Whale Song (4 page)

“
What do you mean
‘your brother’
?” I asked when my voice had returned from the pit of my stomach.

The girl grinned. “He comes back once in a while. To visit.”

She swam toward the raft, climbed up and plopped down cross-legged in front of me.

“
I’m Goldie,” she said. “Goldie Dixon. What’s your name?”

She was smaller than I was, and her skin was darker.

“
Sarah Richardson,” I replied shyly.

I glanced beyond the edge of the raft, wondering if I’d catch a glimpse of her brother.

“
Did you see his fluke?” Goldie asked, her face beaming.

Fluke? Of course…

I knew what the black thing was. It was a whale’s tail―its fluke. My father had shown me photos of whales from his marine biology class. Some pictures showed the whales’ flukes or tails, some showed whales spouting water and one even caught a whale as it breached and rose almost completely out of the ocean.

“
So where’s your brother?” I asked, looking around the raft.

“
He’s dead.”

My eyes widened with shock. “What?”

Goldie pointed toward the island. “He drowned. Out there.”

That’s when I recalled the tragic story my father had told me. I had almost convinced myself that he had made it up, just to scare me away from swimming out too far.

“
He died last year swimming out to Fallen Island,” she continued, as if I weren’t even there.

“
I heard,” I said. “My dad told me and my mom about it. I’m really sorry about your brother.”

She stared at me with huge dark eyes. “I’m a
Huu-ay-aht
First Nations
Indian. Most people call us
Nootka
Indians. Nana told me your family used to live in the United States―in Wyoming.”

“
Uh-huh,” I said. “My dad’s Canadian though. My mom and I are American.”

“
Any Indians in Wyoming?”

I nodded.

I told her that around our ranch, it was common to find an Arapaho Indian buying one of my mother’s paintings. We even had a Shoshone live in our barn for a while. He blessed our lands, our garden and my mother in return.

“
So why’d you say that was your brother out there?” I asked.

She looked at Fallen Island. “Nootka believe that killer whales are magical and powerful creatures―almost human. One legend says that killer whales would knock over canoes and drag fishermen overboard, down to the
Village of the Whales
. Then the drowned men would turn into whales themselves.” She stood slowly. “My brother has become a whale.”

She said this simply―as if there were no other explanation.

“
What’s his name?” I asked as goosebumps dotted my arms.

“
Robert.”

Finally, the boy from my father’s story had a name.

My eyes wandered to the initials engraved on the raft.
R.D.

Robert Dixon.

Even at such a young age, I understood how much Goldie needed to believe her Nootka legend. It made sense to me at the time. But as I watched her, I felt sorry for her. Her brother was dead. It was that simple.

Goldie jumped into the water. “Have you ever heard of the Haida Indians?” she asked, treading water.

I shook my head.

“
The Haida believe that if you see a whale near a town or village, you’re really seeing someone who drowned, someone who’s trying to talk to his family.”

Neither of us said a word. We simply stared at each other in quiet understanding. Then I dove into the water and we swam back to shore. I kept an eye out behind us though, looking for the whale. I think even Goldie knew that I was nervous.

On the beach, we sat down on some driftwood, dried off with our towels and talked about everything that we liked―our favorite foods, music and singers. She was a big fan of Shaun Cassidy. I was hooked on the Bay City Rollers.

I didn’t know why, but it was as though I’d known her all my life. Amber-Lynn wouldn’t be happy with me. Regardless, I was ecstatic to have met a new friend―even if Goldie did believe her brother was a killer whale.

“
You have very dark skin…for a
white
girl,” she said, eyeing me. “You sure you’re not Indian?”

“
My mom’s part Italian. She’s pretty dark too. My dad, though, he’s…uh…light.”

“
My parents are Nootka. My Nana lives with us too―my grandmother. She’s seventy-two years old. I also have a little sister. Shonda. She’s five. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I told her how my parents had struggled to have children and that when I came along they were so relieved that they decided to have only me. I asked her more about Robert and learned that he, like me, had been an excellent swimmer.

Goldie was very animated when she spoke about him. Her hands moved expressively and I discovered that she was a great storyteller. When she learned that my father was a scientist and was on the island to research killer whales, she grew silent. I knew she was worried about something.

“
He won’t hurt them, will he?” she asked, biting her lip.

I was stunned by that simple question.

“
Of course not. He’s here to
study
them, to find out how they communicate with each other and what their sounds mean. He’d never hurt them.”

Goldie was relieved. She stared past the raft, searching the water for a sign. I knew she was thinking of her brother.

As we dried ourselves off and proceeded down the beach toward my house, I invited her to come home with me and meet my mother. But she insisted she had to go home to look after her sister while her grandmother cooked supper.

“
I’ll be here tomorrow,” I said. “Where do you live anyway?”

She pointed down the beach and told me that her house was around the bend, just beyond a small dock. I promised her that I’d return the next day.

Then I raced home.

As I sprinted up to the deck and entered through the sliding doors, I glanced at my watch. “Shoot.” I was late.

“
I’m home,” I hollered.

I heard footsteps overhead. “Sarah, is that you?”

“
Yeah, Mom.”

A minute later she appeared. “I was just about to go look for you. It’s almost half past four.” She tapped her watch.

“
Sorry,” I said. “I met an Indian girl when I was swimming and we started talking…and I forgot about the time.”

My mother sat down at the dining room table. “What’s your friend’s name?”

I told her all about Goldie. When I got to the part about her brother, my mother’s smile vanished.

“
Mom, did you know that some Indians believe that if a person drowns they can come back as a whale?”

“
That’s a wonderful legend,” she replied, her smile returning.

Outside, a car engine rumbled to a stop. A second later, the back door opened and my father appeared.

“
Hey,” he said. “What have you two been up to all day?”

Before he could take his shoes off, I told him all about Goldie, her brother and the whale in the bay.

“
She’s afraid you’ll hurt the whales,” I said.

He patted my hand. “Tell her I’m just studying them. I promise I won’t hurt them.”

At suppertime, my father told us he had some exciting news.

“
Sea Corp
is getting a new schooner with state-of-the-art electronic equipment. It’s coming all the way from Finland.”

He was so excited that he couldn’t stop talking. He told us that the boat had been built a few years earlier and that one of his co-workers knew the previous owner and had convinced the man to sell it after a year of negotiations.

“
We’re going to study echolocation,” my father said. “Then we’ll look at whales’ dialects.” He turned to me. “Sarah, did you know that whales emit short sounds or clicks?”

I shook my head, trying hard not to laugh at him.

“
They listen for the reflecting echo,” he continued. “That’s how they can tell how far away an object is. Whales measure the time it takes for the echo to return. That’s called echolocation.”

He loved explaining things to us with his
scientific mind
.

Sometimes my mother would roll her eyes and say, “Here he goes again.”

“
Killer whales are also called Orcas,” he added. “And they’re divided into three ecotypes. Do you remember what they are?”

My father was a wonderful teacher. Over the past two years, he had taught me all about whales and dolphins.

“
I think so,” I answered. “Residents are the ones that stay in the same area. Uh, offshores are the ones that are offshore and don’t come too close in. And…I forget the last one.”

He gave me a patient smile. “Transients. They’re the ones that move around a lot. Some have even been sighted miles away from their original location. They’re a bit unpredictable and often eat other mammals.”

“
Well, Professor Richardson, are you ready for dessert?” my mother said with a laugh as she reached for his plate.

His hand shot out and grabbed hers. With a shriek, she jumped back. My father stared at her, then kissed her fingers.

“
I thought that
was
dessert,” he teased, his eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“
Yeah, but you never know where my fingers have been, Jack.” She snatched her hand back and pretended to pick her nose.

“
Ew!” I groaned.

My parents started laughing and it was contagious. Soon I joined them. Every time my mother snorted, we’d break into another fit of laughter.

Sometimes my family was so weird.

My mother and father were always touching each other, holding hands and kissing like teenagers. Most of the time I quite liked it. But sometimes when my friends were around, I found it rather embarrassing.

“
What are you doing tomorrow?” my father asked me.

I told him about my plans to meet Goldie again on the beach.

He asked my mother the same question.

“
I’m not telling,” she said, smiling mysteriously.

I went up to my room after supper and wrote a long letter to Amber-Lynn. I gave her a detailed account of the trip to Bamfield. Then I described my new house and my big bay window. I told her about the raft and swimming in the ocean. I even told her about Robert. But I never mentioned a word about Goldie. I sensed that Amber-Lynn might feel jealous of my new friend, so I told her about my father’s work, the new schooner and all about echolocation. I knew
that
would impress her.

When I finished writing the letter, I crawled into bed.

Sometime during the night, I had a dream that I was swimming in the ocean while a full moon ascended overhead. The water was warm and soothing, and I had no fear of it. As I floated on my back and looked up at the stars, restless waves gently nudged me back to shore.

Suddenly, a whisper of movement under the water caught my eye. A streak of black and white rushed by me, just under the surface.

A killer whale.

Its gleaming body shone in the opalescent glow of the moon.

I reached out a hand as it slid past me at a leisurely pace. Its smooth slippery skin was like the softest satin. It turned and swam past me again. Then the whale sank into the depths below.

After that, I slept peacefully.

I barely recalled that dream when I awoke the next morning, but many months later I remembered it and wondered if it was some kind of omen.

I know now that it was.

I met Goldie every afternoon in July and we became fast friends and confidants. She had a keen sense of adventure and a great imagination. She loved to tell me stories of her ancestors―legends from ancient times―and I was fascinated by them. From those stories, I learned to appreciate nature and the animals around me. We often saw bald eagles soaring overhead, and sometimes white-tailed deer would wander out from the forest.

One afternoon, she invited me to her house to meet her grandmother. “Everyone says Nana is special. You’ll love her.”

Nana was a wrinkled wise woman with the strangest hair I had ever seen. It hung down past her waist, thick and blacker than coal―except for one piece that framed the left side of her face. It was pure white.

She had deep amber-colored eyes that always sparkled. And like a hawk, she never missed anything. She seemed to know things―things that no human should know.

The first time I saw her, she was sitting in a rocking chair with her back to the door. She didn’t even flinch when we walked inside. I thought that maybe she was sleeping.

“
Nana,” Goldie said. “This is―”