Zakes Mda - The Whale Caller

Now the dance has got into her, to the extent that she is often the one who wakes the Whale Caller up even when he is too lazy to go waltzing in the morning. She hopes that their discovery of something that they can do together will make him appreciate her more, and will bind them together, until she becomes indispensable. It also helps her keep a close eye on him lest he gets entangled with another whale. Unfortunately she can’t be with him all the time, because sometimes she needs to quench her addiction to the Bored Twins. She needs the healing voices that cleanse both her body and her soul. But she also needs the wine with which the parents reward her occasionally. Of late the bottles are becoming scarcer, because the vineyard owners are under pressure from the workers themselves to stop the practice of paying them with bottles of wine. The vineyard owners are now gradually resorting to paying their labourers with the normal currency that is legal tender in the rest of South Africa. And this is not good news for Sal uni.

She goes to the mansion, spends the day with the Bored Twins and returns empty-handed. Even though the Whale Caller has refused to buy her wine on previous occasions, she asks him all the same, and once more he says no. She pesters him as he potters around the Wendy house, but he stubbornly stands his ground.

“You can’t do this to me, man,” she pleads. “You stopped me from going to the taverns where my mates bought me all the wine in the world.”

“You stopped for your own good,” says the Whale Caller.

“I stopped for you, man… I did it for you… Now look what I get.”

The Whale Caller ignores her and continues to look for things to occupy the hands that are unable to stay idle. He sits on the bed and polishes his shoes.

“I will drink all the methylated spirits in the house if you don’t buy me a bottle of wine.”

“Ah, you have been drinking my methylated spirits! I was wondering why a bottle that used to last me for months is now getting finished so quickly.”

“Please don’t make me beg, man. I hate begging.”

“I should have known it’s you! I don’t clean my suit that often. Since she left I don’t get to wear it at all.”

“Everything is about the fish, eh? Even when it’s not here! What about me? What about my feelings? What about my needs?”

“Even when I used to light a primus stove with methylated spirits… before 1 had this Wendy house wired for electricity… the methylated spirits lasted longer than it does since you came here.”

“I am a love child, man,” she screams almost hysterically. “You can’t do this to me; 1 am a love child!”

She blurts out the story of her conception, as she has told it numerous times before in the taverns of Hermanus — with the variations that the habitués of the taverns know so well. To the Whale Caller, of course, the version he hears today is the first one.

She was conceived on a rainy day by a beautiful teenager who was involved in an illicit love affair with a married man. Under a corrugated iron roof whose noise in the rain swallowed their moans of pleasure. Rain changed to hail, and at that moment the man hit the right spot and the seed was planted. The young woman was completely smitten with him, and hoped that now she was carrying his child, she would have him all to herself forever. But it was not to be. When the older man refused to leave his aged wife for her, she was devastated. She fell into a deep depression. She was consumed by the flames of love until she lost her mind. And indeed troubadours (they are a constant!) composed songs about her unrequited love. The child was born, and was named Saluni. She — Saluni — was only six months old when her lovesick mother poured petrol all over her body and immolated herself. To this day, Saluni says with a dramatic gesture, she remembers quite vividly the yellow flames that consumed her beautiful mother in the same manner that she had been consumed by love. She is a love child, she repeats, and as a love child she cannot be denied whatever her heart desires.

It is a romantic story that overwhelms the Whale Caller with deep feelings for her. Who would not love a love child? Who would be cruel enough to deny a love child a measly bottle of wine? He goes to a nearby hotel off-sales store and buys her a bottle of expensive wine, for he believes the cheaper autumn harvests are not good for her health; they will corrode her insides. But after just one sip Saluni complains: “This wine is no good. Too smooth. It’s for sissies. It’s like drinking water. Next time you give me the money and I’ll buy real wine.”

The Whale Caller ignores her whining and occupies himself with pressing his tuxedo even though he had already pressed it yesterday and the day before.

Besides dancing at dawn there are other things that Saluni and the Whale Caller do together. They go to the biggest supermarket in town to “window shop,” as they call it, for food. This began as Saluni’s project; her attempt to initiate him into what she refers to as civilised living. It started with decorating the walls with seashells. Then she bought a vase and a tablecloth from the flea market that is held on Saturdays at the parking lot. She brings tulips from the mansion and arranges them in the vase on the wobbly table. She rearranges the flowers every day, according to their colours, and as she does so the Whale Caller feels his own life being rearranged.

Civilised living includes a number of rituals against which his whole body rebels. But he goes along with them, especially because she reminds him all the time that she went along with his waltz at dawn. All of a sudden eating has become a ritual. Before this the Whale Caller used to eat in order to fill his stomach and didn’t attach much importance to the process. He could eat standing outside the Wendy house watching the distant waves, relaxing on the bed or even walking to Walker Bay. Now they sit down at the table. The table itself looks like an altar, with a white tablecloth, flowers and a candle. Although in most instances their diet comprises pasta and cheese, she makes a whole ceremony of eating it, in a number of courses — the same macaroni and cheese served as a starter, entrée and dessert — for she is keen to teach him how to eat a meal of many courses, which she says they are destined to do one day. Whenever he starts mumbling a complaint she reminds him: “We were born for better things. At least I was.”

He learns table manners, although he suspects that the whole ritual is geared towards arousing him. He is well aware that in the “civilised world” the ritual of eating is some kind of foreplay. That is why gentlemen and ladies have candlelight dinners before bedding each other. He remembers from his travels along the coast that in the African languages he came across the crudest word for sex, which literally translated into “eating.” In this garish language of the gutter a man eats a woman. The Whale Caller surmised it should have been the other way round — although that still leaves his body cringing from the rawness of it all.

The eating rituals extend to “window shopping” at the supermarket. This entails strolling along the aisles, stopping at the shelves displaying food they like, and then eating it with their eyes. They walk together pushing a trolley. Saluni stops in front of a shelf containing cans of beef stew. She looks at the pieces of meat, tomatoes, carrots and potatoes swimming in brown onion gravy on the label. She swallows hard as she eats the stew with her eyes. Then she moves on to the next shelf, and this one is stacked with cans of corned beef with a picture of the beef, potatoes and fried eggs sunny-side up. And then to cans of chicken à la king in thick mushroom sauce. Food fit for a queen. She gormandises it all with her greedy eyes. She takes a look at the Whale Caller, who has been staring at canned ravioli in tomato sauce. She is disgusted with him.