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Oya's days became a rhythm of tedium. Meals were delivered at regular intervals. The food was rich and filling and after a few days the effects of not doing enough to burn the calories off made her begin a routine of exercises that made her sweat, kept her limber and lithe.
Vardr came in at least once a day to talk to her, probing her story. She pressed back. Understanding remained elusive, but the belief that she was in nineteen fifty-two grew.
“May I have some paper and a pen?” she asked.
Vardr nodded. She wrote. Partly it was a diary, partly a memoir. She wrote about growing up, about fleeing Nigeria as the anarchy which had once been the speciality of the Middle East spread across Africa. In a moment of accepting the impossible she started a page with the header ‘Companies to invest in early’. Most were technology stocks which became big while she was a child, some of them founded by people whose birth would still be a few years away from nineteen fifty-two. She looked at the list. So much changed in seventy or eighty years, it was a different world. In nineteen fifty-two Nigeria wasn’t even an independent country. The US civil rights movement lay in the future. These were the hay-days of the US middle class, if you were white, male, and heterosexual.
Oya groaned from an overwhelming sense of displacement. Being black, and female, in this era stripped her of rights, made her nearly invisible. Maybe she could ask Vardr about claiming asylum in Norway.
A fortnight after saving her Vardr invited Oya to the bridge.
“Are you sure? What about your crew?”
“It’ll be a late watch, Jürgen and myself will be the only ones on the bridge. You should see more than just this cabin.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll send Jürgen for you.”
It wasn’t until after he left that Oya thought about the type of ship she was on, the cause of the ever-present stench. What happened out on the decks was sickening. So many animals butchered. Not going up to the bridge was a real consideration. But after two weeks of looking at the same walls, out the same porthole, she needed a change.
The bridge was dim, instrument glow provided the only light, though it was sufficient for her to spot a nineteen fifty-two calendar on the wall. Out front powerful lamps threw beams at the water. Light bounced off waves as the ship moved through the swell, lumps of ice glinted brightly in the water. The smell of blubber being rendered down hung thick in the room. Oya had hoped it would fade to a background odor, but it refused to go.
“Have you ever been in the Antarctic before?” Vardr asked. The captain wore dark jeans and a thick Fair Isle sweater. In the dimness his eyes looked like deep hollows with small orbs of light at the bottom.
“Once,” Oya said. “We were tracking reports of a pod of blue whales. The first decent lead we’d had on such a group for a while. It didn’t pan out. I’ve still never seen a whale.”
“Pardon?” Both Vardr and Jürgen stared at her.
“What?”
“Why have you never seen a whale?” Jürgen asked. “There are plenty of them”
“Maybe in nineteen fifty-two,” Oya said. “Though it’s already passed peak whale, the high spot. Catches are declining,” she looked at Vardr, “aren’t they?”
Vardr nodded slowly. “Some species are down. But these things fluctuate—“
“No,” Oya broke in. Not this time. This time it’s the end, too much has been taken. And by the time an embargo is laid out, it’s almost too late.” She stared at a chunk of ice which seemed to hang in a shaft of light. “Even then we almost saved them, for years populations were recovering. Then it just melted away. I don’t know why people stopped caring. They’ll all be gone soon, like the rhinos, elephants, and tigers.”
“Gone where?” Vardr asked.
“Gone forever. Extinct, or as good as. Killed for their flesh, or their horns, or their skin and bones.”
“Such a thing cannot happen,” Jürgen said, “it’s impossible.”
“Really? We’re on a floating death factory, whales are being taken from the sea like coal from a strip mine. And by the time I’m old enough to understand and do anything about it, they’re just memories.”
Jürgen and Vardr had a long exchange in Norwegian. The words were unintelligible to Oya. She walked to the front of the bridge and put her face close to the glass. It was cold compared even to the coolness of the ship. In the chill the smell of dead whale almost fell away, lingering only as a remembered odor. Vardr said something and, as she pulled back from the glass, the full smell returned.
“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t hear you over the stench of dead whale.”
Vardr frowned, then said, “You really mean what you say? All those animals are like the dinosaurs?”
“More like the dodo. Killed by human greed.”
“What about zoos?” Jürgen asked.
“There are a few of the mammals left in a handful of the best zoos that remain. But even there poachers have bought access. How do you make something the size of a rhino disappear overnight?” Oya snorted at the memory of the last rhino in the US, and its disappearance from San Diego Zoo. “But there’s no whales in captivity.”
Jürgen muttered something; Oya assumed it was an oath.
A large radio on the back wall of the bridge crackled to life. The two men turned. Jürgen picked up the handset and spoke into it.
Vardr turned to Oya. “One of our satellite boats is bringing a catch in. This was unexpected. I must ask you to return to the infirmary.”
Oya nodded, happy to not see what bringing a catch aboard was like.
She went back to a routine of exercise and writing. Now she wrote every detail of every animal welfare act she could remember. She got more paper from Vardr.
The Captain continued his regular visits. He soaked up everything Oya had to say about the world of his children’s tomorrow. A week later he came with news.
“We’ve filled our quota,” Vardr said. “We’re heading back to Grytviken. I’ve spoken with people, who are speaking to people, about you coming to Norway. There’s no guarantee, but things are looking good.”
“Thank you,” Oya replied. ”How long will it take to get there?”
“Four days, more if the low-pressure front deepens and moves our way.”
text by stuartcturnbull, picture by GB_photo via Pixbay
Part One Here
Part Two Here
Part Three Here
Part Four Here
Part Five Here
Part Six Here