Song for a Whale: Chapters 10–29

The befuddled face of Wendell’s father peeked into the room. He looked like a taller version of Wendell, but with a bald brown head instead of a buzz cut.

He knew them by their songs made of low, mournful tones, announcing their grief to the ocean.

Playing Blue 55’s song was even better than hearing it. Mr. Russell made a tapping motion near the correct key, but I already knew which note to play. I placed a finger on the thirteenth key, then looked up to wait for his cue.

My hands hovered over the keyboard.

I tried to tell myself I was just a little lost because I’d been looking down at the book when they started their conversation. But if that were it, I’d be able to catch up right away. Instead, I felt like I was tumbling in the murky water of the Gulf after a wave knocked me over.

I was intrigued by your idea right away but wanted to run it by the rest of the team first.

He looked at Mom for an interpretation, but I signed to her, “Don’t interpret anymore.” Dad’s chest heaved with a sigh, so he must have understood that part.

I was like Blue 55, shouting into the void of the ocean, at a frequency too high for anyone to reach.

The pod swam ahead, tails thrashing if he got too close.

Maybe the churning and the pounding and the rolling water that carried his sounds away would rearrange them into a new composition another would hear.

“Jupiter knocked it out of orbit. One day it got too close, and Jupiter sent it hurtling out of the solar system.”

Plus, my hair was thick enough to protect me from the cold even if I went sledding across the Arctic tundra.

He grabbed a set of jumper cables from the bed of the truck. As soon as I lifted the plastic covers over the battery terminals for him, I saw the problem.

I pointed at the caked-on corrosion. “Clean those off and maybe it’ll start.”

She shook our hands and said something to us. I guessed she was introducing herself. Her golden name tag read JOJO, CABIN STEWARD, GHANA.

The ship lurched as it pulled away from the dock.

The waiter—CONSTANTIN, ROMANIA—unfurled the cloth napkins and placed them in our laps.

“And when the song was over, we got a standing ovation! We started to go back to our table, but the next couple asked if we’d sign while they sang. We kept it going the rest of the night. We didn’t know many of the songs, but we did what we could on the spot with the lyrics in front of us.”

One thing caught my eye as I scanned the next day’s events. An Alaskan wildlife presentation by Sura Kilabuk, the naturalist aboard the ship. Alaskan wildlife had to include whales.

Two people stood on stage near the podium, fiddling with the microphones and getting the slideshow ready.

A spotlight stayed on Sura as she narrated over the slideshow, but with all the pictures and video clips and text on the screen, I could follow along without watching her.

Maybe it was the wrong day to look for whales. I turned when Sura pointed to our right. At first I didn’t see anything. Then a plume of spray shot into the air.

Another whale breached, then left behind a wall of splashing water after it sank beneath the surface again. Seeing them in real life was nothing like looking at pictures or videos.

The paper had a bunch of pictures of blow spouts from whales. The top of the page had the heading “There She Blows!”

Sura turned to another page in her notebook, which showed pictures of whale flukes.