“She will, man. When she sees the CD and smells all the money we’ll be making she’ll let the girls go. You must decide now what you want to be in this set-up.”
“I just want to be where you are, Saluni. I want to be in your dreams.”
“And you will be, man. I never forget my friends when I am famous. You will warm my bed. When I come back from singing at Carnegie Hall I will find my bed warm. It is a wonderful arrangement. And don’t worry about the Bored Twins. I only need them at the beginning. When I hit the real big time I won’t need them anymore. I’ll dispatch them back to Hermanus. I’ll be a solo act. I will bowl them over on my own… just me and my backing band.”
She breaks into a blues song and acknowledges imaginary applause.
“I am sure you will, Saluni,” says the Whale Caller. “I am sure you will.”
“In the meantime you must do something about your life too,” she says. “While we are waiting for the festivals around South Africa to come to an end we need to find a way to increase our income, so that we can raise our standard of living a bit. When I hit the big time the good life must not come as a total shock to our bodies.”
“I have been happy living like this all my life, Saluni.”
“Happy? You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Satisfied. I have been satisfied living like this all my life.”
“That was before I became famous, man. Now things have changed.”
When she is excited like this the sweet and mouldy smell exudes from her in gushes. She leaves the room, promising that when she returns she will have a bombshell of an idea. The sweet and mouldy smell lingers. He remembers his mother.
She does return with an idea, although to the Whale Caller it doesn’t seem to be such a bombshell. She suggests that he must catch fish and sell it instead of complaining about the meagreness of his pension. Angling will also add variety to their diet. They will not just depend on the window-shopping ritual to provide some respite from macaroni and cheese. “After all,” she adds, “you used to be a fisherman during your wanderings. You must have learnt a thing or two about catching fish.”
As far as the Whale Caller is concerned this is not such an original idea. Long before Saluni became part of his life he considered line fishing for a living a few times, but discarded the idea when he realised that it would take him away from his whales for long periods. He was also discouraged by the fact that he would have first to obtain a fishing permit at the post office, which would only allow him ten fish a day. The permit would further prohibit him from exceeding five fish of any particular species. He therefore decided to forget about the idea. He was satisfied with the meagre pension at the time because there was no Saluni to look after. His needs were few and he managed quite well. Now there is Saluni, with her civilised living and all. It is a different life. They do need the extra income even if it is derived from such small quotas. Perhaps he could devote two days of the week to fishing. There is no harm in investing a little money on tackle, bait and forceps for removing hooks from the fish. Yes, he will take Saluni’s suggestion.
“You will see,” Saluni assures him. “You will get places when you listen to me. Who knows? Maybe one day fame will also find you. Just stick around with me, man, and fame will either find you or you will find it.”
The Wendy house becomes busy once more. And not just from breathlessness. Saluni revives civilised living. Since the tulips of the mansion are still on strike the vase on the table now has grasses and fresh wild flowers, including some fynbos from Hoy’s Koppie, which is protected by government environmental authorities, and shouldn’t be in anyone’s vase. Civilised living now includes a change of diet. Cream of mushroom soup as a starter. Fried cabbage. Fried rice. Very few window-shopping expeditions these days, but more candlelight dinners at the Wendy house. Fish. Although he is really a fried fish man, she introduces other ways of preparing it. Grilled fish. Curried fish. Pickled fish.
It is the fish that the Whale Caller catches in the sea. Fish-catching days are pleasant for Saluni because she does not have to share him with Sharisha. Often they walk on cliff paths to his favourite fishing spot that is thirty minutes east of the Old Harbour at an easy pace. This is a spot that never disappoints in its yield of bottom-feeding fish such as the hottentot and the stump-nose — both red and white. But today they find that it has been invaded by a forest of kelp. Seals and their puppies are playing a game of hide-and-seek in the kelp. The Whale Caller knows immediately that there won’t be any fish there. He moves on to another spot, with Saluni in tow, with her running commentary on the beckoning pleasures of fame. He finds just the right spot at the Kwaaiwater near the mouth of the Mossel River. There is cob water here — the sea is muddy brown close to the coast, a sign that the place is teeming with fish of the cob variety. He takes off the top of his overalls and ties its arms around his waist. He sits bare-chested on a cliff and casts his line into the sea. After an hour or so he has caught only fish as small as the chokka, that children hook at night off the quay at the new harbour.
“We’ll use this as bait,” he says.
“Shame on your tiny pilchards,” she says. “I am sure even a child can catch better fish. I tell you every day, man, we can’t walk all this distance just to catch fish that are as small as my thumb.”
“You leave the fishing to me, Saluni, and I’ll leave stardom to you.”
“At Castle Rock and Gearing Point near the Old Harbour people catch better fish. And that is on our doorstep.”
“It is always crowded there, Saluni, with sea anglers fighting for a small space on piers and harbour walls. Anyway, the fresh air and the walk will do you a lot of good. Now that you are a star you have to maintain your beautiful figure, you know that.”
She nearly tells him that the only good thing about this walk is that it takes them far away from Sharisha and her spoilt brat. But she remembers that she has vowed not to mention Sharisha’s name to him again. She must pretend that the whale is no bother at all in order to beat it at its own game. That is why she sometimes joins him as he sits on the peninsula for hours drooling over the creatures. She even pretends to drool with him, while inside she is laughing at the foolishness of it all. As usual, when the Whale Caller is not there, she flashes or moons the stupid whale, and this never fails to destabilise it and drive it away to the sheltered bay to join other calving whales.
There is a bite. A fish is hooked, and judging from its struggle, it is not the puny ones that Saluni has been mocking. He plays it for some time until it gets tired. Then he lands it. It is a plump bluish grey fish, about thirty-five centimetres long.
“It is a broad bream,” says an excited Saluni. “This one you are not selling, man. It is for our table.”
“It is a hottentot, Saluni,” he says. “It is easy to confuse them. Yes, this one is yours, Saluni. I caught it for you. See how beautiful it looks in its gleaming colours? It is as beautiful as you.”
Saluni is squatting behind him, displaying a big toothless smile.
“At least now you are doing something, man,” she says, scratching his hairy back as he guts the hottentot. “You’ve stopped playing.”
“If you think it’s easy to catch a fish you should try it.”
“If you think it’s easy to be a star you should try it.”
“I never argue with you about that, Saluni,” he says. “I never do.”
Fishing is not for people in a hurry. It needs patience. Another hour passes without any luck. Saluni is beginning to feel that the man is not so hot after all. And then he catches a red roman. Her faith in him is revived, and with it the scratching of his back. This one will be sold and will bring in some cash to add to the growing fortune that she, as the treasurer, keeps in a scoff tin under the bed.