Zakes Mda - The Whale Caller

Saluni. She is laughing mockingly as she walks up the crag, imitating the confessor’s derisive laughter. Poor Mr. Yodd. He lost his temper because his laughter did not bruise her. He tried to rub salt on her self-inflicted anguish by chanting over and over: “Sharisha will be back soon! Sharisha will be back soon!” Chanting in the same rhythm as the Bored Twins when they tease her about something. About having a boyfriend, for instance. His voice, however, had the swishing harshness of a cat-o’-nine-tails. His efforts became pathetic when she chanted back: “Saluni fears nobody! Saluni will crush your little Sharisha to pieces!” When he broke into a laughter that would have shamed a stone she cackled back at him. That’s when he lost his temper and asked her to vacate his sacred grounds once and for all.

His laughter is a flagellum. But this woman is so thick-skinned that she does not bleed at all. Not a single weal appears after the hardest flagellation. His efforts are wasted on her. Her indifference disempowers his laughter. He would rather have the Whale Caller anytime. The Whale Caller knows how to glory in penance. Not only does the flagellum send him into fits of mortification, even mere chastisement does the trick. Flagellation had become an addictive drug to the Whale Caller, until this arrogant woman featured in his life and took it over. How did Mr. Yodd lose his hold on him? Mr. Yodd still puzzles over how Saluni became such a compelling drug that she was able to replace him.

She cackles on until she reaches the top, where she stands and faces down the crag challengingly. She will be back, she assures herself. Mr. Yodd has not heard the last of her. Her eyes stray past the emerald green shallows to the blue depths. Then she sees it. Something that brings shivers to her body. Not shivers of fear. Shivers of anger. There is the head of a whale at some distance sticking out of the surface of the blue depths. It is spyhopping, searching as if it has lost sight of its companions. From the callosities on the snout, the so-called bonnet, Saluni can tell that it is a southern right.

So, they are back! Mr. Yodd must have known that the southern rights were back. It is the end of July and they are gradually returning, until they peak in September and October. They will have her to contend with. Especially those that have wicked designs on her man. Who knows? It might be Sharisha herself who is crudely spyhopping out there. Saluni is prepared for a battle. She wanted some anguish in her life, but this is an overdose of it. She has always known that this day would come, but realises now that she has not prepared herself for it.

She practically runs home in her stockinged feet since she is carrying her pencil-heel shoes in her hands. She finds the Whale Caller pressing his tuxedo in the kitchen. Although occasionally he occupies himself in this manner, she suddenly suspects that there is a sinister motive for it this time. He must be aware of the return of the southern rights. His ears are keen for their songs. He must have heard them in the night and said nothing about it. Perhaps that is why he is displaying a smug smile.

“You have come from the mansion,” he says, “yet you don’t bring home any euphoria. Were the Bored Twins not there today?”

“It wore off as soon as I saw what you were up to,” she says, gearing for war.

“I am not up to anything, Saluni,” he says. “What happened to you?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. You didn’t tell me that they were back. You were hiding it from me.”

He looks at her suspiciously.

“Did you go to Mr. Yodd today?” he asks. “You look like someone who has come from Mr. Yodd rather than from the Bored Twins.”

“Of course I did.”

“I think you have got the trick, Saluni. Imbibe euphoria from the Bored Twins, and then tone it down with Mr. Yodd’s sombre-ness. Trust you to think of something brilliant like that. I should try it sometime.”

“And I saw your damn whales too!”

“Well, Saluni, it is the season. But that shouldn’t upset you at all. I find it exciting that the whales are back. Now we’ll be able to dance to their songs at dawn.”

He puts the iron on the ironing board and reaches for her, sweeping her away in an impromptu waltz. She resists and pushes him away. There is a smell of anger and resentment in the room.

“Didn’t you miss our morning ballroom at the beach?” he asks amiably, hoping to pacify her. “I know I did.”

“More like you missed your rude nightlong dances with Sharisha.”

“So it is about Sharisha, is it? Was it Sharisha that you saw?”

“How the hell would I know? All whales look the same to me.”

“Were her callosities pure white? Did she have a perfect bonnet? Did she have callosities that look like the Three Sisters? Did she have a baby with her?”

“You are salivating already. You know what? You can go back to your confounded Sharisha for all I care.”

She storms out of the door and out of the gate. She walks for a while, not quite sure where to go. She would go to a movie house if she had the money. She would stay for a double feature so that he panics and goes out searching for her. He would go from tavern to tavern asking drunken sailors if they had seen his lover. None of them, of course, would claim to have seen her. He would walk for the whole night in the cold, searching and weeping. He would catch a terrible cold, flu even, and would be in bed for the whole week sweating and delirious. It would serve him right.

On a lamppost she sees a poster about a healing session that is being conducted by a visiting evangelical pastor from America. She walks to a soccer field where a circus-like marquee has been erected. This is where she is going to while away time until the man at home fries in worry. The hymns are lively and welcoming. Inside the tent a young charismatic preacher is preaching against the sins of the flesh: fornication, incest, sodomy and the like. He reads from Genesis 16 about a woman called Sarai who gave her Egyptian slave to her husband, Abram, to produce children since she herself could not conceive. The slave conceives and becomes arrogant, wanting to usurp the mistress of the house. “In the manner that maids do even today,” he adds this rider, to relate these ancient events to the modern lives of his congregation, some of whom are maids and have surely been involved in some hanky-panky with their masters. There are the madams too — as the employers of the maids are called — for such gatherings where people are healed and saved know no class boundaries. The madams in the congregation feel vindicated by the sermon. The preacher outlines with relish the conflicts between Sarai and the beautiful slave woman, embellishing them from the wealth of his imagination. When he has squeezed all the salacious juices from that story the congregation sings one verse of a hymn about the wrath of the Lord on all fornicators, and then the preacher turns to the Second Book of Samuel. He elaborates on the adulteries of King David and the children who were born out of them. He sounds like a gossip columnist rejoicing in the carnal lapses of a president. The congregation is fired with divine fervour. He seizes the opportunity to move them even to greater heights by returning to Genesis and reading God’s command to the crowd that has now become so enthralled that many of the men and women are foaming at the mouth: “You shall desire your husband and he will rule over you…” They are screaming and testifying in tongues. After a while Saluni is bored by their antics. The message being propagated here is not the kind she would like to entertain. The night is going to be long. The preacher is sure to find more Old Testament scandals to keep his congregation fired up. He is testifying about Lot’s daughters and their incestuous shenanigans that are graphically recorded in Genesis 19 when Saluni sneaks out of the tent. She seems to be the only one who has not been moved by the spirit. She is well aware of what will soon happen in that tent. Pairs in the congregation are gravitating into each other’s arms, aroused by the sacred texts.