storytelling. The singing, especially, has a healing effect, and she can do with some of that at this time. If they had sung for her at the worst moment of her rash, she is certain it would have healed quicker. But then she had misguidedly made up her mind that she never wanted to see them again, ever. Now she has forgiven the dear hearts. She yearns for them. Hopefully they are not out there in the marshes playing in the mud and plucking off the wings of butterflies, letting them suffer a lifetime of crawling without the benefit of flight. Or breaking the legs of the praying mantis, punishing them for feeding on other insects. Their parents are likely to be working in the vineyards. At harvesttime they leave home at five in the morning and only return after seven at night. If this is not the season for such work—Saluni does not bother to follow the cycles of the vine, except to imbibe what comes from the grape—the parents will be in the townships and villages of the district, collecting scrap metal in a donkey-drawn cart and selling it at the recycling centre. The Bored Twins, she feels, need her because they are all alone throughout the day. She cannot bear a grudge and let the little angels suffer.
The Bored Twins are not at home. Saluni coos: “Come home, Bored Twins, all is forgiven!” There is no response, except for the echoes from the mansion. Some of their raggedy dolls and assorted home-made toys are strewn outside. They must have been playing here not so long ago. They have strayed to the swamps indefiance of their parents. Saluni is not up to searching in all the swamps and marshes in the countryside; she goes back to town and to Walker Bay.
Saluni. She sits on a rock next to the emerald green water. She watches plankton floating among the ragged rocks and seagulls scavenging among humans. She is entertained by a group of seagulls feeding on the umbilical cords hanging from newborn seal pups.
The whale caller descends to Mr. Yodd’s grotto. The shadows have fallen on most of the crag. But the water in the shallows is still emerald green from the light. The depths are still blue. He peers into the grotto. No rock rabbits today. They can’t be asleep so early. They must be out overturning garbage cans near the monument, spreading out a banquet for the scavenging seagulls.
Hoy, Mr. Yodd. Have you ever heard of such an outrage? Too small for her! All of sixteen metres long and more than sixty tons in weight, and yet they are too small for the beauty whose face has been battered by wine. She is the kind that puts a premium on size, I see, and she finds Sharisha wanting. That mountain of a lady with the Three Sisters on her head, she disparages her. She finds every southern right wanting. She may as well find
me
wanting. You can’t bank on the fact that she has called me a flattering name, which was more on the indecent side, if you ask me. You want to know what she called me, Mr. Yodd? She called me a blue whale. Don’t laugh, Mr. Yodd. You don’t think I have it in me to be a blue whale? Whatever you think, Mr. Yodd, she sees a bluewhale in me. Very big and very strong. Pulsating with hot blood. Blue whales are not just the largest mammals on earth; they are the largest mammals that ever lived. Their size is legendary, the stuff of many tales. I bet it was a blue whale that swallowed Jonah. Jonah can’t have been swallowed by anything lesser. Okay, I am a southern right man, as you rightly point out. Everyone knows that. The lady knows that too because she has watched me blow for the southern rights. But I can be a blue whale too if she wants me to be one. I can be her blue whale. And you know what, Mr. Yodd, I was born to be a blue whale, now that I think of it. Blue whales are not common. They are unattainable. Like me… can’t get… can’t buy… can’t deposit! They are not for the land-bound. They are out there, hundreds of miles into the ocean. You don’t toy with a blue whale, Mr. Yodd.
The Bored Twins are not at home. Saluni coos: “Come home, Bored Twins, all is forgiven!” There is no response, except for the echoes from the mansion. Some of their raggedy dolls and assorted home-made toys are strewn outside. They must have been playing here not so long ago. They have strayed to the swamps indefiance of their parents. Saluni is not up to searching in all the swamps and marshes in the countryside; she goes back to town and to Walker Bay.
Saluni. She sits on a rock next to the emerald green water. She watches plankton floating among the ragged rocks and seagulls scavenging among humans. She is entertained by a group of seagulls feeding on the umbilical cords hanging from newborn seal pups.
The whale caller descends to Mr. Yodd’s grotto. The shadows have fallen on most of the crag. But the water in the shallows is still emerald green from the light. The depths are still blue. He peers into the grotto. No rock rabbits today. They can’t be asleep so early. They must be out overturning garbage cans near the monument, spreading out a banquet for the scavenging seagulls.
Hoy, Mr. Yodd. Have you ever heard of such an outrage? Too small for her! All of sixteen metres long and more than sixty tons in weight, and yet they are too small for the beauty whose face has been battered by wine. She is the kind that puts a premium on size, I see, and she finds Sharisha wanting. That mountain of a lady with the Three Sisters on her head, she disparages her. She finds every southern right wanting. She may as well find
me
wanting. You can’t bank on the fact that she has called me a flattering name, which was more on the indecent side, if you ask me. You want to know what she called me, Mr. Yodd? She called me a blue whale. Don’t laugh, Mr. Yodd. You don’t think I have it in me to be a blue whale? Whatever you think, Mr. Yodd, she sees a bluewhale in me. Very big and very strong. Pulsating with hot blood. Blue whales are not just the largest mammals on earth; they are the largest mammals that ever lived. Their size is legendary, the stuff of many tales. I bet it was a blue whale that swallowed Jonah. Jonah can’t have been swallowed by anything lesser. Okay, I am a southern right man, as you rightly point out. Everyone knows that. The lady knows that too because she has watched me blow for the southern rights. But I can be a blue whale too if she wants me to be one. I can be her blue whale. And you know what, Mr. Yodd, I was born to be a blue whale, now that I think of it. Blue whales are not common. They are unattainable. Like me… can’t get… can’t buy… can’t deposit! They are not for the land-bound. They are out there, hundreds of miles into the ocean. You don’t toy with a blue whale, Mr. Yodd.
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