Cry of the Sea (12 page)

“What was that?” my dad said, laughing. “Your
thesis for school?” He nodded at Carter, who smiled politely.

“Come on, Dad,” I said. “You know as well as
I do that the typical mermaid of legend doesn’t look a thing like
this. They are Hans Christian Anderson’s pretty, blond girls with
bright green tales. They have white skin and normal faces and wear
sea-shells over their breasts.” I blushed after saying
breasts
in front of Carter. If he was embarrassed, he didn’t
show it.

“I’ll admit that’s the way they’ve been
described in some fairy tales and that’s the way they’ve been drawn
in children’s books,” Dad said. “You’ll find the images of mermaids
in folklore from Russia, Africa, China, and pretty much any other
culture you can think of that all vary widely in interpretation.
There are ocean mermaids and river mermaids. Some are good and
others are evil. What I’m saying is that people have believed in
mermaids for eons and have depicted them in many different ways.
There was just no proof of them before now.”

Carter sat down on a stool next to me, all
smiles as he listened to my dad and me bicker. “June,” he
interrupted, “how can you sit there and argue that mermaids are
nothing but mixed up perceptions of porpoises and seals when
there’s one looking at you right now?”

I turned around to see that the mermaid was
in fact staring directly at me, over my dad’s head, watching my
every move. Uneasy, I looked back at Carter. “I just think that Dr.
Schneider might have a point with this evolution thing, and that
this mermaid and her two sisters are some kind of anomaly.
Otherwise, where have they been all this time?”

My dad reached inside his shirt and pulled
out the killer whale tooth tied to a leather string that he always
wore around his neck. He held it up between his thumb and
forefinger for Carter and me to see.

Oh no
, I thought.
Here comes one of
his tall tales
.

I glanced at Carter, trying to send him a
mental message that I was so sorry this was about to happen. Carter
didn’t seem to mind, though. For the moment, he was taken with my
father and his quirky American Indian ways. My dad had a way of
casting a spell over people who didn’t live with him every day.
Those who met him either thought he was cool as a fan or completely
off his nut. Most of the time I just thought he was embarrassing.
Like right at that moment.

Please don’t think my dad is nuts
, I
thought as hard as I could.
Please don’t think I’m like my
dad.

“There are many stories among the Northwest
American tribes about the Killer Whale. He is a powerful spirit in
this region, and the sight of him on a whaling mission was often
the sign that the whalers were doomed to a saltwater death. One of
the stories is about the Killer Whale that falls in love with a
whaling boat.

“Legend has it that a whaling crew went out
on their canoes, ready to tackle the waves and capture a giant
beast. Just as they sighted a large whale in the distance that
would feed and fuel their village for the entire winter, a Killer
Whale jumped out of the waves right at them. The sailors screamed
in fear. ‘The Killer Whale has doomed us!’ the men cried. ‘We
should turn back before it is too late!’

“The men frantically turned their canoes
about, trying to get back to shore before the angry Killer Whale
capsized them. Then a strange and magical thing happened. Their
boat began to sing. A high, dreamy voice rang up from the bottom of
the boat. The men could not figure out how the ship was making such
a noise. They could see nothing inside the boat or attached to the
sides that could make such a sweet sound.

“More surprising still, the Killer Whale
heard the sound as well. It stopped its thrashing about and calmly
slid up beside the boat. It nuzzled its large, black head against
the ship and made snorting noises to show its affection.

“The men on the ship were too frightened to
even row the oars. A few men jumped overboard for fear that the
Killer Whale was toying with them. The others stood perfectly
still, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Slowly, the boat and the Killer Whale beside
it drifted quietly toward the shore. When finally they were close
enough for the men to step out of the boat and wade to the beach,
the singing stopped.

“The Killer Whale came out of his trance and
seemed very confused about where he was. Angry that he was so close
to shore, he flipped the boat over, but no man was injured for they
had already made their way to safety.

“As the Killer Whale made his way back out to
sea, the men gathered around the toppled boat, believing the boat
had saved their lives with its ability to sing. They carried the
boat back to their village and posted it on stilts, where it was
used as the roof of a religious house for the Shaman.”

My father stopped talking then. He stood up
and walked to the aquarium. Touching the glass just in front of the
mermaid’s hand, he sighed. “All this time my people thought it was
the boat that came alive and saved them. All this time.”

Carter lowered his head into his palms as if
he needed to hold the information in so it wouldn’t disappear. “You
think that a mermaid saved them?”

“It had to be,” my father said. “One attached
herself to the bottom of the boat. She made the noise that
attracted the Killer Whale. It’s the only thing that makes
sense.”

This time I spoke. “It makes sense in a way,
Dad, but it’s still just a legend. There’s no proof that any of
this ever happened. Plus, why would she save your people? They were
going to kill a whale.”

He didn’t even bother to look at me. “The
legends of our people do not require proof, June. You need to learn
that. They require only faith and understanding. That is the whole
purpose behind them. The point is that this legend has been around
for hundreds of years and only now do I realize where the singing
came from.”

“What about the killing of the whale?” I
argued. I hated to be lectured about my father’s people. I felt as
much part American Indian as I did part elephant. “Maybe she wasn’t
rescuing the people at all. She was saving the whale that they
would have slaughtered.”

“In those days,” my dad explained, “our
people were careful about nature. We only used what we needed. Even
the story suggests that the one whale would have fed the village
for the entire season. There would have been no waste. The mermaid
would have understood that.”

I flashed a look at Carter. “All this from a
vegetarian.” Carter laughed.

“It’s a good story,” Carter said. “It would
be worth studying.”

“That’s all I’m saying,” my father said,
turning back around to face us. “That’s all I’m saying.”

At the far end of the room, the double doors
opened. Two men in white uniforms with Affron logos on the sleeves
stepped inside. One held a clipboard, while the other carried an
animal carrier with a squawking seagull inside it. Both were
surprisingly bulky for scientists.

“Could you direct us?” the one with the
clipboard asked. “We’ve got some wildlife from the oil spill down
at the beach that could use some emergency attention.”

My dad tensed. I tried really hard not to
glance at the tarp, but I know I did, because I remember thinking
there was a gap and a smidge of tank could be seen through it.
Carter, however, acted very naturally. Nonchalant. As though he’d
been expecting these gentlemen to show up and had it all planned
out. He strode right over to the men, took the clipboard right out
of the one man’s hands before the man realized what was happening
and then continued on to the office, urging the men to follow him.
“Let me get Dr. Schneider for you.”

The eyes of the scientists stayed on Carter
the whole time, because Carter didn’t stop talking once. He asked
them all kinds of official-sounding questions about what kind of
animals they had, how bad off they were, where they were found, in
what manner they were brought here, and so on. They followed him to
Schneider’s door and struggled to come up with answers as fast as
Carter was asking the questions. Well, the man who had come in with
the clipboard did anyway, the whole time holding his hand out for
the return of his clipboard. The other goon-looking one with the
carrier didn’t say anything at all. He actually looked baffled,
like a kid who hadn’t studied for the quiz.

Carter knocked on the door. “A couple men
from Affron, Sir,” he announced through the door. He focused on the
men. “What were your names again?”

Clipboard Man cleared his throat then pointed
to himself and his partner. “Waller and Boyles,”

“A Mr. Waller and Mr. Boyles,” Carter
repeated clearly through the door.

Waller pointed at the clipboard. “May I have
that back now?”

“Oh,” Carter said as if he’d forgotten he was
holding it. “Of course.”

While they faced the other direction, I
quickly closed the gap on the tarp to make sure it completely hid
the mermaid’s tank. Dad made himself look busy at the smaller
tanks, as if he were checking on the fish.

“What are we going to do?” I whispered.

All Dad could offer was, “Simple. We have to
keep them away from her tank.”

Chapter
Eight

Dr. Schneider opened his office door and
nervously whisked the Affron men inside, peering past them at my
dad and the tank the whole time. Wow, he was about as obvious as a
tour guide holding up a microphone and announcing, “And in the back
corner we have hidden a mermaid in a tank. Why don’t you take a
look?” But Carter was on top of it and shut the door in Schneider’s
face.

As soon as the men were out of sight, Carter
dashed back to us.

“Come on. Help me make this thing look like
crap.”

“Do you think they suspect something?” I
asked. “I mean, how could they?”

“I don’t know why those men are here,” he
said, “but it has nothing to do with rescued wildlife. There isn’t
anything written on that clipboard. It’s just empty forms that at a
glance look like Affron job applications.”

My dad gawked, “What?”

“If they were on the level, I’d have expected
a list of the animals they have with them. That’s not what I
saw.”

“Maybe they’re here to offer Schneider a
job.”

Dad laughed, but Carter didn’t.

“No time!” Carter said, throwing some nasty,
mildewed tarps and wet towels at my dad and me. We quickly
readjusted the tarp one more time so that not a bit of the glass
underneath was showing. Then we threw those tarps and towels along
the top for good measure. Now it really looked junked up, and it
smelled like a swamp.

We’d only just tossed the last one up when
the door to Schneider’s office opened. He followed the two men out.
They immediately took in the sight of us in front of the giant
tank. Waller squinted. “Something wrong with that one?”

Carter ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve
been messing with it all day, but I can’t get it to regulate at an
even temperature. It’s got something wrong with it. So, I’m
draining it and have to figure out how to fix it before we can use
it.”

Schneider put on a big, fake grin and said,
“Carter’s my man for all that kind of stuff. Don’t know what I’d do
without him.”

“Hmmm,” Waller said.

Boyles held up the animal carrier and kind of
grunted.

“Where should he put that?” Waller asked for
him.

“I’ll take it,” Carter said. “June, why don’t
you and your dad help these men bring in their rescues?”

My dad and I went outside with Boyle while
Carter stayed inside to ready what was left of the empty cages and
aquariums. Apparently Clipboard Dude didn’t feel like he needed to
do anything but stand around and observe. Outside, Dad tried
engaging Boyle in conversation as we headed toward his white van. I
was kind of curious to hear the guy talk and was beginning to
wonder if he could.

“Which beach did you pick these up from?”

The man didn’t answer.

“Are any in critical shape?”

Nothing.

The man opened the back of the van, and we
saw that he had some more carriers with seabirds and one with an
otter. There were a few fish swimming around in dirty water in
gallon-sized zip-close plastic bags. Not a lot of critters, I
thought. Not as many as I expected.

“Is this all that survived?” Dad asked.

Boyle handed me one of the plastic bags and
didn’t say anything, but his eyes looked rounder, as if alarmed by
Dad’s question. My theory was that Boyle was told not to say
anything. Maybe it was because he was just a grunt and didn’t
really know much about the science or protocol. Maybe, like Carter
suggested, it was because this mission wasn’t on the up and up, and
he was too stupid to come up with intelligent-sounding responses.
Whatever it was, he clearly didn’t know how to handle all these
questions.

“Mr. Boyle?” I asked carefully, as he reached
into the van to pull out the carrier with the otter for Dad. “Are
there other vans coming, or is this it?”

His eyes flicked from my dad to me, searching
our faces for some kind of help. “Doesn’t this seem like enough?”
he asked. From his buddy this might have sounded belligerent, but
from him it sounded like a little boy asking if he’d eaten enough
dinner even though there was a whole serving of veggies still on
his plate.

“Actually, no,” my dad said, clearly
irritated. “I expected at least three times this much.”

“This is all we found,” the man answered
dully. “The spill wasn’t that bad.”

“Are you kidding me?” I nearly shouted.

My dad shot a look to me behind the guy’s
back and shook his head. I set my jaw to keep from saying something
I probably shouldn’t.

It took a couple trips to get it all inside,
and during that time the man refused to talk any more. He didn’t
even offer up a “thank you” to us for helping him carry stuff or an
“excuse me” when he stepped on my foot. We put everything on the
big tables for Carter and Schneider to analyze. They had several
buckets of water and bottles of dish soap ready for the cleaning of
the critters. Carter reached in to help the otter first, holding
the nervous creature carefully with gloved hands and looking over
its furry body for any oil that had to be removed from it.