 |
 |
 |
| The Whaling Wall
Franklin Duke dialed his wife’s number from the hotel. “Hello darling.” “Darling!? Sugar pie, honey stuff? This is the diabetic hotline today. We don’t do junk food anymore.” “C’mon sweetheart…” “C’mon yourself, scallywag. You walked the plank out of our lives without even an ‘argghh,’ pirate. How do you think me and the kids feel about that? Do you care?’ “Of course I care or I wouldn’t be on the phone.” “No. You’re calling because you want to know if your boat is still afloat after the hurricane last weekend. Aye-aye, skipper—she was anchored out in San Francisco Bay during that big blow, 80-knot winds at least—she dragged towards Blackie’s pasture until we were able to throw another hook down.” “That’s good news.” “Here’s the bad news. Her bottom crunched into a richy’s docks across the bay, and she got spanked bad-boy style.” “Give it to me straight, huh?” He could hear her laughing on the other end, probably letting all her young friends listen to the old geezer on the speaker phone. That was one of the problems marrying a girl instead of a woman, he thought. The flesh was firm, but not the morals. “I’ll give it to you anyway you want, almost. Here’s the real deal—the only whales our ship will see for the next six months will be on the Discovery channel like everybody else. There’s lots of hull damage. Sorry.” “What about us? Are we on the rocks too?” He tried to sound playful as her. Duke had thought he could take this punch. Now he felt like Houdini, who had dared any audience member in Detroit to hit his stomach as hard as they could, and died days later. Love was a game for the young. “Shoving off was your idea, remember? Don’t worry, donut with a creamy center, you’ll be okay. You always are.” His heart was burning. Was it love or too much pineapple juice? “Let’s at least not let the lawyers circle and take a bite out of us.” “Yes, daddy. I know you’ll take care of the kids, at least with money.” “Ouch.” “You decide when the time’s right. Just take care of yourself.” “You too. I’ll call soon.” “Take your time and relax. Remember you’re the Duke. We’re all trying to patch things up in the kingdom.” “Kiss the kids for me. No tongue, though.” “Har-de-har, buccaneer. See ya later.” “Hope so. But those whales we can’t save…” “Buck up, buttercup.” (continued below) |
| Rocky Times |
| January 15, 2008 |
 |
| Two days later a package addressed to Mr. Franklin Duke was delivered to his room along with his corn chowder. It was always hardest to eat right alone, and inside a brown envelope were more reasons to lose his discipline. Divorce papers. That was fast! And a note from his wife. “Dear Duke, Maybe getting married and breaking up is like having kids, and gets easier the more you do it. Until you can just pop them out like toast. Or it gets harder. I know this is not your first time or second going through this. Third time’s the charm meet three strikes and you’re out in a battle of the platitudes! Anyway, good luck in whatever you do next. You will be in my heart even if you’re not in my bed. Love, the Dutchess”. There was nobody around who was going to understand, Duke thought, in the world’s only country that didn’t allow divorce. Where was he again? Oh, that’s right. The Philippines. No wonder these people had no culture of their own—even their name was borrowed from a European king. He had stopped in Manila on his way to Vietnam. Duke lost his virginity in what would have been the red-light district—if the women, surrounded by crying babies, had been able to afford the electricity. It was a special memory, the last one free of that hellish war. At least some of the older Filipinos hated the Japanese too. Not that he would have anything against them if they had just stayed on their island and became rich ignoring the barbarians outside the gates except to sell them their wonderful, tiny gadgets. The Japanese so easily ignored Duke too when he stopped to see Tokyo on the flight here. There seemed no hatred of the foreigner as they looked right through the tall greybeard with the fierce, hawkish look and mass of white hair so noticeable everywhere else. But Duke noticed them. He noticed their busy industriousness and prosperity that made even cabdrivers look rich in a resource-starved country, their preservation of nature and forests on such densely inhabited islands, their politeness and manners and order and ancient nobility under the rising sun. Why then were the Japanese the world’s worst whale killers? Every other country had banned the hunt of the giant mammal, and the Japanese were using “research” vessels to slaughter them by the thousands for what reason? Because they tasted good with soy sauce, rice, and a sake chaser? No, that wasn’t true! He discovered they were having to give the meat away free to schoolkids before it rotted. Look how big a man I am, mommy, because I eat a big mammal! The whale hunt was no sacred tradition. It was politics, Duke learned. Japan was frightened of sliding down a slippery, blubbery slope—that soon all fishing would be strictly regulated. Their Bureau of Fisheries needed this continuing controversy to guarantee jobs, and it was just fun to turn high-pressure hoses on the self-righteous foreigners in small rubber boats. “This creature doesn’t just dwarf us in size, brains far larger and more complex than ours, voices able to communicate over countless miles,” Duke told the audience of Filipino oceanographers in a hall below his hotel room. “They tower over some of us in spirit too. I have seen with these eyes as they refuse to abandon a wounded comrade, or tirelessly follow uncharted sea highways for thousands of miles for the same reasons we do. To start a family, to find food or just go home.” “Anybody who has seen these creatures gloriously alive doesn’t want to see them on half-eaten kid’s sandwiches.” Afterwards, an elderly Filipino writer greeted him with soft hands. “Thanks, sir, for those great words. I am no fan of the Japanese. I was here during the war they say we won against them. We lost that war. The Japanese chopped off our heads back then, and we haven’t grown them back. They taught us how to lie, cheat and steal to survive—and when we and you Americans chased them away, we couldn’t forget what we learned. “The most beautiful buildings in Manila were turned into rubble by your bombs chasing them away but it did no good. We have become worse enemies to ourselves than they ever were. If you could have seen these islands before that terrible time, before the jungle was cut down, our women prostituted and men turned traitor, rivers fouled…” His voice trailed away. “Anyway, my amigo, we can do you no good, unfortunately. Our navy cannot confront the Japanese, and they are our friends now, except for that last old soldier who’s probably still hiding waiting to hear the Emperor surrender. Don’t you know that the Filipino will eat anything—plants, animals, dogs, cats and baby Jesus in the form of a cracker? The only reason we don’t eat whales is because our boats are too small to catch them. “I know our United Nations ambassador, though, and we’ll vote your way in the General Assembly and the International Whaling Commission.” “And you’ve given me another good reason not to buy my granddaughter a Sony walkman. Bueno suerte, my friend. Good luck. And welcome back to my country.” The soft-handed writer continued to the buffet table, eating everything there except his words. So this is what it’s like to be a sailor without a ship, a captain without his mate. Duke’s speech came back to him empty, impossible to redeem. Franklin Duke left the hotel lobby, and for once did not get in one of the air-conditioned taxis to get a five dollar massage for his skull and bones, or a good meal with his fellow whale lovers. He walked past the security guards at the Hotel Marco Polo—oh, to have seen a young world through those eyes, and then miraculously return to a loving family! What a difference from Japan he found on the unpoliced streets. There was no order, not much visible prosperity outside the tinted car windows, burning trash piled high on street corners Yet the pretty teenage girls would giggle into their hands, and then get up the courage to yell out, “Hey Joe!” after he passed by. Smiles greeted him from every other face, and songs came from half the doorways—sung by the talented and tone-deaf alike. Outside the hotel, the people were slender, not an ounce of fat, faces and hearts open to a pale white man. American flags were painted on the sides of the crowded jeepneys as they roared past. Franklin Duke felt young again. He was not any longer the member of a race whose sins were destroying the planet, and especially the largest and most graceful whales, to feed their greed. He felt like a great white god whose people were happy to see him after a long time away. Duke might be half the man he used to be, and after the divorce would be only half as rich, but that was more than enough here. Moby Dick could find another savior from Captain Ahab for a while. These people loved him despite his crimes. He would find a reason to stay. |