The Whale's Song

The Whale’s Song

(italics) A man and a woman, blended bodies. Atop paisley sheets, the woman’s blonde hair tousled in a halo about her head, and her delicate features are full of concentrated passion, her rouge lips parting, grateful for his tongue. He could trace the beer on her lips; he could feel her responsive brown nipples graze the hairs of chest. Her sleek midriff and writhing thighs increase his swelling, his tongue travels down her curvaceous body, flushed with energy…

“EHEH-EHEH-EHEH!”

         The alarm clock positioned next to his head on his wooden nite-stand sounded. Annoyed, Jack slammed a large, bushy hand on the buzzer, knocking the clock to the wooden floor. It hit the floor with a loud CLUNK and died. Jack grunted with satisfaction, wishing it were her. He then stooped over to pick up the letter that had fluttered to the floor. He looked at it and scowled and slammed it back on the dresser. It warbled slight against the force, knocking a black and white photo on its face. Gingerly, as if apologetic, Jack positions the frame upright, and smiles down at his father. He had been so happy that day, with his fish and his cabin retreat. Since then, Jack had redecorated, trading fishing gear in a corner for an acoustic guitar, bait and lunch supplies in the fridge for whiskey, and the latest fishing magazines with several Playboy special editions. There had been one thing, though, that could not be changed: the tundra. What had filled his father with a rugged healthiness filled him with longing over things lost: his father, the oil company, his education, even his ex-wife. With that embittered thought, he tore his eyes from porch window and pulled his weight toward the bathroom, the bed sagging slightly before his release.
         A scruffy-haired somber faced greeted him when reached the bathroom mirror. He made a gesture to grab at the razor on the sink’s left corner, but decided against it. Fuck his boss…If Peter the Punkass (the endearing nickname he had given his twenty-something-barely-had-enough-hair-on-his-balls manager) didn’t approve, he’d accidentally tip that morning chi into his lap…that’ll stimulate some growth.  Jack sneered satisfactorily at his amber stubble and grasped his toothbrush, brushing his teeth in brisk, brutish strokes. That image seemed to calm him. Another image, the image of Peter’s pale face blotched with anger at his lateness made him jubilant, and produced a lightweight feeling in his chest. After brushing, he decided on a long, 30 minute shower, making certain he rinsed away all regret.
         Stepping out of the shower, he slid a worn, white towel from the rack on the right hand side. He quickly dried water droplets from hair and body, brushing the towel roughly across his hair chest to rid himself of excess moisture. When done, he wrapped towel around his waist, and proceeded to step on Agloolik –Inupiaq for “good spirit that lived under ice & helped with fishing and hunting” – which he had renamed “fleabag that pisses in corners & soils my floor” and then his droppings. The dog, nicknamed by his father Mequssuk, for shaggy dog, gave a loud yelp and looked up forlornly at Jack, who cursed loudly and delivered a swift kick to his backside. Mequssuk, who would scamper from room to room in his prime, retreated feebly into a corner.
        Jack hobbled to his dresser to avoid stepping on the soiled foot. As he brushed back the paisley bedspread from the drawer’s front he had an idea: utilizing the corner he cleanly scooped the shit from his foot and left it on the sheet. He thought of his dream; he could see Brenda’s body clearly, as if he were the man…but in fact, it was…Jack had walked in on she and her new husband, Ross – the one Brenda sported like a designer purse when they had met again at one of his mother’s functions. Still the image made him slightly stiff in the boxers, and more aware of the time. Turning it over with his foot, the clock read 8:55 am in red digital letters. Starbucks opened at 9, but he had a reputation for tardiness he had to uphold. He lumbered toward his sparsely filled closet, and felt on the top shelf from a shirt, found one, sniffed the pits, shrugged, and then tugged it over his head. He repeated this technique with some jeans he found, this time sniffing the crouch. Then he yanked his favorite UAA (University of Alaska, Anchorage) windbreaker off the rack and over his head…if nothing else, it fortified his self esteem, making the blow of a one year attendance slightly bearable. On top, he slipped on his dad’s old jacket, the smell of raw fish and crude oil mingled with whiskey and Black Hawk cigarettes was comforting. He slipped in his black leather boots and proceeded toward the door – he always left his keys somewhere in the car – and as the door slammed he heard the dog moan. He would feed him later. Somewhere far off, a narwhal whale sounded, its voice high and wounded, reminding him of pain.

*********************************************
“KUVAGEEGAI!!!!!!!!!!!! Breakfast!” The small kitchen traps the smell of cod and eggs, fried with the fat of some Artic creature. A small but stout woman swivels the fishy mixture with a force that hardly disturbs her heavy black plait but causes her hips to gyrate, and then slides it on a plate with a spatula. To the left of the stove seated at a driftwood table is a sprig of an old man with a head lightly adorned with gray. His head is bowed while he eats gingerly, carving his breakfast slowly as though it were a prized sculpture. As he lightly lays the first bit in his mouth and chews, the wrinkles near his eyes crinkle with delight.

“Delicious…just like my dear Tanaraq’s.” 

She was named after her deceased mother, as was custom: Tanaraq Kappiataittok, meaning “the granddaughter of the Tundra is brave”. Taken the compliment with great pride, her rosy lips revealed a smile as wide as her face, and teeth that gleamed like fresh snow.

“Thanks you, father.” Now, if only her son would be so grateful…

“KUVAGEEGAI!!!!!!!!!!!!!….KUVAGEEGAI …COME RIGHT NOW!

Upstairs, upright in his bed, sat little Kuvageegai, gap-toothed and smiling at his mother’s frustration. Then he heard…

“If you don’t come by the count of three…Onnnnnne, Twoooo…”

This was his cue; he jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs, and threw his full force into his mother’s middle and wrapped his tiny arms in a simulated bearhug. The force of his landing knocked Tanaraq into the stove.

“Morning, Aga” he murmured and sunk his face into her back.

Her irritated countenance softened as she heard her son’s voice, and instead of chiding him, she turned to squeeze him back.

“Ahhhhh, Aga…you’re squishing me.” Kuvageegai squirmed gently.

“Oh, alright.” Tanaraq relinquished him reluctantly, and clutched him a little longer –
she released his body to gaze at his face – he had large cheeks that had turned pink with pleasure, and his expressive brown eyes held a smile matched only by his wide mouth.Despite its overtly childish features, the face she gazed upon held an Inupiat warrior, the man she had fallen in love with…

“Aga, what’s wrong?”

Tanaraq could feel the moisture on her cheeks…she must have been crying again.

She sniffled and quickly wiped her eyes. “Nothing, Shtiya.” My strength.

Kuvageegai smiled warmly. “I miss him too.” His arms enveloped her, and she squeezed him to suffocate the pain swelling in her chest. She allowed herself one last sniffle before she released him, then gently kissed him on the forehead.

“Now, breakfast.” She tried to sound cheerful, and gave him a small nudge toward the table while she gathered the plate and utensils. As the plate touched the table, she saw furrowed eyebrows and a small, scrunched nose.

“Do I have to eat cod for lunch too?”

Tanaraq’s eyes wondered to the pot of extra cod.

“A lot of other kids buy lunch, Aga. They serve pizza and stuff. Can I have some money? Please?” he added for extra effect.

Tanaraq looked into his expecting eyes and sighed. “Shtiya, we can’t af-“

Her father’s soft but clear voice cut her off. “You must learn to appreciate your mother’s hard work, illiivat.” Under her father’s intensive stare, Kuvageegai lowered his eyes in respect.

“Yes, ataataga.” Kuvageegai snatched quick bites off the plate and swallowed to prevent chewing. In an effort to redeem himself, he gathered both his and his grandfather’s plate and headed toward the sink.

“It’s okay, go get ready for school.” Tanaraq took the plates and turned to the sink.

Searching for approval in his grandfather’s face, Kuvageegai trots up the steps after a quick nod of the head from his ataataga.

Still digesting her son’s disappointment, she places the plates down and heads to her left towards the small closet adjacent to the door. She tugs it open and retrieves a small caribou satchel from the floor. From it, she extracts three months of grocery money – the small 300 dollar sum given with various tokens of condolence from the community – and places five dollars in her apron. After replacing the satchel and closing the door, she returns to the kitchen, ignoring the dishes and beginning Kuvakeegai’s lunch. The whale’s song reaches her as well, and she hums along slowly, silent tears salting the cod sandwich, summer berries, and dampening the five dollar bill in the Spiderman lunch box.

**********************************************

         Jack sat pensively on the porch. His thoughts drifted to the day’s events; he saw each as scene in a movie sequence. As he had predicted, Peter had pulled some self-importance out of his ass again, and as a result had attempted to scold Jack for being late. However, this time Jack’s reply in the form of a menacing sneer had not deterred the lecture.  Peter had made it clear, in his pompous, nasal voice that he was “perpetually disappointed” and had “notified his management” about Jack’s behavior. But after that, Jack couldn’t seem to recall the exact logistics of what set him off. Well, he had it coming, thought Jack. Before Peter had fixed his thin lips to utter any more of his lecture, Jack had turned to face the watery eyes that had transformed from a look of sternness to one of sheer terror. Enjoying his power, Jack had calmly grasped the starched collar of the manager and backed him into the nearest wall. With a belated smirk he came so close to Peter’s face that the young man winced at the strong odor of whiskey that overpowered Jack’s breath.

“I quit, Punkass”, Jack growled.

Just as quickly, he released Peter but kept eye contact. The boy stayed immobile upon the wall, his trembling face with a quality like crumpled paper. As he lumbered out the door, he had thought he heard a weak “You’re fired” from somewhere in the café. However, Jack couldn’t be sure over the slam of the front door.

         So now, Jack sat. Thinking, smoking, and drinking. So where was he going to get his money now? He had some meager earnings saved from Starbucks, and he had some bonds in his name, initiated by his fretful mother…His thoughts wandered to the dresser drawer. Inspired to sudden action he swiped the porch door open further and snatched the letter from the wooden surface. He re-read the address as he resumed seating. In one clean tear, the letter yielded to his finger, and as read, he maintained a deep scowl.

    “Dear Mr. Daniels, you are hereby summoned to the small claims court of Anchorage, Alaska….”

The reminder of the letter included language like inheritance, divorce, settlement, and the court date. That bitch, he thought simply. Simultaneously, a frigid wind blew. Jack tugged his jacket closer to his chest. When had Brenda become so cold? His mind traveled back three years, Jan 15th, 2004. Divorce day. Her bohemian beauty had been mutated: Her carefree, bountiful curls had been tamed into a serve blonde bun. Her laughing green eyes were hardened with determination and resentment. Her naturally rogue lips had been smothered in a blood-red lipstick, as if she was hungry for more than his money. Her plentiful bust was hidden beneath a pinstriped blazer, each stripe so vivid it was etched in his memory. Likewise, she had confined her long legs in a matching skirt, and completed the outfit with pumps that could pierce flesh. Flanking her left had been Ross, and like all good accessories he complemented her harsh transformation. He wore a look of grim devotion paired with prep getup Brenda had probably bought for him.

         A second wind shocked him back to his senses. He glanced once at the letter in his hand, then concentrated his gaze toward the sky, his blue eyes searching as if an answer would materialize in the atmosphere. Thinking of his father, he felt something in his chest lurch; perhaps it was his heart, pumping resolve into his veins. His jaw clenched. Brenda and the Boy Wonder could kiss his ass. He’d fight this. But first, to relieve some tension, he took a deep drag of the Black Hawk, expelled the smoke from the right side of his mouth, then singed the letter. Repeatedly. When he had finished, the milky surface of the letter was disturbed by smoking pot-marks, and Jack was lounged on his chair, enjoying a new cigarette and a bottle of Yukon Jack. The sting of the whiskey and the cigarette’s smoky flavor complemented each other, something like a fine meal. The last word sparked something in his head…meal, food…dog. He had forgotten to feed that mutt. The legacy of my father, passed down to me in the form of a mangy, flea-ridden…he stopped. He didn’t recall hearing the pitiful moan associated with the mongrel’s feeding time. His eyes casually swept the porch, and then repeated the sweep inside the cabin. Momentary joy flooded his brain. I can finally have some peace, no more shitty floor and rank-smelling corners, no more midnight moaning, no more… Jack sighed. He couldn’t let the fleabag dishonor his father’s death.

“Damn-it”, he muttered softly and headed toward his pickup. 

         ******************************************
“He-he-he, He-he-he-he!”

         Kuvageegai giggled when the light, cool tundra wind whistled through his parka and tickled his belly. He loved summer in the Artic, his father had taught him to appreciate the season where everything was fresh and new.

“Pakak”, he would say to Kuvageegai, who was naturally mischievous, “you were named to honor your home.”

As “one who loves their homeland”, Kuvageegai appreciated the beauty of the tundra: the shiny ivruq (moss) whose green roots crept over the rocky soil, the small lakes created from the melting permafrost, the blooms of different colored Arctic flowers that speckled the tundra. Kuvageegai happily crunched the melted permafrost with his boots, breathing the fresh air in great gulps as he traveled. As he neared his home, Kuvageegai became sullen; he was nearing the place where his father had been “lost.” It was around the area where his father had taken him on his first hunting trip, two years ago, as an energetic five year old.

“Now we can put some of that energy to use, pakak”, his father said, his voice like soft thunder.

Suddenly, the tundra became menacing; thousands of lakes appeared, ready to drown him; each tundra flower seems to reach out as if to trip or entangle him; and the moss that traveled across the land threatened to slick his path. Even the sun seems to follow him in close proximity, as if wanting to scorch his neck.

He began to run, and with the rhythm of each step his heart pumped faster.

“Aapaga, Aapaga”, he cried softly to the frozen land. I miss my father. Bring him back. I miss my father, Bring him back. I miss my father…

At the moment of his last chant, Kuvageegai stumbled and fell, tripping over an impossibly large shrub. The shrub, which was white and very hairy, moaned feebly.

“Orrrrrwwwwwwwww”.

Placing the backpack that read Whalebone Academy on the ground, Kuvageegai carefully rose to a squatting position then retreated a few inches to evaluate the poor beast.

“A Mequssuk”, he whispered. “What are you doing out here?”
As if it had understood, the furry face blinked. Kuvageegai inched closer, and confronted by this peach colored and friendly face, Agloolik licked its nose.

Kuvageegai’s face brightened and he giggled, and then awarded the dog with a vigorous ruffle of his head fur. Kuvageegai slipped on his backpack and started to run. Excited by the prospect of a nicer owner, the dog, spry with new energy followed the boy home.

Kuvageegai raced toward his house, covering a few yards within minutes. A dog! His cheeks were ruddy with pleasure, and his eyes sparkled with the idea of a companion.

Ironically, a medium-sized pick with a rusted paint job roared past in the moment Kuvageegai reached the steps.

“Ay! Ay you! That’s my dog!”

Kuvageegai appraised the red-headed man with fear; he stood motionless and wide-eyed, gaping at the truck. Jack’s truck was stationed several yards away from the house, and after he yelled and received no response, he made an effort to exit his truck. Unfortunately, this spooked Kuvageegai, who bolted at the sight of Jack’s brisk steps toward his house. The nearest hiding place was underneath the porch, and Kuvageegai wriggled until he had scrunched himself small enough to hear his heart. The dog, momentarily torn between loyalties, follows its new master into the porch’s depths. 

Cursing softly to himself, Jack stomped up the steps of the little cabin and knocked loudly three times on the door before Tanaraq appeared.

“Oh no, a tanik”, Tanaraq thought. She inhaled deeply then expelling her fear into the atmosphere. She tried to hide the fear in her eyes, Jack saw her straighten her back and return his direct gaze.

“Excuse me…Miss”, Jack decided from his vantage point; though Tanaraq’s hair was lightly sprinkled with gray. “I believe your son has my dog.”

Tanaraq’s chest tightened. “Alright…He was just coming from school—“

“I saw him run around back.”

“I’ll be back, aapaga!”  Jack heard a grunted response in the background.

Tanaraq swift exited and shut the door. She motioned for Jack to follow as she shuffled around the house toward the porch.

Looking up from his hiding place, he saw the tip of his mother’s heavy black braid.

“Kuvageegai…I know you’re here. Please, this man wants to speak with you.”

Before Kuvageegai could respond, Agloolik barked. Kuvageegai decided to surrender, and crawled from his place under the porch, and rose to face his mother. He did not look at Jack.

“Kuva-gee-gai,” Tanaraq said slowly, as if tasting each syllable, “did you take this man’s dog?”

His eyes darted shamefully to both his mother and the man. “No Aga…I found him.”

Following this comment, the dog scuttled from underneath the porch, and took a seat beside Kuvageegai.

“See”, he said a little defiantly, his cheeks reddening, “He likes me.” And with that he gave him a small, definitive pat on the head. Agloolik wagged happily.

Jack caught the irritated look that flickered across Tanaraq’s face, as she took a place behind her son.

“Uh…Sorry kid, but I own him, he just got loose. I’ll have to take him home now.”

Defeated, Kuvageegai looked up to his mother, but she killed the protest before he could form it. Her eyes felt sorry for him, but her voice said calmly: “Sir, I am sorry for the trouble. You may take the dog.” With a soft pat, she ushered her son forward.

Jack shuffled uncomfortably as the boy bent low to talk to the dog. He whispered something Jack couldn’t hear. “Tavvauvutit Atka Mequssuk” (Goodbye guardian spirit shaggy dog) he whispered to the dog’s face. As if he understood, Agloolik licked his nose again, and then calmly trotted to Jack’s side.
“Uh, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “You all have a nice evening.”

“Thank you.”

Jack nodded a farewell to them both and headed toward his pick up, the dog trailing his footsteps. Once Jack was out of earshot, Tanaraq pulled her son to the side.

She looked deeply into his quizzical brown eyes, and for a moment her dead husband flicked there. Shaking her head once, she spoke: “Shtiya, you must be careful with taniks”, and as she uttered the word, her grip tightened on his shoulder. “White men are hard to please.”

         ****************************************************

The next day Jack lay in bed. With nowhere to go, he lay idle, his only interaction the cigarette he occasionally brought to his lips. He parted them slightly to release the smoke, then rolled over to check the time. 9:30 am. He rolled over again, this time taking several quick drags as he thought about the boy. Had he spoiled the last link to his father? The dog had clearly wanted to stay, but the boy had said something…a command of sorts. Whatever it was, Jack thought, at least the dog was safe. He made the effort to sit up under the paisley sheets. His eyes wandered around the room until he found the dog, huddled in his same urine-stained and soiled corner. After the incident, Jack had bought him a mat and some food, but the dog, still fretful, had refused the food and fell asleep inches away from the mat. Jack took another drag and sighed. Perhaps he’d give the dog to the boy. A good samaritan thing. Besides, Jack thought truthfully, I can’t stand the beast. At least this way, he’ll have a good home before he dies. And maybe, this way, I can still keep my promise to dad. He smothered the cigarette in the ashtray on his nite-stand, and scooted across the bed, threw the closet open and dressed quickly. When he had slipped on the black boots, he took aim at the dog’s rump, but thought about the boy and decided against it. Once Jack had delivered a tap to its belly, the dog’s eyes sprung to life, and patiently trotted to wait at the porch door. Amazed, Jack slid through and closed it. As he stepped off his porch, a long, clear wail filled his head. The whales were sounding again, this time much closer. As he walked to the boy’s house, images of his dead father flicked like light bulbs in his head.

         *****************************************************

Tanaraq was glad the tanik had not returned. The mournful call of the whale reached her window. Sequestered in her room, Tanaraq couldn’t stop the tears or the painful memory that followed:

(italics)Kuvageegai’s mother stood in her doorway. All her handsome features: her proud jawline, her wise, almond shaped eyes, strong nose and plump lips all sagged with grief. Her face was pallid and each word seemed to pinch strength and color from it. “Kuvageegai – is – dead.” She paused, as to say more, but instead gasped from breath, and submitted to the sobs that overwhelmed her large frame. Tanaraq took her mother-in-law inside, closing the door gently. She was shell-shocked. Surprise and disbelief were as frozen as the tundra snow on her face. Leading Arnaaluk to the kitchen, she let her recall the story. He had drowned during a whaling trip with Aumanil, Tanaraq’s father-in-law. Instantaneously, her mind fled to little Kuvageegai. Where was her baby? “Kuvageegai is safe”, Aumanil offered, “but my boy is gone!” She told Tanaraq that as they spoke, Kuvageegai was being brought to shore, while the community’s men searched for the body. Aumanil and Tanaraq’s father were among the searchers. While Arnaaluk sobbed heartily, all Tanaraq could do is sit. Panic racked her brain – Kuvageegai was an excellent hunter – how COULD he be DEAD? Tanaraq reviewed what Kuvageegai had taught her about whaling. It all seemed so simple for a Tundra man like Kuvageegai…But then she remembered.

“The oil company,” Tanaraq whispered the word that haunted her.

The week before the trip, Kuvageegai had been declined. “We have enough,” the tanik said.

The newly stationed oil company had caused a ruckus in the small town; men who had grown up on a hunter’s mentality knew the necessity for current jobs. Times had changed. A man no longer hunted animals to feed his family. The new generation required a different tactic; these men hunted money. Specifically in this small North Slope town, they hunted oil for money. But Kuvageegai had arrived too late, and had failed his family, doomed like the few who choose to ignore the pipeline that raped the land of its natural resource. Tanaraq had tried to soothe him.
“There will be more times” she had said with a young bride’s hope. But Kuvageegai, a normally willed man, had been broken. She had seen something crack in his face, and later in his resolve. He was distant until the day of his death.

“Kuvageegai pivuittaqtuq Tanaraq lu piqatigigifma taimufa.”

The timbre of his thunderous voice was like a last thunder after a rain storm – a large boom, then soft and fading. I love you and will be your companion forever. She realized after Arnaaluk’s story that he had let himself slip, allowed the whale to pull him under, and released when totally submerged in the icy water. 

Suddenly, the whale moaned again, and Tanaraq felt the covers around her bed, confirming she was still there. Inspired to action, she reached backward to haphazardly braid her heavy locks. After she let the braid drop to the middle of her back, she dressed hurriedly, pulling her light parka and caribou pants over her long-johns, then stuffing her feet in her animal hide boots. She opened her mouth to call Kuvageegai, but thought against. However, after she had bounded down the stairs towards his room, she found her father, helping Kuvageegai to get dressed.

“I wanted to remember him too,” he told his mother.

In five minutes time, they were both holding hands, walking towards the door. Her father, Ataninnuaq, “the one who counsels”, looked on as two generations crossed the door’s threshold.
*****************************************************
Jack stopped suddenly. Focusing his eyes, he could see two small figures leaving the boy’s house. He began to run, Agloolik on his heels, towards the spot where they stood. As he neared the spot he wanted to call out, but something stopped him. He had never heard a whale this close before. He could hear a rainbow of melodies, both morose and joyful. He stopped within a few yards of Tanaraq and Kuvageegai, who seemed engrossed by the sound.

Tanaraq let the whale’s voice fill the void in her chest. She let the beast’s slow song caress her tired body, circulating air into her lungs, and she could her veins vibrating. She felt relief, joy, and anger all at once.

(italics) He abandoned us. His parents moved away, taking his memory with him. He left us, he let himself die. But HE LOVED YOU, a louder voice reasoned. He loved you and Kuvageegai, and instead of giving you his pain, he took his life. But THAT caused us all pain, she thought. Still, he loved us, she thought. She tightened her grip around Kuvageegai’s hand and squeezed it lovingly.

Kuvageegai smiled silently up at his mother’s tear stained face.

(italics)Dear father, I miss you, and I’m scared, but I’ll take really good care of Mom. Don’t worry. And I want to continue our trips with Mom, and I’ll make sure nothing hurts her. Maybe we’ll start with something small, like ice fishing or something. And I promise to start appreciating her and stuff. Just promise me that when I come visit you, we’ll all go on a trip, like a family. But grandfather says that won’t be for a long time. So for now, Mom and me love you.

Jack watched the vigil with silent observation. After the boy had looked down from his mother and had begun muttering, Agloolik seemed know that was his cue. He said his final goodbye by licking Jack’s hand, then ran forward to take his place at the side of the boy. Together, the three of them seemed to be a family out to enjoy the summer. Inhaling it all as if it were his last cigarette, Jack turned and headed back, but did not enter his home. Instead he settled in his pick up, and ignoring the cigarettes and the whiskey, he grabbed the keys. Revving the engine, he pulled out of the driveway, following the whale’s moan down the road. He did not return.
After an hour, Kuvageegai and Tanaraq trouped back to their home, both soggy faced but smiling sadly, with Agloolik in close procession. They both sat down at the table across from Ataninnuaq. When Kuvageegai conceded to ask about heaven, the one who counsels said simply:

“That’s where brave men go to die.”