Although the fever has caused him great discomfort in the general area of his groin, he would like to believe that it has nothing to do with carnal desires. His position since his return from his wanderings and the discovery of the pleasures that can be derived from whales is that there are things that are more beautiful and less messy than copulation. The most important is just being at the same place at the same time with the object of your affections, breathing the same air and smelling the same smells. Doing little things for each other rather than to each other. He loves doing little things for Saluni although she never seems to notice them. He does all the giving and she is a thankless receiver. He rejoices in generosity and has stopped being puzzled at her lack of any expression of gratitude.
Once there was an outburst about it. He had returned quite late from collecting his monthly pension because of the long queues at the mobile pay point since such payments are all made only one day of the month. Thousands of old-age pensioners and disabled people had been queuing for hours, especially those, like the Whale Caller, who do not have bank accounts to which the money is directly transferred by the state. He had been standing in the queue all day long, and could not even dash away for lunch lest he lost his place. He was very hungry and was looking forward to a nice hot meal when he got back to the Wendy house. But Saluni had not cooked any food. She was just sitting on the bed filing and painting her nails.
“You did not cook? Why?” asked the Whale Caller.
“I was not hungry,” she responded.
“You go to the Bored Twins and when you come back there is a meal waiting for you.”
“What have the Bored Twins got to do with it, man? What are you on about?”
“Whenever you come back there is food waiting for you, Saluni. Did you think I cooked it because I was hungry?”
“Don’t get so worked up about it, man. It’s only food.”
“If I cooked only when I am hungry there would be no meals in this house.”
The Whale Caller sulked as he brought water to the boil on the hot plate. It was no big deal to cook macaroni and then to sprinkle grated Gouda on it while it was hot. It took less than fifteen minutes. But it was the principle of it all that he was concerned with, and he was infuriated by the fact that Saluni didn’t seem bothered at all. She tried to introduce some small talk about their next window-shopping expedition, but he did not respond.
“Oh, I see,” said Saluni, “you want a woman who will cook for you? You didn’t bring me here to be your maid, did you?”
“I didn’t bring you here at all. You brought yourself.”
“But I am not your servant.”
“I am not your servant either, but I do cook for you. Did you think I was doing it because I was your servant?”
“So now you are nitpicking, are you?”
“I look after you because I care, not because I am your servant. I expect the caring to be mutual.”
Saluni only laughed. He vowed to himself never to raise the matter of Saluni’s selfishness again. Now he has learnt to live with it. It is how Saluni has been created. She means no harm by it. She just has never known how to look out for the next person. He watches her with pride as she chants her binding spells. He can’t hear what she is saying. He thinks she has invented a new childish game.
The grey sky darkens, and Saluni stamps on her sandman, chanting more binding spells. His body convulses, which he tries hard to hide though his face is mapped with pain. Mercifully the pain evaporates as soon as she stops the manic dance. In Saluni’s fit of unfulfilled erotomania the flattened effigy has joined the other grains of white sand that will become sand castles in a few months’ time when the winter rains have stopped and the warmth of summer has returned. She grabs her stilettos and handbag, and walks up to the bench.
“It looks like rain,” she says.
“It smells like rain,” he says.
“Perhaps we should go home.”
“You might have to carry me on your back,” he says. “My whole body feels sick.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Somehow we make each other sick. But don’t worry, you will get over it.”
“I don’t want to get over it. It is a beautiful sickness.”
They slowly walk back to the Wendy house.
It is raining in big drops that are typical only of the inland provinces. The kind of drops that leave you with a migraine when they hit your head. Not the gentle rain of the Western Cape. The sound is particularly loud on the pine roof of the Wendy house. The dark clouds make for a premature night. Saluni reaches for the switch. She strips naked and then dives into bed. The Whale Caller sits on a kitchen chair listening to the rhythms of his ailment and of the rain.
Thunder and lightning… another unusual feature of today’s weather! A rolling sound relayed from one possessed drummer to another. In crescendos, segues and diminuendos. Some drummers rumbling in the distance, others clapping rapidly just outside the window. Shaking the Wendy house to Saluni’s utter panic. She buries her head under the blanket and screams. But the head cannot stay covered for long as she is afraid of the darkness. The Whale Caller rushes to the bedroom, sits on the bed and tries to allay her fears by holding her tightly to himself while caressing her back. For a while she is petrified. But soon she becomes animated. And is as breathless as the relentless rain. He is not sure whether it is from the thunder or from the caress that has now turned into a massage.
“Do not be afraid,” he says. “Nothing will happen to you. I’ll stay with you till this whole mayhem is over.”
He kicks off his boots and gets into bed with her.
“Not with your dungarees on,” she says into his ear.
He gets out of bed and takes his clothes off. Not just the dungarees. Everything. On his own volition too! His gigantic nakedness leaves Saluni wide-eyed. He jumps back into bed. She is still stiff with fear but her mischievous bone cannot help tickling him in the armpits. He bursts out laughing. He clings to her to save himself from her tickling; she clings to him to save herself from thunder. The smallness of the wooden single bed works in their favour.
“Is this tickling business supposed to be foreplay?” he asks, raising his voice above the pounding rain. The thunder now sounds quite distant, which seems to loosen her body. She is now more relaxed.
There is hope for humanity yet: the Whale Caller has actually uttered the word “foreplay” without flinching or cringing.
“All my life with you is foreplay,” she says. “By the time evening comes I am dripping wet. I have been waiting for a long time, man. You can only have so much foreplay”
She exudes the smell. Even more so than ever before. The sweet and mouldy smell of his mother. Making love to Saluni would be as disgusting as making love to his mother. The thought gives him the erection of the world even as he recoils from its repulsiveness. As he fumbles around he discovers that every square inch of her body is an erogenous zone. Even the split ends of her hair ignite with his touch. All the gratitude she has been withholding is saturated in her body and now is ready to gush out into his sinews, making them almost explode.
“Today I am really going to make you cry for your mother!” says Saluni.
And she does make him cry. It begins as a whimper that rises into a scream. If it were not for the rain and the distant thunder passers-by would think somebody is murdering him in that Wendy house. He is begging for mercy and pleading with his mother to come and save him. But soon enough another voice — presumably the murderer’s — joins the moans. This second voice begins by singing the blues — a breathless form of scatting. The murderer and the murdered then become indistinguishable as they are both begging for mercy from each other. The poor passers-by would be perplexed to hear the murderer and the murdered babble in tongues, much as the people used to do at the Church of the Sacred Kelp Horn when the Whale Caller blew his horn to a climactic frenzy.