Help! I'm Alive, page 22
Winona leans in and kisses Rose hard on the mouth and then pulls away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I thought you meant, or wanted . . . Oh shit, I totally misread.”
“It’s okay.” Rose smiles. “It was nice.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want things to be weird.”
“They aren’t.”
Winona closes her eyes and flops her head back onto the pillow. “I’m such an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. It’s fine. Now come on, I want to show you something.” She gets out of bed and tells Winona to suit up. They tiptoe out of the bedroom, past the pullout couch where Ash is sleeping and out to the beach.
“Grab a surfboard,” Rose says.
“It’s too dark. I’m crap at it in the day. Imagine how shitty I’ll be in the dark.”
“It’ll be fine. We’re just going to drift.”
“I don’t know.” Winona follows her into the water. “We’re going to die.”
“You’ll be fine. Trust.”
Stomach down they paddle out, and then, on Rose’s cue, they drop their legs in the water and sit up. They drift on the ocean, so dark now that it seems to have disappeared.
“Don’t you love it?” Rose asks.
“Love what? I can’t see shit.” Frightened, Winona grips the sides of her board tighter.
“Look up.”
Winona stares up from the darkness. Stars swirl from their infinite nothing; clusters of long-ago light map the sky.
Day 100
It’s raining and the beach is end-of-the-world empty.
The sky is pulled down low on the water and everything looks tarnished and dirt gray. Even the sand, which just yesterday was piled in sun-kissed castles, is trampled, flattened in the monochrome of quick-set cement. Water pools in Ash’s footprints, sinkholes each step, as he walks along the shore toward the group of black rocks that lie on the beach like sleeping giants. When he was little he imagined them getting up and wandering into the ocean, anger shaking their rocky limbs. His mom was always worried that he’d fall when he raced to the top to see the starfishes up close. He buttons his yellow coat against the wind and tucks his face away from the pounding rain and pushes on. The rock isn’t as tall as he remembers; at barely ten feet, it’s a pretty easy climb even with the rain-slick surface. He stops to check out the fat purple starfish and wonders what it must be like to live such a long life without a brain. No sense of purpose, just the slow-moving act of being, eating and reproducing. He resists the urge to pick it up and moves on, scaling the rock to its ocean face. He perches on top and stares out at the ocean, taking his phone out to record the waves crashing up against the rocks. His hands are shaky so he redoes it and then sends it to Pavan with a couple of emojis for good measure. He feels good about sending it, and waits for a few minutes to see if she gets it but it just stays on sending, so he pockets the phone and turns to leave.
That’s when he sees it. From a distance it looks like a giant lava rock, ancient and smooth, but then comes the gust of wind and the stink. Ash knows the smell. He remembers it from his family’s whale-watching trip when he was six. While everyone else in the boat was amazed by the whale’s breach and spray, he was seasick and puking over the edge.
Ash scales down the rock, slipping down the last few feet onto the beach below. He rights himself and walks quickly toward it, slowing his approach into the tide where it’s lying partially submerged.
“Holy fuck.” He stares at the creature. He’s never seen a whale laid out like this before and is humbled by its sheer size, its prehistoric appearance. As he circles it, he notes the rocky nodules on its head, the grooved throat and elongated fins. He recognizes it from Anik’s books — a humpback whale — yet seeing it up close and outside of the illustrated pictures is something else entirely. All of its majesty is gone and all that remains is rot and curiosity.
He steps back, pulls out his phone and takes a selfie, captioning it: “Moby Fucking Dick!” Before hitting send, Ash looks at the photo and studies his stupid face, his fat grin. He’s filled with shame, the instant kind, all regret and take-back wishes.
* * *
No one knows exactly what to do and for a time they just stand in the water looking at it.
“Is it alive?” Rose is filming.
Anik kneels down, laying a hand on its back. “For now,” he says. “But we have to get help.”
“Can’t make this shit up.”
Ash moves inside her frame. “You better not be livestreaming this.”
“Well no, not right at this very moment.”
“Are you for real right now? Come on, you heard Anik. We have to do something. We need to call the authorities.”
Winona still stunned by the sight of the whale, looks up. “What, like 911?”
“I don’t think this classifies as a real emergency.” Rose covers her mouth. “But fuck if it doesn’t smell like one. Shit.”
“Be serious, will you? Besides do you have a better idea? No — didn’t think so. Anik, what do you think?”
Anik’s walking away from the whale, holding his phone in the air. “Who has bars?”
Ash pulls his out and checks. “Nothing. No signal.”
“Nothing here either,” Rose says, looking at her screen.
Anik continues to walk up and down the beach, arm extended like an antenna, looking for connection. “Got it — nope — it’s gone again. Shit.”
“Got it, one bar, 3G,” Winona says, waving her phone in the air. “Now what?”
“Try googling it.” Anik rushes over to her.
“Google what? Like, what do you do when you find a beached whale?”
“It’s a start.” Ash looks over at the whale, watches the tide roll over it and wonders if it will push it further in or out.
She types as they crowd over her shoulders and after a few long seconds of buffering the results load. She scrolls through, shaking her head, scanning through pages of useless information. “These are all about dead whales,” she says. “What are we going to do?”
“Try searching Fisheries and Oceans,” Anik suggests.
Winona types it in but the page doesn’t load. “Fuck!” she says and throws down the phone.
Ash picks it up and brushes the sand off. “I’m calling 911.” He covers his free ear to drown out the ocean sound. After a few minutes of answering questions he hangs up. “I think they’ll send someone.”
“You think?” Rose asks.
“What the hell, Rose, I don’t see you doing anything besides planning your next social media post.” Ash shakes his head and storms off.
“Wait up,” Winona yells. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” Ash reaches for her hand and flips it over, exposing her whale tattoo. “You’re the one always talking about signs.”
“I know, I know.” She goes quiet.
They both stare out at the ocean and for a moment there’s nothing but the sound of waves crashing and the tide collapsing on itself.
* * *
Ash watches one of the marine officials walk around the whale, talking to the others with big conductor-like arms. “What do you think they’re saying?”
“Probably assessing its health, strategizing how to move it,” Anik says.
“They’ve been here for over an hour already and all they’ve done is douse it with water and set up a perimeter and tent.”
“I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“Right.” Ash looks back at the beach, now crowded with onlookers taking pictures. It reminds him of being at Jay’s funeral and how people had treated it like an event, a photo op.
A woman’s voice from behind: “Excuse me! You there!” The brothers turn. “Were you the kids who found the whale?”
“Yeah.” Anik takes a step forward as if to protect his brother.
“I’m from the local news.” She points to a media crew that’s setting up just down the beach. “I’d love to ask you a few questions on camera, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t think so.” Ash turns away.
“What’s going on?” Rose asks, now inching her way into the conversation.
“Were you part of the group that found the whale?”
“Yes, I can confirm that,” she says like a spokesperson. “I’m Rose, this is Winona, Ash and Anik.”
“Anik?” the reporter asks. “You’re not the same Anik who was walking to the ocean?”
“You bet he is!” Rose dials up her perkiness. “That’s us. Anik’s Way. Here we are, we made it!”
“And now this. That’s quite a story.” The reporter beckons to the camera crew. As they set up for the interview, Ash imagines how stupid they all look — a bunch of kids, in rain gear, talking about — what exactly? This isn’t hard-hitting journalism. It’s a whale and it’s almost dead. They shouldn’t be talking about it. They should be saving it. End of story.
“I’m out,” Ash says and walks away.
“Wait up,” Anik calls.
“Don’t let me keep you from your five seconds of fame.”
“No, you know that’s not me.” He grabs Ash’s arm and spins him around. “That’s Rose’s thing.”
“Right, I forgot. Your thing is walking for world peace or some shit like that?”
“What the hell, Ash? I’m trying to help you.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Your whole walk was about helping? Looked a lot like running away to me.”
“Fine. That’s fair,” Anik says, hands up in surrender. “Maybe it was but I’m here now. We’re here now.”
“Isn’t everyone?” He motions to the tourists and locals taking pictures and videos. “It’s fucking disgusting. No one actually cares.”
“That’s not true.” He takes him by the shoulders and tries for eye contact. “We care and so do they.” Anik points to the emergency officials gathered under the pop-up tent. “They’re doing what they can. Sometimes things just take time.”
“What if we don’t have time?” Ash takes a moment and looks back at the chaos — the satellite news van, the reporter interviewing Rose and Winona, the small crowd of people wandering around taking selfies. “Fuck it!” He walks toward the rescue organizers. “Hey, what’s the plan?”
An official with an in-charge look about him glances at Ash. “And you are?”
“I’m Ash, I found the whale.”
“Right,” he says and then continues on with his work.
“I want to help.” The man stops and looks at Ash the way people always look at him, like he’s a dumb kid who doesn’t know anything. “Just tell me what to do. I’ll do it.”
“Okay.” He rubs his beard like he’s thinking of how to make something complex simple. “We’re going to dig a trench around the whale, then we’re going to harness it up with rope — we’ll need a lot of volunteers to help pull the whale out of the shallows. Once it’s clear, we’ll attach the rope to a boat and pull it back out.”
“Cool.”
“For it to work we’re going to need dozens of people ready and organized. If you and your friends think you can get a jump on getting the volunteers prepped that would be a big help.”
“On it!” He waves Anik over.
“Oh, and Ash, water’s cold. It could be a while out there, so we’re going to need wetsuits.”
“Okay. No problem. Where do I get them?”
“You wanted to help, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, head bobbing.
“Then figure it out.”
It’s Winona who suggests they call the surf shops for wetsuits and Rose who convinces them to lend them for free in exchange for a mention on the news, along with a tag in the #SaveTheWhale #AniksWay posts. Within a few hours, they’re mobilized and local restaurants have set up heated tents with food and drink where volunteers gather and wait.
* * *
Ash is focused on the official giving the instructions. It’s hard to hear over the sound of the ocean yet he knows the actions aren’t complex and he reiterates this to the volunteers. “We just need to pull together.” As they wade into the rising water, seaweed brushing against their legs, Ash thinks of Jay and wonders if he died when he hit the surface, if he drowned, if his eyes were open, if the last thing he saw was the sky. It was so blue that day.
Anik calls to Ash and the brothers take their position at the front of the line with Winona and Rose just behind. Ash twists his hands around the rope and holds tight and together with all of the volunteers, they pull in synchronized bursts over and over. After an hour, their efforts barely register, but there’s no talk of giving up, there’s no talk at all, there’s nothing but the sound of the ocean. They’re almost waist deep as the tide rushes in, cresting and crashing hard against their bodies. Ash’s back and shoulder blades are rolled in knots and his arms ache with the tension of holding on and staying put. A numbness sets in and his fingers tingle as if an electric current is running through them. “It’s okay,” he tells himself. He digs in, shifting his weight to his heels, trying to hold steady. He glances back at the others, their faces twisted in exhaustion. They keep pulling, even as the water rises. “Hold on,” they say to each other, to themselves.
Ash zones in on the whale and imagines it free, calling out in song — that hollow moan, the needle pitch cry, the haunting vibration. He can almost feel it reverberate through his body and then something shifts. The tension on the rope lightens and they’re called on to let go. Ash stares out at the ocean looking for a sign. He wants there to be a moment: a slap of a tail, a breach, something to show that it was all worth it, but there’s nothing.
* * *
On shore, Ash takes his gloves off and looks at his hands. He can’t stop them from shaking, he can’t tell if he’s cold or hot, if he’s faint or tired, if he’s awake or dreaming. He’s filled with the strange sensation of being separate from himself. He closes his eyes, breathing slowly until all of his feelings find a place inside his bones, until everything settles inside him like wisdom.
When he opens his eyes Anik is looking at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, tired . . . cold,” Ash says, pulling his body in tight, trying to get warm. “I think I’m gonna head back.”
“You sure?”
Ash lowers his head and nods. His chest swells; he’s crying and trying to hide it.
“You know what, I’ll come with.”
“Let’s all go,” Winona says and calls to Rose.
As they approach the house, they look back one last time. The sky cracked silver, the ocean near and far, the sunlight filtering rays on a distant horizon.
They take it all in. Everything at once.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Sat, Amit, Arun and Xena for the love and inspiration. Thank you to my agent, John Pearce, for his limitless faith in this book. Thank you to my brilliant editor, Jen Knoch, who understood this novel from the start and helped me fully realize my vision. Thank you to Crissy Calhoun for an outstanding copy edit. Thank you to Nin and Subby for the day-to-day encouragement, and to Kay for being my trusted first, second, third and always reader. Thank you to Elee Kraljii Gardiner — the walk in the woods gave me courage to stay true to myself and to the stories I wanted to write. Thanks to my friends and family who keep me honest and grounded. Thanks always to Wayde Compton and Betsy Warland for the early encouragement that helped me find a way into a writing life. Thank you to all of those at ECW who do the invisible and important work of bringing diverse books into the world.
* * *
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicide, self-harm, or disordered eating, there are places that offer free, confidential support.
In Canada:
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Canada Suicide Prevention Service: crisisservicescanada.ca
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National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: suicidepreventionlifeline.org
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About the Author
Gurjinder Basran is the award-winning author of two previous works of fiction. Her debut novel, Everything Was Goodbye, won the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize and her work regularly appears on must-read lists. Basran studied at Simon Fraser Universities Writer’s Studio and lives with her family just outside of Vancouver, British Columbia.
Copyright
Copyright © Gurjinder Basran, 2022
Published by ECW Press
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Editor for the Press: Jennifer Knoch
Cover design: Michel Vrana
Author photo: Karolina Turek
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
