“We are not selling it,” says Saluni.
“We are not?” asks the Whale Caller. “Is that not why we catch fish… to sell it?”
“Not this one,” says Saluni firmly.
As they walk home with the fish on his shoulders she mildly chastises him for disagreeing with her in public. And she adds:
“And don’t think that because you are now going to appear in newspapers and on television you are more famous than me. People who sing are more of celebrities than those who catch fish.”
“I never claimed any fame, Saluni. I am sure those photographs they took of me and the fish are just for brochures and videos that advertise Hermanus. Nothing important.”
“Just as well because they left me out of the picture. And you said nothing, man. You were happy to keep all the fame yourself. I was there when you caught that fish but they only photographed you. And you didn’t complain.”
“People photograph what they want to photograph in this new South Africa, Saluni. It is something beyond our control.”
“Well, they won’t just photograph this fish for nothing next time. They can photograph you for free since you want to be cheap with yourself, but not this fish. They must pay, man. We are going to make a lot of money with this fish. I’ll be your manager, man. Just leave everything to me.”
She slowly and deliberately explains the economics of this new venture. There are no quotas when you rent out your fish. There is no government to limit you to ten fish. You make money from the same fish over and over again.
The fish is too big to fit in their fridge. So it spends the night on top of it.
The next morning they go out to the beach with a sign:
Rent-a-Fish.
Once more holidaymakers pose with the kabeljou. Even those who don’t have any ambition of being anglers pay a few coins to Saluni and she prepares them for a pose. They stand holding the kabeljou with a nylon line that has been tied around its gills and lift it up above their heads so that its length is perpendicular to the ground. They stand in the sea, with the water only up to their shins, holding tackle with their left hands. Other family members click away. By the end of the day they have made more money than they would have earned from selling ten fish.
The next day the fish is starting to stink and the Whale Caller wants to go to Sharisha. But Saluni is undeterred. There is money to be made.
“There is life in this fish yet,” she says. “We can make a lot of money still.”
“We agreed, Saluni … I would fish only two days a week. Three days at most. I need to check out the whales, Saluni.”
“I am not asking you to fish, man. Just to help me take this darn fish to the beach. The whales will always be there. You know I’ll go with you to watch the whales. Remember this fish won’t last forever.”
So, once more they take the fish to the beach. By midday it fills the whole area with its stench. People begin to complain. “Why would I want to photograph myself with a stinking kabeljou?” a man asks.
“It won’t stink in the photograph,” Saluni responds.
But no one wants to come near the fish. The Whale Caller gets rid of it in one of the dumpsters in town.
After he has indulged himself with Sharisha and the young one for a few days, he is persuaded to go back to the mouth of the river to catch another kabeljou before they move upriver to spawn. “Try to remember what you did when you caught that big one the other day,” Saluni advises. He does catch a kabeljou or two. They are never as big as the forty-three-kilogram one. But for failed anglers and tourists at a loose end they are good enough to pose with.
The rent-a-fish business thrives.
Saluni. Money is the least of her problems. She is the treasurer and business manager of the rent-a-fish enterprise, although she makes it clear to the Whale Caller that this is only a temporary arrangement. He will have to learn to manage the business himself
because as soon as the radio man returns with the demo CDs she will be flying high around the capitals of the world, entertaining heads of state and attending premieres and receiving international awards. He must enjoy her services while he can.
“I suspect you will let the rent-a-fish business die when I am gone,” she says.
“I’ll do my best, Saluni,” he says.
“I am the brains behind this business. Without me you’ll let it go bust, man.”
“I’d rather sell the fish than rent it out, Saluni. And when you are gone there won’t be a need even for that. I’ll just become my old self again.”
“You see what I mean, man? All my efforts will be wasted.”
“They’ll be wasted in any case. Didn’t you say you’ll fly with me?”
“Yes, but not immediately. I need to get settled first. You don’t just drag a man to Hollywood before you get settled.”
“I will miss you, Saluni, when you are a big star. Do remember us little people when you reach your paradise,” he says, and then he chuckles to himself.
“You are not a little person at all. You are big and strong. You are a blue whale, remember? How can I forget you, man? How can I forget a blue whale like you?”
They sit on the bed. They are both overwhelmed by sickness. It has never really left them, this habit of making each other sick. It subsides when there is tension between them and returns when there is harmony. Now the sickness is throbbing in their chests. It throbs like this in the Whale Caller whenever Saluni casts off her iron mask and displays a pleasant and vulnerable face.
But sometimes she forgets that she has decided to be agreeable in order to defeat Sharisha at her own game and relapses into her old self. When it is time to sleep she only opens her side of the bed and slithers into the blankets like a snake, without preparing
the bedding for both of them as he does when he happens to come to bed first. He makes a snide comment about stars who do things only for themselves and disregard the needs of other people with whom they live. She pounces.
“Oh, man,” she says, “you can be so petty.”
“Do you know what the Bible says, Saluni? Do unto others.”
“So much for wanting to be my slave.”
“Me? A slave?”
“Oh, yes, you offered. That first night.”
“That was coitus talking,” he says with a new twinkle in his eye.
“I hold men to their promises.”
But as soon as she has said this she remembers her resolve to be
nice.
“Okay then,” she says, “I’ll open your side of the bed too. I don’t know if it makes any difference, man, but I’ll do it because that’s what you want. See? I can be nice too, man. Don’t you forget that.”
The sickness worsens with Saluni’s increasing tenderness. It makes them want to be together all the time. Saluni hasn’t been back to the mansion since the recording. She fears that the mother may have found out that she defied her, and she is not prepared to face the woman without the CD. The CD will surely melt all the anger she may be harbouring against her. She will laugh at her own folly when she listens to the beautiful music on the recording while the girls continue to have their angelic voices intact. She does miss the euphoria, but it is not such a searing longing since it is ameliorated by the sickness. The sickness is all-consuming. It eats their insides and makes the ailing ones sweat and forces them to reach for each other out of the blue in the middle of nowhere and just lose each other in each other’s breath. But
in the midst of it all Saluni does not forget to uphold the dignity and grace of stardom.
She uses some of the rent-a-fish money to buy herself a fur coat from the flea market. Although the lining is moth-eaten, the otter fur still looks good on the outside. For a long time she wishes winter would come quickly so that she can be seen strutting in her coat on the runways that are the streets of Hermanus. Not only will the winter give her the opportunity to wear the coat, but winter may drive Sharisha to the southern seas so she won’t have to put up with her nonsense. She is wary of the fact that Sharisha may decide not to go, as she did last winter. But surely sooner or later she will have to introduce the young one to a life of krill in the southern seas. Nature demands that Sharisha goes to cold climes whether she likes it or not.
Summer days are not in any particular hurry to go anywhere. Saluni grows impatient and decides to wear her coat irrespective of what the weather says. She is wearing it this Sunday morning as she sits on a rock like a basking naiad, her feet playing with seaweed in the water. The Whale Caller sits behind her on another rock. There are no whales in sight, which makes the morning even more pleasant for Saluni. The air from the sea is hot and humid.
“Perhaps you should give it a rest, Saluni,” says the Whale Caller. “I can imagine how much you are sweating under that coat.”
Saluni can think of a few choice words to hurl in his direction, but in the spirit of the new attitude she decides against it. She just hums softly to herself and continues her game with the seaweed. This emboldens him enough to voice another criticism: “You know, Saluni, some poor animal had to die for you to look beautiful like that?”
“They die every day, man… the animals… they die so we can eat them or wear them as shoes. So why not wear them as fur coats? Some are killed by you, man. What do you do with the fish
that you catch? Fondle and caress and kiss them and then throw them back into the sea?”
“It’s all thanks to you, Saluni. I was satisfied with my macaroni and cheese.”
“Haven’t I heard that somewhere before? You were satisfied with your life full stop. But now you are not just satisfied. You are happy. You were never happy until I came into your life.”
He is digesting this, repeating the word “happy” twice or thrice. Saluni walks out of the water and joins him on his rock. She holds his hand.
“Yes, you are happy… very happy! You are just not aware of it. We are both very happy.”
This scares the Whale Caller, but he tries to be brave about it. If this be happiness, then he will face it like a man. He will face the sickness, for clearly it is happiness’s bedfellow. He sees Lunga Tubu hopping about from rock to rock without a care in the world. He feels sorry for him: one day he will grow up into a man and some woman will make him sick with happiness. That’s a man’s lot. The cross that he has to bear with fortitude. He is coming towards them, Lunga Tubu. The Whale Caller wonders why. The logical thing to do would be to avoid them … to give Saluni’s mothering tendencies as wide a berth as possible. But here he comes and stands in front of them and greets them, politely calling them “aunt” and “uncle.” He looks relieved that Saluni does not make any attempt to mollycoddle him.
“He has returned, Aunt Saluni,” says Lunga Tubu. “The radio man is back.”
“Has he brought the CDs?” asks Saluni, jumping up, grasping the boy by both shoulders and shaking the information out of him.
“Yes, he has brought some CDs,” says Lunga Tubu, “and he wants to see you. He is at the Seacrest Hotel in Seventh Street.”
Saluni looks at the Whale Caller triumphantly: “You didn’t
believe he would return, did you? You thought he was a scoundrel who had run away with our voices.”
“I never said anything like that, Saluni.”
“You didn’t say it but you thought it. One only had to look at your face to see that you were questioning my credentials as a star. Now what do you say about it, man? A big-time agent wants to see me … at a hotel. What do you say about that?”
“I say go for it, Saluni,” says the Whale Caller, pretending some enthusiasm.
There may be something in this whole business after all. Otherwise why would the radio man come all the way from Cape Town? But if Saluni does go, what will happen to him? How is he going to live without Saluni? And if she does become a star she will surely forget about him. He can’t leave Hermanus. He can’t follow Saluni to Hollywood. He will be out of place there without the sea and the whales and the seagulls and the hot smells of rotting kelp and the salt air brushing against his silver grey beard and the southeaster lashing against his body and the Wendy house and Hermanus.
Under his breath he curses the radio man. But he offers: “I will go with you to the hotel, Saluni.”
“Me too,” says Lunga Tubu.
Saluni lifts her fur coat to her shoulders and runs up the cliff path. She is closely followed by the Whale Caller, who is closely followed by Lunga Tubu. They race along the path until it joins Main Road. They turn right into Main Road, winding with it towards the Mossel River. But before they can cross the bridge she stops, perhaps to catch her breath. They all stop.
“That’s better, Saluni,” says the Whale Caller. “You don’t want to be all sweaty and breathless when you reach the hotel. I think you should take it easy, Saluni.”
“Why don’t you tell the truth, man,” says Saluni. “You just can’t keep up.”
“You stopped first, Saluni. Not me.”
She stopped because she’s just had a brilliant idea, she says. She must go to the mansion and get the Bored Twins and their parents to come with her to meet the radio man. When the mother hears the radio man outlining the big plans for their stardom and when she listens to the wonderful CD, she will finally get over her concerns. She will let the girls go off to conquer the world.
“But you said the parents spend all day away from the mansion,” says the Whale Caller.
“Why do you always want to come up with some obstacle, man? Don’t you want me to be a star?”
“I do, Saluni. I do. It’s just that I don’t want you to go all the way to the mansion only to find that the parents are not there.”
“If you had any good intentions you would have imagined that they are there since it is Sunday morning.”
She turns and takes a westerly direction and follows Main Road out of town. She walks very fast, sometimes breaking into a run. The man and the boy do likewise, until they reach the mansion. As good fortune would have it the donkey cart is parked outside. The father appears from around the corner pulling a donkey by the leather strap of its bridle. He is harnessing it to the cart when Saluni and her entourage arrive.
“There is no rest for the hungry,” he tells his visitors. “We are going out to collect bones and scrap metal.”