Whale Boy Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Nicola Davies

  Copyright

  About the Book

  There’s a place where the water runs deep enough to lose the highest mountain. That’s where the whales come. And here’s how to find it . . .

  Michael has never seen a whale – at least, not a real one. Everyone knows they disappeared from the waters around the little island of Liberty years ago.

  But then a mysterious stranger comes to Liberty and offers Michael what he’s always dreamed of: his very own boat. All he has to do in return is help the stranger find the whales – and promise to never tell a soul.

  Michael is about to learn that sometimes dreams come at a price . . .

  WHALE BOY

  NICOLA DAVIES

  For Hal and the crew of

  Firenze, Elendil and Baleana,

  with love and thanks.

  There’s a place where the water runs deep enough to lose the highest mountain. That’s where the whales come. So many you can walk on their backs.

  And here’s how to find it. . .

  1

  All day Michael stared out of the window. The ocean peeped at him from between the houses on the bay. That sliver of blue was like a promise. ‘I’m here,’ it said, ‘waiting for you!’

  Of course it got him into trouble, like always: Mrs Matthews told him off for daydreaming, and Mr Damou made him stay in at lunch time and write I must pay attention in school fifty times on the blackboard. Eugenia, who had sat next to him in class since first grade, wagged her finger at him. ‘You’ll never amount to anything, Michael Fontaine,’ she scolded, ‘if all you think of is the sea!’

  Michael didn’t answer her. What did Eugenia know? She wanted to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a president – something shut inside a building. She didn’t know what it was like to be out on the sea. She didn’t know how the waves whisper on a hot day, or how the dolphins ride your bow as you skim through the swells. She didn’t know about the place where the whales were.

  There’s a place where the water runs deep enough to lose the highest mountain. That’s where the whales come. So many you can walk on their backs . . .

  Michael’s father, Samuel, had told him this just before he went away. Most of the time the whales wandered the wide oceans, but sometimes they swarmed in waters close to land.

  ‘And this tells you how to find them,’ he had said, putting a silver medallion around Michael’s neck. It was shaped like a new moon, with the head of a sperm whale on it. Samuel had read the tiny words etched in the silver because Michael had been too small to read very well.

  When Peter hides the Devil and . . .

  ‘It’s half of a riddle,’ Samuel had told him.

  ‘But where’s the other half?’ Michael exclaimed in disappointment.

  His father shrugged. ‘I think my grandpa gave the other half to my big brother Davis.’

  ‘So what did the words on Uncle Davis’s half say?’ Michael had asked.

  ‘I don’t know, son. Uncle Davis and I weren’t close, and he kept his medallion out of sight, so I never found out what it said.’ Then he laughed at his son’s solemn face. ‘But it’s just an old story, anyway. Nothin’ will work to find whales now; they were hunted out around the island long ago.’

  Michael had known with his head that his father was right, the whales had gone. But in his heart he had wondered, if the sea was so big, could whales still be hidden somewhere, and come back to the waters around Liberty? Samuel had just smiled his big warm smile and said, ‘I hope it keeps you safe, son, even if it’s no good for finding whales.’

  Now Michael touched the medallion through his shirt. He always kept it hidden, as if bringing it into the light would make the memory of his father and the idea of whales fade to nothing.

  Whether or not there were whales still in the ocean, Michael longed to be out on it, free under the sky. But to do that, you needed a boat, and today was the day when he was finally going to get one. Just like the sea, it was waiting for him. It had been waiting for three years, but from today, it wouldn’t have to wait any longer. Now it would be his to go wherever he pleased – across the bay to catch fish or the whole way to the horizon. All he had to do was wait for school to be over, then he could escape.

  The moment the bell sounded, he was off. He dodged across the playground and out of the gate. The other children watched him go and shrugged: that Michael Fontaine was a mystery – he never seemed to talk to anyone in school and he was always rushing somewhere.

  Michael ran across the park, between the talipot palms and the frangipani trees. He didn’t stop to watch the tiny emerald hummingbirds dashing amongst the hibiscus blossoms, but raced straight out onto the Old Town road, which ran around the bay. He ran past the little wooden houses and the shops with homemade signs, and the gaps between them where the beach and the ocean showed through. Taxis and buses jostled along in the Friday afternoon heat – children going home from school, tourists heading inland to the mountains, grown-ups finishing work early. Girls perched in doorways plaiting their hair and painting their nails. On the pavement, old ladies on picnic chairs sold mangoes from carrier bags, and a skinny fisherman chopped up a huge tuna with a machete, like someone doing a conjuring trick. Calypso music danced out of open windows, and it felt like the whole of Rose Town was already in holiday mood, although it was just an ordinary weekend and Carnival was still a few weeks away.

  Everyone was in a good mood, and Michael’s many employers greeted him as they saw him running past. Mr Rooseveldt Dringo, whose bus, De Truth, Michael washed every Sunday night, honked his horn and whistled. ‘Mikey! Why you in such a big rush?’

  Miss Eliza Harmany, the proprietor of Gifted Hands Unisex Hair Salon, blew kisses. ‘Hey, Michael, you coming to sweep up for me Tuesday?’

  But only Mr Errol Joseph, owner of the Flying Fish Frizzle Bar and Restaurant, got any more than a smile and a wave out of Michael as he rushed along.

  ‘Michael!’ he called out. ‘Can you work tonight?’

  Michael stopped in the shade of the awning. ‘Sure, Mr Joseph,’ he panted.

  ‘Ah, Michael. I knew I could rely on you. Can I get you an iced tea? Wanna seat?’

  ‘Not right now, Mr Joseph. I’m on my way to put the next down payment on my boat!’

  ‘So that’s why you in such a rush!’ Mr Joseph smiled. ‘How long you been savin’ now, Mikey?’

  ‘Three years,’ he replied proudly.

  Mr Joseph shook the boy’s hand solemnly. ‘Respect to you, Mikey!’ he said. ‘You’ll be catching fish like your father did any day now!’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow!’ Michael grinned. ‘Mr Levi said I could take the boat when I’d paid half of the price. And this’ – he patted the money in his pocket – ‘makes up the half!’

  Mr Joseph’s face clouded. ‘D’you mean Edison Levi? At the yard next to the fish market?’

  The grim look on Mr Joseph’s f
ace made Michael’s mouth go dry. He nodded without speaking.

  Mr Joseph shook his head in dismay. ‘Oh Mikey! You better get down there. They’re putting some big old fence round the whole place, shuttin’ everyone out.’

  Michael didn’t wait to ask any more. He flew along past the public baths, the radio station and the library, through the one smart bit of town where a few swanky hotels looked out to sea, and down to the seafront. He felt as if his feet weren’t even touching the hot concrete as he sped round the corner of the fish market and went smack into the taut steel mesh of a huge pair of gates. A sign said:

  KEEP OUT!

  NEW MARINE ENTERPRISES –

  BRINGING PROSPERITY FROM THE OCEAN TO THE

  REPUBLIC OF LIBERTY:

  ROSE TOWN QUAY REDEVELOPMENT PROGRAMME AND

  MARINE EXHIBITION CENTRE

  Edison Levi’s shack had stood at the corner of the fish market for ever. His stock of scruffy canoes and battered rowing boats had gathered alongside like a little flock of ragged seagulls, among them the boat that Michael had come to think of as his own. It was not much bigger than a table top, and its blue fibreglass was whiskery from age and sun, rather like Mr Levi himself. But it didn’t leak and it was easy to row. It was his start in the world; the first step towards having a boat big enough to take people out fishing and dolphin spotting, the way he and his dad had always planned. From the moment he set eyes on it, Michael had loaded it with a cargo of dreams.

  Mr Levi had kept a careful record of every one of Michael’s down payments in the red notebook that he stored under the cushion of his rocking chair. Only two days ago he had said, ‘Another twenty dollars, Mikey, and you can start to use her. Once you’re catching fish you’ll pay off the rest in no time. Hey, I’ll even throw in a fish trap!’

  But there was no sign of Edison Levi now. Men in hard hats were flinging the splintered remains of his shack into a huge skip, where fragments of boat stuck up like teeth. The blue prow of Michael’s boat poked out at one end, its broken stern at the other. Michael laced his fingers through the wire fence and stared in horror.

  ‘Where’s Mr Levi?’ he yelled out to the workmen.

  One of them walked towards him, scowling. ‘Go ’way!’ he growled. He had a strong accent that made his words sound unfamiliar.

  ‘D’you know where Mr Levi’s gone?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Infierno?’ The man shrugged, then banged the wire. ‘You go now!’

  ‘Did you find a book – a red notebook?’ Michael persisted.

  The man smiled nastily and pulled the little book from the pocket of his overalls. ‘This? No, I no find.’

  Michael felt himself turn cold as the man flung Mr Levi’s notebook into the water and walked away, laughing.

  The pages scattered over the surface and the cheap paper was immediately soaked through. In moments all record of Michael’s three years of hard-earned payments had sunk to the bottom of the harbour.

  2

  All the way back along the Old Town road Michael’s outside smiled at people and greeted them politely. But inside, disappointment and anger swirled like a hurricane, a storm so fierce that he hardly knew what his outside was doing. When he finally noticed where he was, he found he was standing on Cat’s Paw Beach, the little strand just out of town, near his grandmother’s house.

  A slap on the shoulder brought his inside and outside properly back together. It was So-So, who had been his father’s friend and had taught him about boats and fishing after Samuel’s own father, Michael’s grandpa, Ivor, had drowned in a storm.

  ‘Ah! Michael, my star brother!’ So-So exclaimed with a huge beaming smile and another slap on the back that made Michael’s teeth rattle. Michael knew So-So must be old, but he was so spry and strong it was hard to think of him that way. It was only So-So’s brain that didn’t work so well these days; perhaps never had. Michael’s gran said that So-So had been born with a mind that was ‘visiting the cherubs’. Once he had had a little house and a boat and fished every day, but somehow he’d lost them both. Then he’d helped in Samuel’s boat, and now he lived under a tree on the beach. He wore all sorts of strange things that he found as clothing – today, a threadbare orange beach towel as a skirt and a long necklace made from the ring pulls from drinks cans.

  He stood in front of Michael and looked intently into his face. ‘Your heart is troubled, my brother star!’ he said. ‘I know it!’

  So-So might visit angels and wear trash as jewellery, but Michael’s dad had always said that he saw things other people didn’t.

  He rested a big hand on Michael’s shoulder. ‘Be not troubled, my star brother,’ he said. ‘You are growing into a strong man and the sun shall not smite you by day, nor the moon by night. Not while So-So is here, you father’s friend.’

  There was a sadness in So-So’s eyes that made it hard to hold his gaze, but there was a calmness too. Michael felt the hurricane inside die down. He sighed.

  ‘Better, better!’ said So-So, nodding. ‘You are like your father – one moment sunlight and the next shadow, one moment storm and the next calm. But now you are peaceful, see? We will fish! Pascal says the fish are in the bay.’

  He pointed to the far end of the beach, where a little knot of people had formed around a net, and handed Michael a face mask and snorkel; Michael smiled at his father’s old friend, and together they ran down the beach to join the fishing party.

  Pascal Loubière had been fishing Cat’s Paw Bay for fifty years. He spent his days playing dominoes with his cronies in a hut overlooking the beach so he could watch the water and the sky. He could tell, like no one else, when there were fish to be caught. So when Mr Loubière asked for help with his net, you knew it would be worth your while. Michael trod water while Mr Loubière, So-So and five other regular helpers waded up to their chests to spread the net in an arc across the cove. It was good to be in the water. Floating here, with the green heights of the island billowing up above the town, and the ocean cradling his body, he felt better: Gran would know where to find old Mr Levi; he would get his down payments back; he would buy another boat somewhere else.

  Mr Loubière waved, and Michael put the mask over his face and dived. Suspended in the water between the softly gleaming sand and the crinkled brightness of the surface was a big shoal of ballyhoo, like a woven basket of silver threads, moving this way and that in the water. Michael swam towards them, coaxing them between Mr Loubière’s helpers, and within the line of the net. This wasn’t as good as being out at sea in a boat, but it would do for now.

  As Michael wriggled his damp body back into his clothes, So-So gave him half of his own share of the catch, and a plastic bucket to carry the fish in. ‘Don’t want to be like some bong-belly pikny,’ he said, patting his stomach. ‘Only need enough to eat and buy some smokes.’

  Michael tried to thank him, but So-So just waved his hands in front of his face, and backed away down the beach, laughing. ‘You are creation stepper, my brother star,’ he called out. ‘You are sun and dark – you walk the world of trouble with no fear.’

  It was the perfect time to be selling fresh fish. People were hurrying home and looking for something for supper. Almost at once an old green car drew up alongside the pavement where Michael stood with his bucket. A lady in sunglasses smiled out at him.

  ‘Michael! How are you?’

  It was Eugenia’s mother. Eugenia was in the back seat with her baby brother, Mostyn. She looked at him disapprovingly, as always.

  ‘I’m good, thanks, Mrs Thomson. You want some fish?’

  ‘I do indeed. In fact you’ve just saved us from having nothing but rice for supper. I’ll take all you have.’

  ‘Fine. I just need to keep some back for my gran.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Thomson handed over a five-dollar bill.

  ‘You want to take the bucket for the fish, Mrs Thomson?’ Michael asked. ‘I’ve got a little bag for my gran’s.’

  ‘Oh, that’s kind, Michael,’
she said. ‘I’ll get Eugenia to bring it to the Flying Fish tonight.’

  Michael’s face showed his astonishment.

  ‘So I guess you didn’t know?’ Mrs Thomson laughed and turned round to Eugenia. ‘Tell Michael about your new job, Eugenia!’

  Eugenia was fussing with her baby brother’s hair and spoke without looking at him. ‘I’m going to wait tables for Mr Joseph,’ she said.

  ‘She saving to put herself through college,’ Mrs Thomson told him proudly. Eugenia said nothing – she just carried on making sure her brother’s perfectly white socks were folded down just the same on each foot. Poor kid, Michael thought. He can’t get away from her wanting everything in straight lines.

  ‘Thanks for the fish, Michael!’ said her mother.

  ‘No problem, Mrs Thomson!’ Michael smiled his best businessman’s smile, and waved as the car coughed and grumbled its way into the traffic.

  Saving for college indeed! Michael punched the fence of the Morning Glory Bakery and made its boards ring. Now he would have Eugenia’s nagging all evening as well as all day. Still, the thought of Eugenia eating fish that he’d caught was almost enough to put a spring back in his step. I may not amount to much in your eyes, Eugenia Thomson, he said to himself, but your belly would be growling tonight if it weren’t for me!

  3

  The sun was sinking as Michael ran home, and on the last bend he almost bumped into someone in the fading light. It was Gran, on her way back from her job in the Shiny Row Laundry in town. Even though she was older than the hills, she kept on working.

  ‘Nobody’s gonna look out for you and me, my boy,’ she always said, ‘so we got to do it for our own selves.’

  Gran had been looking out for Michael for most of his life, since his mum had gone back to England when he was a tiny baby. His mum came from an old Liberty family – back in the whaling days they had been harpooners – but had moved to London when she was very small. She had met Michael’s father when she’d returned to Liberty for a visit one year at Carnival time; Samuel thought they’d always live together on the island.