Eco Warrior (14 page)

“Cool.” I wondered if he realized he still looked like a hippy.

We came around a sharp turn, and started down a long hill. On the right was a clearing between trees. Merwin got excited when he saw it. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay.”

We turned off the road onto a dirt lane, drove about half a mile into the foothills of Wellington Mountain, into a dry clearing that looked out of place with the lush mountain above it. It reminded me of Africa. Without shutting off the motor, Merwin got out and walked over to a mound of dirt about three feet off the ground. I followed him. “There,” he said.

“What is it?” It just looked like a pile of dirt to me.

“Look.”

I took a few steps closer. “Oh! It’s an ant hill.”

“Yeah.”

“The whole thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“Sometimes, when I’m frustrated, I come here and just watch the ants work.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It relaxes me. Each ant carries a tiny piece of earth on its back. You can watch them for hours and you won’t see any change in the size of their hill. But if you come back two weeks later, you will.”

“Cool.”

We stood and watched the ants crawl in and out of the top of the mound. They were so tiny it was hard to believe they had really built it. Merwin turned and started back towards the van. “And that pretty much sums up my philosophy of environmentalism.”

I nodded, but didn’t really know what he was talking about. I’d have to think about it.

Chapter Seventeen

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Hollie and I hiked back to the sub. Merwin offered to drive us, but I said we’d rather walk. I couldn’t bear the thought of blowing dirty engine smoke all the way down to the Tinderbox lighthouse. I’d rather walk for ten hours than pollute the air for one.

It was a great walk. The air was fresh and cool, and reminded me a little of Newfoundland, without the fog. Seaweed joined us at the start, but disappeared as soon as the leftover French toast was gone. Hollie and I settled into our long distance pace. The more we walked, the happier we were. Sometimes, lying on my bed in the sub, I’d dream of walking across deserts, jungles, and mountain ranges, and I’d fantasize that if we weren’t sailing around the world in a submarine, we’d be walking around it. Probably after a couple of weeks, though, we’d be dreaming of going to sea.

On the way, I thought over the deal we had made. I had agreed to take Merwin on the sub only because of what I was trying to learn, but, in truth, I wasn’t really happy about it. The sub would get crowded fast with somebody else on board. And what if he snored, or talked too much, or got seasick? And what if he wouldn’t obey my orders, or went crazy and tried to take control of the sub? I knew that captains of military airplanes and subs used to carry pistols, and had the authority to shoot anyone who disobeyed a direct order or threatened the ship. That was pretty severe, but there was a reason for it. What if a person went berserk, sank a sub, or crashed a plane, and killed everyone? I knew I was worrying too much, but couldn’t stop my imagination from running away with it. The sub was a small, confined space, and a dangerous place to be if anything went wrong. And something always went wrong at sea, sooner or later. That was one of the unwritten rules.

But I had agreed because I believed what Merwin had said was true—it was more important to save the environment than it was to worry about protecting someone who didn’t even want protecting. And it wasn’t as if he would sail with us forever. We’d just travel along the coast for a couple of weeks, and I’d make a point of stopping and sleeping on land as much as possible. That wouldn’t be so bad.

We followed the winding roads downtown, and passed the dockyard where the
Steve Irwin
had been moored, but she was gone. She’d be on her way to the Antarctic now. Tasmania was only two thousand miles away from Antarctica, due south, and many research and expedition vessels were stationed here, including the
Aurora Australis
, a huge icebreaker painted as red as a raspberry. We walked right past it. Having come through the Arctic, and run into polar bears, snowy owls, and treacherous ice chunks; having fallen into icy water, and been trapped in the ice for three unbearably long days, I had no desire to visit Antarctica on this trip. I knew well enough what ice and icebergs looked like.

But the Sea Shepherd Society was on its way to save whales, and that was more than worth the trouble. I didn’t know why Merwin didn’t just join their crew if he wanted to help save whales, unless…he was too old. I remembered how young the crew on the dock had been. Yah, that was probably it. It was a very physically demanding job, and it was dangerous. I sure hoped he didn’t think we were sailing the sub into Antarctic waters, because we weren’t.

On the far side of the dockyard, I found a phone booth, squeezed inside with Hollie, and dialled the operator. She helped me make the long-distance call to Ziegfried. It was the evening of the day before in Newfoundland. When I heard Ziegfried’s voice in the receiver, my heart rushed into my throat. I never knew why my emotions always snuck up on me.

Ziegfried was my best friend and mentor. He had designed and built the sub, with me helping as his lackey—sanding, filing, and searching for materials in the junkyard. Ziegfried was a giant of a man, but had the most generous heart, and it was only because of his generosity, and inventive genius, that I had been able to go to sea in a submarine. Over the two and a half years it had taken us to build and test the sub, he had become like a father to me.

We had an agreement that I would be the captain of the sub whenever she was in the water, but he had the right to dry-dock her whenever he felt she wasn’t safe anymore, for whatever reason. Once she was out of the water, he was the boss. And he was obsessed with safety. I mean, I knew he had to be, and that was why I was still alive, but it could be painful waiting until he felt the sub was ready to go back in the water. She was due for a servicing, too, which meant that I should have been sailing back to Newfoundland now, where we would haul her out of the water, scrape the barnacles off, sand her down, and give her several new coats of paint. Then, we would start on the engine and other systems inside. I was nervous even calling him, because I was afraid he’d say it was time to turn around and come home, where I didn’t yet want to go. But I had to tell him about converting the engine to burn vegetable fat. I’d be breaking our agreement if I didn’t.

“Al! It’s so great to hear from you, buddy! We were worried. We heard about the incident with the tanker in Perth.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was on the national news. Tell me you weren’t involved.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I knew it!”

“I mean, I was there, but I didn’t do it.”

“Of course you didn’t. And now you’re in Tasmania?”

“Yah. How is Sheba and everybody else?”

“Sheba’s great. Everybody’s great. It’s so good to hear from you, Al. Your grandfather asks if you are coming home. What can I tell him?”

“Uhh…”

“I didn’t think so. You know, we’re going to have to raise the sub into the boathouse sometime soon, and give her a good overhaul.”

“I know.”

“We don’t want to wait too long.”

“I know. Actually, I met an inventor here who says he can convert the engine to burn vegetable fat. What do you think? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

There was a long pause. I held my breath.

“Interesting, Al. Who is he? Is he an engine specialist?”

“Not exactly. He’s…an inventor and a sculptor.”

“A sculptor?”

“Yah. But he converted the engines of his VW campers to burn vegetable fat. I had a ride in one yesterday.”

There was another pause. “How did it run, Al? Did it burn cleanly?”

“Not exactly.”

“Al…”

“But it’s great for the environment.”

“Al…”

“And he gets the fat for free from the restaurants here.”

“That’s great, Al, but vegetable fat will ruin a good engine. Did it burn clean, or did you leave a trail of smoke?”

This wasn’t going as well as I had hoped. “It was pretty smoky.”

“Did he have special fuel injectors for the fat, or did he use a two-tank system?”

“He uses two tanks.”

“And he has to heat up the fat?”

“Yah.”

“You don’t want to go that way, Al. You’ll clog up the engine in no time. And you don’t want anybody touching the engine who doesn’t have a lot of experience. You can’t afford to have an engine breakdown at sea, you know that.”

“I know.”

We were both silent.

“Tell you what, Al: wait till you come back, and we’ll do it here. And we’ll do it properly. Then you can burn all the vegetable fat you like. Okay?”

I was disappointed, but knew that Ziegfried was right. “Yah, okay.”

“Does he have any experience with submarines, Al?”

“He’s building one right now.”

“Is he? Would you go to sea in it?”

“No.”

“There’s your answer right there, Al.”

“Yah, I know.”

“Just so we’re clear on this: nobody’s going to touch the engine but you, correct?”

“Yah. Correct.”

“Good then. Al, Sheba wants to talk. I’ll put her on. I miss you, buddy.”

“I miss you, too.”

Sheba was married to Ziegfried, but I had met her first when she lived alone on her own little island in Bonavista Bay, with a house full of living creatures. To the dozens of rescued animals, birds, reptiles, bugs, and plants of all sorts that she had been taking in for years, she was Mother Nature. She was the most loving person you could ever possibly meet. In all of my travels I have never met anyone as wonderful as her. Her home has become my home when I’m not at sea.

I last saw Sheba and Ziegfried in India, where they came for their honeymoon, just a few months earlier.

“Alfred, my precious boy…my heart is heavy…I am missing you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“You sailed to Australia instead of coming home.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It must be the right thing because you are following your heart.”

“I’m learning about environmentalism here.”

“Yes, I know. You are a warrior for peace. I have been reading your cards, and have had dreams about you.”

Yikes! Whenever Sheba had dreams about me, dangerous things happened, and I had to watch my step. She was an oracle. If she told you something was going to happen, it would.

“What did you dream?”

I heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. That wasn’t a good sign, either. I could see her standing by the bookcase in her cottage home, surrounded by ocean and fog, but basking in the generated light that helped her hydroponic garden grow. There were probably a couple of cockatiels on her shoulder, a goat nibbling at the hem of her skirt, and a butterfly or two in her hair—her long, red hair, shaped with a thousand seashell curls, like waves on the sea. Sheba was the queen of the sea, too.

“You will be hurt where you have been hurt before, Alfred, but you will come out of it. That is the important thing, and that is all I know. I am not worried for you, my dear heart, because I know you are dedicated to coming home, and my dreams tell me you will indeed come home.”

“That’s good. What kind of injury do you think it will be?” I had been shot in the arm a year ago; I sure hoped it didn’t mean I’d get shot again.

“I don’t know. It might not be of the body; it might be of the heart.”

“Oh. That’s strange. But I will be okay?”

“Yes, my precious one. I would protect you so that you would not bruise your toe against a stone, but you are a man, and you must follow your heart. And how are our furry and feathered children?” She meant Hollie and Seaweed.

“They’re great. Lots of long walks here. Everybody’s doing great.”

“My heart is lifting. I love you with all my heart, Alfred.”

“I love you, too.”

“That is all I needed to hear. I am happy now.”

Sheba did not shy away from expressing what was in her heart. But now I had to wonder what was coming my way. Whatever it was, I sure hoped it wasn’t because I had agreed to take Merwin on the sub.

Chapter Eighteen