Eco Warrior (13 page)

After a while, Hollie had to go outside. “I have to let my dog out to use the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

I opened the back door and let Hollie out. “Don’t go far, Hollie. Just scratch on the door when you want in, okay?” Hollie looked up at me as if to say, “When are we leaving this place?”

“Soon,” I said, and went back inside.

When I sat down, Merwin looked alarmed. “Did you let that little dog outside by himself?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Fritzi’s out there. He hates dogs. He gets very aggressive around them. He’ll hurt a little dog like that. You’d better hurry.”

I jumped up. The next thing we heard was a cat hissing loudly, Hollie barking, and a terrible sound of animals fighting in the yard. We rushed out. “I’m sorry,” Merwin said. “I should have warned you about Fritzi.”

I searched for Hollie in the dark, and saw him running over from a tree. He looked okay to me. But Fritzi was up in the tree. At the trunk of the tree was Seaweed, his wings spread almost five feet across, his beak wide open, like a giant lobster claw. Fritzi was clinging to the branch, hissing in fright. Merwin was frightened, too. “What the heck is that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s Seaweed. He’s my first mate. I should have warned you about him. He hates cats.”

“What kind of bird is
that
?”

“A seagull.”

“He doesn’t look like any seagull I’ve ever seen, he looks like a monster!”

“Sorry about that. Seagulls from Newfoundland are bigger than the ones around here. And Seaweed has always been really aggressive. I don’t know why. He’s very protective of Hollie. They’ve been through a lot together.” I went over and tossed Seaweed a dog biscuit I had in my pocket. He gobbled it up, folded his wings, and twisted his head at me, looking for more.

“That’s your crew?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Merwin helped Fritzi down from the tree and put him in the shop. I brought Hollie back into the house. Seaweed went up on the roof. We came back to the table, sat down, and continued eating. Merwin was quiet for a while. I could tell he was thinking about something. I shared my French toast with Hollie. By the time we had finished eating, Merwin said he had an offer to make me. He sounded serious.

“Okay?”

“Here’s my offer, Alfred. You take me out on your submarine, and teach me everything you know about submarines, and I’ll convert your engine to burn vegetable fat, and teach you everything I know about environmentalism. What do you think?”

I sat back in my seat. It was an interesting offer, but I had to think about it. I had a rule about not taking passengers on my sub, except for emergencies, because I didn’t feel I could truly protect them. The sea was too dangerous. On the other hand, it
would
be very helpful if Merwin taught me everything he knew about environmentalism. And I did want to convert the engine to burn vegetable fat.

I’d have to think about it. As captain, I was responsible for all passengers and crew on my sub. That was the law of the sea, and I explained it to Merwin. He listened carefully, but had a quick answer. “Okay, but look at it this way: I am the captain of another submarine, in training, and I am requesting your help in order to be safer at sea. Doesn’t that put me in a special category?”

It was a good point. But there was something else: Merwin was probably sixty years old. I was just turning seventeen. If he came on my submarine, he would have to obey my orders. Could he do that? He nodded his head and said no problem.

I still didn’t know. I told him I’d have to think about it. “Fair enough. Where’s your submarine anyway, Alfred?”

“In a tiny cove, in the mouth of the harbour. It’s hidden.”

“Why don’t you bring it up here? Would it fit in the boathouse?”

“It might.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Can I sleep on it?”

“Of course. Would you like the couch?”

“No, thank you. We’ll be more comfortable outside. We’ve spent so much time at sea lately; anywhere on land is nice.”

“I envy you. It must be nice to spend so much time at sea. Pick any spot you like, but watch out for sharp edges of the sculptures in the dark. I can tell that you’re a cautious fellow, Alfred. Were you always like that, or did you learn that at sea?”

“I learned it at sea.”

“I suppose I’d have to learn it, too.”

I nodded. He sure would.

Hollie and I slept under the stars. My belly was so full I couldn’t even remember the hungry feeling I had had for the past week. Hollie climbed onto the bottom of the sleeping bag, lay flat the way he sometimes lay in the sun, and went into a deep sleep. Seaweed appeared a little while later. I heard the rush of his feathers just before I drifted off.

I slept well, except for a couple of times when I woke to see the stars shining between the pointy treetops, and fell back to sleep with a pleasant feeling. But then, I had a bad dream. It was probably because I had eaten too much. I dreamt that Merwin was in the sub in the middle of a storm. He was panicking in the small space, trying to escape. He climbed up the ladder and opened the hatch. I yelled at him to come back down, but he wouldn’t listen. Then he climbed out, fell overboard, and drowned. I woke with the image of his body drifting away, and a strong feeling that it would not be a good idea to agree to his plan. I’d be happy to share whatever I could about submarines, and grateful for whatever he could teach me about the environment, but we’d have to do it on land. Besides, Hollie and I really needed a break from being at sea.

But when I told Merwin my decision, he was ready for me again. He didn’t take no for an answer.

“Alfred?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve come here to become an environmentalist, right?”

“Right.”

“And that’s because the oceans are in trouble and need our help, right?”

“Right.”

“Because we’re destroying them, aren’t we?”

“Yes, I guess so.” Where was he going with this?

“Okay then, how can it make sense for you to worry about my safety when the oceans and the whole world is being destroyed? What’s the point of trying to save my life if we’re going to lose everything anyway? Wouldn’t it make more sense to help me become a more effective environmentalist, too, danger and all?”

How could I argue with that? He was right. Why did I feel so responsible for his safety anyway? He was a grown man; he ought to be able to look after himself.

“Okay. You’re right. I will agree to your plan.”

“You
will
? Great!”

“I just need to know a couple of things first.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Do you have claustrophobia?”

“No.”

“Can you swim?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, or just a little?”

“I’m a strong swimmer.”

“When was the last time you went swimming?”

“I don’t know, maybe ten years ago. What’s that got to do with sailing a submarine?”

“Everything.” He was not a strong swimmer; he was out of shape. “If you come to sea with us, you’ll have to swim. Your life will depend on it. If you’re not in good shape, you might drown.”

“That may be so, but that’s a risk I am willing to take.”

Yah, I thought to myself, but I’m the one who will have to deal with your dead body.

“You’re thinking it will be harder than it will be, Alfred.”

I shook my head. “You’re thinking it will be easier than it will be.”

Chapter Sixteen

BEFORE WE COULD GO anywhere, we had to pick up the sub, stock it with food, and fill it with fuel, which I was hoping would be vegetable fat once Merwin had modified the engine to burn it. I hoped that wouldn’t be too difficult to do. Though he was highly skilled at making machinery look amazing, I didn’t know if he was any good at making it work. If his choice of casings were any example, then I’d say we were in trouble. But perhaps he just had no experience with water pressure. In the back of my mind, I knew that Ziegfried wouldn’t be pleased to know that anyone was fiddling around with the engine of the sub that he had built, and I knew that I had to tell him before we did anything, which I planned to do from a phone booth on my way back to the sub. But first, we would go for a ride in one of the vans, and I would have a chance to see a vegetable-fat engine in action, which I was really keen to do.

So we climbed into one of the old campers, and Merwin turned the key. But nothing happened except a sound like a marble dropping and rolling through a gumball machine. Merwin didn’t seem concerned. Suddenly the engine shook, banged, and rattled like an old cow with a cold. It coughed and wheezed, and then belched out a cloud of blue smoke that completely hid the trees behind us.

“She’s a little shaky to start,” said Merwin. He was shouting over the noise. “Once she warms up, we can switch from diesel to fat.”

“You mean, you’re burning diesel now?”

“Yeah, you have to start with diesel, otherwise you’ll clog up the motor. Vegetable fat has a thick viscosity; it has to run hot. You have to run diesel before you shut it off, too”

“But…doesn’t the engine burn only vegetable fat once you convert it?”

“No, you have to burn both. You have two tanks: one for fat; one for diesel.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t like the cloud of blue smoke either. “Your engine sounds clogged
now
. When was the last time you cleaned it?”

“Cleaned it? Never. Don’t worry; the blue smoke will burn off after a bit. She’ll run well enough once she’s out on the road.”

But she didn’t. She stalled four times in the yard. So we pushed her out to the road, jumped in, and coasted downhill while Merwin popped the clutch to start her.

“She’s been sitting awhile,” said Merwin as we went noisily down the road.

We hadn’t gone far when he suddenly swerved to the side of the road, hit the brake, and skidded to a stop. The engine promptly stalled.

“Why did you stop?”

“Snails.”

“What?”

“On the road. Do you see all those little rocks on the road?”

“Yes?”

“Those are snails. Come on, let’s lift them off the road.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.” Merwin flicked his emergency blinkers on, jumped out of the camper, and started picking up snails. I joined him.

“They come out after a rain. Why they want to cross the road, I don’t know. But if we don’t pick them up, they’ll get run over.”

I looked down the road and saw what looked like bits of gravel that had fallen off the back of a truck. They stretched for as far as I could see. “But we can’t pick up snails all day?”

“No, but we can save a lot of them. Some of the snails of Tasmania are endangered.”

“Are these ones?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet anyway. But a little prevention goes a long way.”

And so, for a little over two hours, Merwin and I walked along the road picking up snails. Often a car would come by and run over them, crushing their shells. But we saved hundreds, that is, unless they crawled back up the bank and onto the road. We had to push the camper to get her going again, and left a fat cloud of blue smoke in our wake. At least the engine was burning vegetable fat, not diesel, once it was warmed up; and that was supposed to be better for the environment.

In Hobart, we picked up five heavy pails of smelly, deepfried fat from a restaurant. The cooks at the restaurant gave Merwin the fat for free. We loaded the pails into the camper and headed back. Merwin never turned the motor off, for fear it would stall. He drove the van like a bus driver, swinging his arms in wide circles.

“We’ll heat the fat in the shop and strain it. Then it’ll be good to burn.”

“Can you tell me again why it is better to burn vegetable fat?” I needed to hear it again because the clouds of smoke we were leaving everywhere were bothering me. How could this be better for the environment?

“Because we don’t have to drill it out of the ground. We don’t have to cause environmental damage and oil spills, and we don’t have to kill animals, birds, and fish in our hunger to get it. Vegetable fat is even better than biodiesel because it has already been used once to feed us, and a second time to give us energy.”

“Oh. I just wish we weren’t leaving a trail of blue smoke everywhere we go.”

“Yeah, an electric motor would be great, but the power has got to come from somewhere. And most of the electricity in the world is generated from burning coal, which is the dirtiest of all fuels.”

“I know. I saw a protest about it in Perth.”

“We’re lucky in Tasmania because we get most of our power from hydroelectric dams on our rivers, and wind turbines, although those technologies have their problems, too. They wanted to build the Franklin Dam back in the seventies, but it would have created a lake and flooded forests, animal habitat, and ancient aboriginal art. So a bunch of us protested hard against it, and they threw us in jail. But in the end, we won.” Merwin smiled. “That was the start of the environmental movement here.”

He pointed to a faded photograph on the dash that showed a young man with a beard, long black hair and a headband, being handcuffed by police. “That’s me. I was a hippy then.”