of summer is unseasonable. Perhaps it is heralding her return to the southern seas, though others will be here for another month or two. Sharisha may be on her way to the southern seas already. He jumps out of bed, has a quick wash in a plastic basin, dons the black tie, grabs his horn and runs to the crag. It is dawn and he can hear the songs of the whales. Humpbacks, he concludes. The songs are structured and high-pitched. It can only be the songs of the humpbacks. They are communicating with other humpbacks that may be on breeding grounds hundreds of miles away, for their sound carries well under water. Southern rights sing their songs in a much lower frequency.
The Whale Caller is pleasantly surprised to see Sharisha close inshore, singing her big heart out. Once again she has learnt to sing like a humpback, a skill she had once acquired but unlearnt in the southern seas. How she does it remains a mystery, for only humpbacks are able to produce the pulsed clicks that Sharisha is producing now. There is a look of fulfilment about her.
The Whale Caller joins in the music with his kelp horn and together they sing until the sun rises. Sharisha has indeed managed to make him forget Saluni.
Saluni. She refuses to be forgotten. She is discovered sitting in front of the
Hermanns Roll of Honour,
above the Old Harbour with the brittle boats. She is guarded by two big grey guns on both sides of the stone column. Cannons of a bygone era. Both plaques of the roll of honour—nailed onto the column and freshly polished by enthusiastic war veterans for the Kalfiefees—reflect a tired yellow light that forms a halo above her head. The sun has returned today. The first panel, older and duller, has elevennames, citizens of Hermanus who died in World War One (1914-1918), and another list of twenty-eight names of those who “gave their lives for freedom” in World War Two (1939-1945). The brighter panel has only four names, citizens of Hermanus who were killed in some war that is not mentioned. It is described only as the
Republic of South Africa Roll of Honour 0973-1979)-
They dare not even whisper the name of the war, for they died on the border defending apartheid.
She looks as if she is part of the monument, surrounded by the spiky silver-coloured chain that enhances the monument’s militariness. She sits on the ground, her head now buried between her knees. No more halo. She is exhausted from carousing with sailors till the early hours of the morning. She is a battle-scarred soldier nursing old wounds. The tourists who are congregated like New Age worshippers behind the monument ignore her. They are more interested in getting their turn at the orange telescope that is next to the marble altar with pictures of today’s deities—a humpback and a southern right—and the sacred inscription: Wh
ale-Viewing Site
—
Indawo Yoku bukela Iminenga.
Saluni. She is merged with the monument and is in a world of dreams when the Whale Caller, on his way to Mr. Yodd, discovers her. At first he mistakes her for a mangy dog licking its wounds. But when he gets closer he sees the familiar red hair and red stilettos. And black fishnet stockings this time.
“Why did you disappear?” he demands, without ceremony.
She is startled only a little, and looks up at him. Her hang-overed eyes betray amusement even though she pretends to be annoyed. She snarls at him: “Can’t a lady take a nap without being rudely awoken by some… handsome… gentleman?”
The Whale Caller
Then a scary thought strikes him. What if Sharisha is about to go back to the southern seas? What if what he witnessed yesterdayafternoon was a final romp, a farewell orgy? Southern rights mate in winter Like the rains, this friskiness in the middle of summer is unseasonable. Perhaps it is heralding her return to the southern seas, though others will be here for another month or two. Sharisha may be on her way to the southern seas already. He jumps out of bed, has a quick wash in a plastic basin, dons the black tie, grabs his horn and runs to the crag. It is dawn and he can hear the songs of the whales. Humpbacks, he concludes. The songs are structured and high-pitched. It can only be the songs of the humpbacks. They are communicating with other humpbacks that may be on breeding grounds hundreds of miles away, for their sound carries well under water. Southern rights sing their songs in a much lower frequency.
The Whale Caller is pleasantly surprised to see Sharisha close inshore, singing her big heart out. Once again she has learnt to sing like a humpback, a skill she had once acquired but unlearnt in the southern seas. How she does it remains a mystery, for only humpbacks are able to produce the pulsed clicks that Sharisha is producing now. There is a look of fulfilment about her.
The Whale Caller joins in the music with his kelp horn and together they sing until the sun rises. Sharisha has indeed managed to make him forget Saluni.
Saluni. She refuses to be forgotten. She is discovered sitting in front of the
Hermanns Roll of Honour,
above the Old Harbour with the brittle boats. She is guarded by two big grey guns on both sides of the stone column. Cannons of a bygone era. Both plaques of the roll of honour—nailed onto the column and freshly polished by enthusiastic war veterans for the Kalfiefees—reflect a tired yellow light that forms a halo above her head. The sun has returned today. The first panel, older and duller, has elevennames, citizens of Hermanus who died in World War One (1914-1918), and another list of twenty-eight names of those who “gave their lives for freedom” in World War Two (1939-1945). The brighter panel has only four names, citizens of Hermanus who were killed in some war that is not mentioned. It is described only as the
Republic of South Africa Roll of Honour 0973-1979)-
They dare not even whisper the name of the war, for they died on the border defending apartheid.
She looks as if she is part of the monument, surrounded by the spiky silver-coloured chain that enhances the monument’s militariness. She sits on the ground, her head now buried between her knees. No more halo. She is exhausted from carousing with sailors till the early hours of the morning. She is a battle-scarred soldier nursing old wounds. The tourists who are congregated like New Age worshippers behind the monument ignore her. They are more interested in getting their turn at the orange telescope that is next to the marble altar with pictures of today’s deities—a humpback and a southern right—and the sacred inscription: Wh
ale-Viewing Site
—
Indawo Yoku bukela Iminenga.
Saluni. She is merged with the monument and is in a world of dreams when the Whale Caller, on his way to Mr. Yodd, discovers her. At first he mistakes her for a mangy dog licking its wounds. But when he gets closer he sees the familiar red hair and red stilettos. And black fishnet stockings this time.
“Why did you disappear?” he demands, without ceremony.
She is startled only a little, and looks up at him. Her hang-overed eyes betray amusement even though she pretends to be annoyed. She snarls at him: “Can’t a lady take a nap without being rudely awoken by some… handsome… gentleman?”
The Whale Caller
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