Eco Warrior (23 page)

He just nodded again. He was definitely suspicious now. I could feel it. At least he didn’t follow us out. Maybe we were going to get away with it. I pulled the trolley out, and Hollie trotted beside me. As I closed the door, I saw the man watching us. I turned and walked away quickly, pulling the trolley behind me. I felt my spine tingle.

We went about quarter of a mile down the road, when I heard him yell. “Hey! Hey!”

Shoot! He was coming after us. What should I do? Should I run for it? But what about the groceries? We really needed them. Could I toss some of them into the bushes before he got here, and come back for them later? No. There was no time for that. Desperately, I grabbed a bag of potatoes, a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and started to run.

“Come on, Hollie!
Run
!”

“Wait! Don’t run! Wait!”

I turned around. He had stopped running, so I stopped. To get away from him I would have had to drop everything and really sprint. But I had paid for it, and hated to leave with nothing.

“Wait,” he said. His voice was not threatening. “I know who you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know who you are. I want to give you your money back.”

“You want to give me my money back? Why?”

He held the money in his hand, and reached it out to me. “Here. Take it. I don’t want your money.”

“But…what about the groceries?”

“They’re yours.”

“I don’t understand.”

He rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Look.”

I looked. On his right arm was a tattoo of a whale. On his left arm was a tattoo that said, “Save the whales!”

“I’m your ally, mate. I’m a supporter of the Sea Shepherd Society. I saw you on television. You guys are doing what I wish I could do. The least I can do is help out in other ways. Here, take your money back. I don’t want it.”

I reached out my hand and took the money. “Thank you…” I wanted to say more, but couldn’t. My throat swelled up. I was so tired, and hungry, and moved by his kindness. But I had to get a grip on my emotions. It was embarrassing.

“It’s okay, mate. Just know that there are those of us rooting for you. Keep up the good work.”

I managed to clear my throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re all right.” He reached over, slapped me on the shoulder, turned around, and started back. I watched him go. Then I went over and picked up the groceries. As I pulled the trolley towards the lighthouse, every step felt a step lighter.

Epilogue

THE SEA TOSSED US AROUND like an untethered buoy. I had a pot of stew on the stove, a cup of tea in my hand, and my book on my lap. Hollie was happily chewing the end of a rope, but the movement of the sub kept rolling it away from him, and he had to pull it back with his paw. Seaweed was in a deep sleep. His webbed feet secured him to his spot. It would take a pretty big wave to shake him loose. Margaret’s letter reminded me of something Thoreau had written. I opened the book to the first chapter and searched for the words. I felt less alone when I read Thoreau’s words because it felt as though he were sitting right across from me, saying the words out loud, slowly, solemnly, and maybe with a twinkle in his eye.

What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true today may turn out to be falsehood tomorrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields. What old people say you cannot do, you try and find that you can.

I didn’t yet know why they called Thoreau the father of the environmental movement, but I sure felt armed with his words. It made me wonder if words were our best weapon. Even Captain Watson, as fierce as he was on the sea, was fighting the whalers in the courts, too, and on television, where the weapons were words. Maybe I could learn to do that, too. I thought of Margaret, working on an organic farm in India. She was learning something new all over again. I thought of the tattooed man who gave me the groceries for free because he believed so much in the Sea Shepherd Society. Everyone who cared was helping in his or her own way, and every action mattered, big or small. That was something I learned from Merwin. As I got up to stir the stew, and turned to look at my resting crew, I felt my worries fade away like shadows in the night, and a strong conviction take their place. I felt I could remember the whales now without tears, those noble, intelligent, and beautiful creatures. We were sailing to Japan to face their killers.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Philip Roy lives in St. Marys, Ontario, with his family, and their 17-year-old cat. Continuing to write adventurous and historical young adult novels focusing on social, environmental, and global concerns, Philip is also delighted to be embarking upon
Mouse Pet
, his third book in the “Happy the Pocket Mouse” series (illustrated by Andrea Torrey Balsara), due out in the fall of 2015, as well as the eighth volume of the “Submarine Outlaw” series, set in Japan (Ronsdale Press). Along with writing, travelling, running, composing music, and crafting folk art out of recycled materials, Philip spends his time with his growing family. Visit Philip at
www.philiproy.ca.