He hears the sound of a kelp horn, not at all like his, playing some kind of a Morse code. He knows immediately that it is the official whale crier of Hermanus, Mr. Wilson Salukazana, the gracious gentleman from Zwelihle Township. He is alerting the tourists to the presence and the location of the whales. People are beginning to gather. Cameras are clicking and camcorders follow the languid movement of the behemoths. Some of the creatures are playing with floating kelp, manipulating it so that the fronds rub over their backs. The Whale Caller knows that they are trying to remove parasites from their bodies. This is indicated by the callosities on the whales, which are pink or orange instead of white, a clear sign of the presence of lice.
The Whale Caller walks to his peninsula. He stands on the highest boulder and blows his horn. The whales suddenly become alert. They expel the air through their blowholes with greater vigour. He blows his horn even harder, and finds himself playing Sharisha’s special song. A gigantic southern right erupts from the water, about a hundred metres from him. It rockets up in the air, and then comes crashing down with a very loud splash. As its head rises from the water again the Whale Caller’s heart beats like a mad drum in his chest, for he sees the well-shaped bonnet that he knows so well, sitting gracefully on the whale’s snout. White like salt. He breathes even faster when he sees the wart-like callosities on the head, also white like rough grains of salt. Not pink or orange like the callosities of other whales. They are distinctively shaped like the Three Sisters Hills of the Karoo. He blows his horn even harder, and the whale opens its mouth wide, displaying white baleen that hangs from the roof of its mouth. Not dark baleen like that of other whales. It is a smile that the Whale Caller knows so well. Sharisha’s surf white smile! Once more she launches herself up in the air and falls in a massive splash. She performs these breaching displays in time with her special song that the Whale Caller blows relentlessly.
The Whale Caller changes the tune and Sharisha stops the aerial displays. She moves gently in a circle, the top of her fourteen-metre-long body gleaming in its blackness. The rest of the body below is greyish. Her skin is smooth. She breathes out white vapour from her double blowhole on top of her head and it rises up to five metres high, in a perfect V shape. Then she lies parallel to the water, and performs the tail-slapping dance that is part of the mating ritual. She lobtails repeatedly, making loud smacking sounds that leave the Whale Caller breathing more and more heavily. He blows the horn and screams as if in agony. He is drenched in sweat as his horn ejaculates sounds that rise from deep staccatos to high-pitched wails. Sharisha emits a very deep hollow sound. A prolonged, pained bellow. Then she uses her flippers to steer herself away from the Whale Caller. Breathlessly he watches her wave her flippers as she sails away.
The Whale Caller feels invigorated as he walks back from the peninsula. Even the sight of Saluni, standing near the green bench as if waiting for him, does not rile him. He smiles at her, for he is in a charitable mood today. But she seems to be in a foul mood. For the first time he feels the need to talk to her. But he does not know what to say, or how to begin. He just stands there grinning foolishly She becomes suspicious of his motives. After all, he has never given her the time of day You don’t all of a sudden become friendly towards a village drunk unless you have some mischief up your sleeve.
“Don’t mess with me now,” she warns him. “I won’t stand any nonsense from anyone today. A foolish woman deprived me of fame yesterday. I am pissed off!”
“See how beautiful they are! The whales, I mean. Just see!” says the Whale Caller, oblivious of her anger.
“A stupid superstitious woman.”
“You see that one over there? The one sailing away? That one is Sharisha.”
“You have given them names?”
“Only Sharisha.”
Saluni looks at him questioningly, as if she doubts his sanity. Then she walks away, shaking her head pityingly. He is left only with the sweet mouldy smell that urges him to follow her. But he does not. Instead he decides to visit Mr. Yodd, to express his joy and give his thanks. And perhaps to gloat a little. As he walks down to the grotto the grey doves with black wings and the white seagulls with grey wings, all sporting matching red feet, share his excitement by hovering over him, and defecating on his head.
Hoy, Mr. Yodd! Today you are talking to a fulfilled man. She is back. Sharisha has returned. She has braved man-created dangers to be with me. She has risked ships’ propellers that slice curious whales at this time of the year. She has defied fishing gear entanglements and explosives from oil exploration activity to be here, Mr. Yodd. To be with yours truly. She has returned, Mr. Yodd, she has returned!
TWO
The day is grey from an unseasonable summer downpour, and the Whale Caller is relentless in his search for Saluni. He has been at it for days now, sniffing like a dog, hoping to catch her sweet and mouldy odour. The damp soil and the rotting kelp fill the air with smells of their own, making it impossible for him to scent her. He has returned to his old haunts, where Saluni used to materialise from nowhere with the sole aim of annoying him, but she is not there. He has walked the length of Walker Bay, which cradles Hermanus from Danger Point in the east to Mudge Point in the west. He has looked in the lagoons where tourists and adventurous locals carelessly joust with death in throwing themselves from high cliffs into the sea. In the lagoons that don’t have high enough cliffs from which to dive, he has endured the deafening noise from the machines of motorised water sports enthusiasts. He has strolled on the soft white sands of Grotto Beach, the longest and largest of the beaches of Hermanus, stretching all the way eastwards to the mouth of the Klein River. He has visited other beaches as welclass="underline" the Voelklip with its terraced lawns; the secluded Langbaai, popular with lovers and naturists; the Kammabaai, a haven for surfers; the Onrus, also loved by surfers and body-boarders… the Plankhuis… the Hawston… the string of beaches with white sands. He has even taken his search to the Hoy’s Koppie of his youth, the conical hill with caves, where he used to blow the kelp horn, sending the devout to feats of ballroom dancing on the rocky terrain and to bouts of speaking in tongues. Saluni is nowhere to be found.
He has not confided in Mr. Yodd because he knows that he will laugh at him and ridicule him. His search is mortifying enough without inviting further mortification from Mr. Yodd. He would not know how to answer if Mr. Yodd were to ask why he is looking for Saluni. Most likely Mr. Yodd does not even remember who Saluni is. Even as he trudges all over town and its environs he is not aware what power compels him to search for her with such desperation. Only that when she did not materialise for many days he became unsettled. He felt that something was missing in his life — the same kind of emptiness he felt when Sharisha had not returned from the southern seas. Yet Sharisha’s spectacular breaching still graces the waters of Hermanns. Every morning he still stands on the highest boulder of his peninsula and blows his kelp horn that inspires astounding aerial displays. How can he feel a void when he has Sharisha all to himself? The sweet and mouldy smell!
He begins to blame himself. Perhaps if he had paid some attention to Saluni, if he had not ignored her so, she would not have vanished. He knows nothing about her, where she lives, what she does when she is not stalking him. He does not know where to look for her, save to wait at his own haunts, and at all sorts of touristy places, hoping she will show up. It doesn’t occur to him to search in the taverns of Hermanus. That’s where anyone else would have begun the search. Saluni is famous as a village drunk.