litlinks 2019

The Whales

by Penelope Robson, Canberra Grammar School

There were two whales on the beach one morning; sculpted in the wet sand, with shells for eyes. A mother whale, with an elegant, sweeping tail, and a baby, following her, with plump fins.

No one knew who made the whales, they just appeared there. Women with dyed blonde hair took photos on their rose-gold phones, and children scrambled over them, their chubby feet leaving prints.

By the evening, the whales were broken, their fins crumbling into the sand, while the tide lapped at their tails.

Image submitted by Penelope Robson.

When the first rays of golden light broke the horizon, the whales were back. Someone must have come in the night, shovelling, smoothing, sculpting the sand to create a fin, a head, a tail. Once again, the people came to marvel, to stare, to touch, and once again, the whales fell back into the sand.

All summer long, the tides rose and fell, and the whales came and went. The long afternoons began to dwindle, and the holidaymakers from the south packed up and left. Local children made scrabbly turtles and dolphins, but they were smaller, their bodies misshapen. With the arrival of autumn, the children left the beach, shouldered their bags, and slogged their tanned bodies to the classrooms.

The whales remained.

There was one person who refused to see the whales, and her name was Meredith. When they were brought up in casual conversation over a beer, she would snap her old, knobbly fingers and change the flow of conversation to light-hearted gossip. Her friends and neighbours tried to drag her to the beach to see the whales, but she would briskly refuse.

No one alive could remember her even going to the beach.

People speculated over this. Gloria, who religiously read her horoscope, believed that Meredith was born under the influence of Mars, and therefore had a tendency to avoid whales. Tom, who was a seasoned fisherman, declared that Meredith was just “too bloody old to even know what a whale was”. Amanda said she should drink some kale juice to cleanse her body of toxins, and then she would want to go and see the whales.

But this was just speculation; no one really knew, because no one could even remember her being young. It seemed she had just been old and secretive forever.

The cold fingers of winter began to sneak through the streets of the little beach town. The holiday makers returned from the snow-filled south in search of sunshine and sea. They gallivanted across the dunes, and laughed with surprise to see the whales, still elegantly perched on the beach.

Edwin, who came from a city filled with grey skyscrapers, decided to camp out on the beach one night, in a fanciful attempt to spy on the whale maker. His younger brother, Freddie, enthusiastically joined him. They plotted and planned, stole a tattered tent from someone’s yard, and snuck down to the beach.

They sat together, watching the inky black mass of the sea thrash against the shore. The wind’s fingers laced through the children’s hair, and wove themselves through the branches of the casuarina trees.

Clouds veiled the pinpricks that were stars. Thunder rolled in from the sea. Suddenly, the black sky cracked open, and the beach lit up like day. The children scurried from the beach, chased by the storm.

—

The next morning, people talked. Gloria scolded the children, declaring that they had upset the stars by spying on the whales. Tom told them that going out on the beach when a storm was brewing was a “bloody stupid idea”. Amanda said that their mother had not fed them enough quinoa for breakfast, and that was to blame for their bad decision making.

Meredith, however, trotted to the holiday house where the children were staying. Unannounced, she hugged them tightly, as if they were her own, and they had just escaped from the dangerous sea.

And when Edwin and Freddie ran onto the beach that afternoon, they saw that the whales were still there, untouched by the storm of the night before.

There was now a certain mystery about these whales, a mystery that seeped into town gossip and stories. People again speculated, and again Meredith refused to talk about such happenings.

The afternoons slowly lengthened, and golden light and warmth began to fill the evenings.

One day in early summer, the heat fell over the beach like a blanket, and the breeze from the sea was stifled. The blue of the sky was intense, making the afternoon feel like it was off-date, left on the shelf for too long. Meredith was sitting on her verandah, sipping from a tall glass. The effervescent water sparkled; a sliver of lime, encrusted in thousands of tiny bubbles, floated near the surface. The gleaming liquid swirled, as if stirred by an angel’s finger.

Meredith slowly stood, weighed down by the heat. She placed her tall glass on a table, her fingers trembling. The glass fell and smashed, a thousand diamonds sprinkled across the verandah. She walked slowly across the street, her bare feet wincing in response to the burning bitumen.

Meredith reached the sand and shuffled across the beach to where the whales were sitting. She knelt down, her knees popping and cracking with age. She pressed her brown, sun-spotted cheek against the smooth back of the whales. Her chapped fingers traced them, leaving gentle trails in the sand. Her deep brown eyes were blank and unseeing.

But she could see. The images were running through her head like a film. She could see the sunshine of a long-ago summer, and a boy with tanned skin. He is splashing in the shallows, his blue eyes sparkling. His dark blond hair drips with sweat and sea.

She could see her own legs, lying against the white sand. They are youthful and browned. She could see herself in her polka-dotted swimsuit, and can feel her long, blonde hair against her back.

She could see the sunset, and taste the sweetness of chocolate ice cream. She could feel the lips of the boy against her own, a clumsy first kiss.

She could feel the weight of a diamond ring on her finger, and could hear the approving voice of her mother.

She could see the clear, calm strip of ocean.

She could see the boy, now a man, run into the sea, laughing, blowing kisses. She could see his arms flailing as the rip pulls him out into the dark depths.

She could see the crowds, the tears, the swathes of black, the flowers. She could see the death.

—

The cool night began to fall. Meredith was crying, tear tracks glittered; silver snail trails on her wizened face. She slowly rose and began to shuffle towards the sea. Her white dress flapped in the wind, the wedding dress she’d never had, its hem coated in wet sand. Slowly, slowly, she placed a toe into the gently foaming shallows. She felt the cool water surround her feet, a sensation she hadn’t experienced since her blissful youth.

That night, Meredith lay in her bed, and dreamt of the sea. She dreamt of swimming in the deep blue, surrounded by colourful fish, the boy of her memories, and two whales with sweeping tails. She could see the sunlight sparkling through the water, and could taste the cool saltiness.

The next morning, the whales were gone. Children running to the beach cried out in shock, wailed, and clung to their mothers.

Of course, people talked. Gloria blamed the gravitational pull of Uranus for the whales’ disappearance. Tom declared that it was some “bloody teenagers who thought it was okay to ruin the beach”. Amanda was too shocked to even discuss it, and went to make an acai bowl.

The sun beat down on the small coastal town. Meredith sat on her verandah, sipping a tall glass of mineral water, calmly watching the gleaming ocean in front of her. As she watched, she saw two graceful whale tails burst from the sea, and crash back down into the water with a splash.

The whales were free.