Fluke, Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings by Christopher Moore
Authors: Christopher Moore
Tags: Fiction, General, prose_contemporary, Humorous stories, Humorous, Psychological, Humorous fiction, Psychological fiction, Human-animal relationships, Hawaii, Whale sounds, Humpback whale, Midlife crisis
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yesterday, Elizabeth. All my notes, the tapes, the analysis — it's all destroyed."
There was silence on the line for a moment. Nate could hear the Old Broad breathing. Finally, "I'm really sorry, Nathan. Is everyone all right?"
"Yes, it happened while we were out working."
"Is there anything I can do? I mean, I can't send much, but if — "
"No, we're all right. It's just a lot of work that I have to start over." The Old Broad might have been loaded at one time, and she certainly would be again if she sold the land where Papa Lani stood, but Nate didn't think that she had a lot of money to spare after the last bear market. Even if she did, this wasn't a problem that could be solved with cash.
"Well, then, you get back to work, but try to get out tomorrow. There's a big male out there who told me he wants you to bring him a hot pastrami on rye."
Nate grinned and almost snorted into the phone. "Elizabeth, you know they don't eat while they're in these waters."
"I'm just relaying the message, Nathan. Don't you snicker at me. He's a big male, broad, like he just came down from Alaska — frankly, I don't know why he'd be hungry, he's as big as a house. But anyway, Swiss and hot English mustard, he was very clear about that. He has very unusual markings on his flukes. I couldn't see them from here, but he says you'll know him."
Nate felt his face go numb with something approximating shock. "Elizabeth —»
"Call if you need anything, Nathan. My love to Clay. Aloha."
Nathan Quinn let the phone slip from his fingers, then zombie-stumbled out of the office and back to his own cabin, where he decided he was going to nap and keep napping until he woke up to a world that wasn't so irritatingly weird.
* * *
Right on the edge of a dream where he was gleefully steering a sixty-foot cabin cruiser up Second Street in downtown Seattle, plowing aside slow-moving vehicles while Amy, clad in a silver bikini and looking uncharacteristically tan, stood in the bow and waved to people who had come to the windows of their second-story offices to marvel at the freedom and power of the Mighty Quinn — right on the edge of a perfect dream, Clay burst into the room. Talking.
"Kona's moving into cabin six."
"Get some lines in the water, Amy," Nate said from the drears of morpheum opus. "We're coming up on Pike's Place Market, and there's fish to be had."
Clay waited, not quite smiling, not quite not, while Nate sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Driving a boat on the street?" Clay said, nodding. All skippers had that dream.
"Seattle," said Nate. "The Zodiac lives in cabin six."
"We haven't used the Zodiac in ten years, it won't hold air." Clay went to the closet that acted as a divider between the living/sleeping area and the kitchen. He pulled down a stack of sheets, then towels. "You wouldn't believe how they had this kid living, Nate. It was a tin industrial building, out by the airport. Twenty, thirty of them, in little stalls with cots and not enough room to swing a dead cat. The wiring was extension cords draped over the tops of the stalls. Six hundred a month for that."
Nate shrugged. "So? We lived that way the first couple of years. It's what you do. We might need cabin six for something. Storage or something."
"Nope," said Clay. "That place was a sweat box and a fire hazard. He's not living there. He's our guy."
"But Clay, he's only been with us for a day. He's probably a criminal."
"He's our guy," said Clay, and that was that. Clay had very strong views on loyalty. If Clay had decided that Kona was their guy, he was their guy.
"Okay," said Nate, feeling as if he had just invited the Medusa in for a sandwich. "The Old Broad called."
"How is she?"
"Still nuts."
"How're you?"
"Getting there."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sanctuary, Sanctuary,
Cried the Humpback
When a visitor first drives into the Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale Sanctuary — five baby blue shiplap buildings trimmed out in cobalt, crouching on the edge of the
There was silence on the line for a moment. Nate could hear the Old Broad breathing. Finally, "I'm really sorry, Nathan. Is everyone all right?"
"Yes, it happened while we were out working."
"Is there anything I can do? I mean, I can't send much, but if — "
"No, we're all right. It's just a lot of work that I have to start over." The Old Broad might have been loaded at one time, and she certainly would be again if she sold the land where Papa Lani stood, but Nate didn't think that she had a lot of money to spare after the last bear market. Even if she did, this wasn't a problem that could be solved with cash.
"Well, then, you get back to work, but try to get out tomorrow. There's a big male out there who told me he wants you to bring him a hot pastrami on rye."
Nate grinned and almost snorted into the phone. "Elizabeth, you know they don't eat while they're in these waters."
"I'm just relaying the message, Nathan. Don't you snicker at me. He's a big male, broad, like he just came down from Alaska — frankly, I don't know why he'd be hungry, he's as big as a house. But anyway, Swiss and hot English mustard, he was very clear about that. He has very unusual markings on his flukes. I couldn't see them from here, but he says you'll know him."
Nate felt his face go numb with something approximating shock. "Elizabeth —»
"Call if you need anything, Nathan. My love to Clay. Aloha."
Nathan Quinn let the phone slip from his fingers, then zombie-stumbled out of the office and back to his own cabin, where he decided he was going to nap and keep napping until he woke up to a world that wasn't so irritatingly weird.
* * *
Right on the edge of a dream where he was gleefully steering a sixty-foot cabin cruiser up Second Street in downtown Seattle, plowing aside slow-moving vehicles while Amy, clad in a silver bikini and looking uncharacteristically tan, stood in the bow and waved to people who had come to the windows of their second-story offices to marvel at the freedom and power of the Mighty Quinn — right on the edge of a perfect dream, Clay burst into the room. Talking.
"Kona's moving into cabin six."
"Get some lines in the water, Amy," Nate said from the drears of morpheum opus. "We're coming up on Pike's Place Market, and there's fish to be had."
Clay waited, not quite smiling, not quite not, while Nate sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Driving a boat on the street?" Clay said, nodding. All skippers had that dream.
"Seattle," said Nate. "The Zodiac lives in cabin six."
"We haven't used the Zodiac in ten years, it won't hold air." Clay went to the closet that acted as a divider between the living/sleeping area and the kitchen. He pulled down a stack of sheets, then towels. "You wouldn't believe how they had this kid living, Nate. It was a tin industrial building, out by the airport. Twenty, thirty of them, in little stalls with cots and not enough room to swing a dead cat. The wiring was extension cords draped over the tops of the stalls. Six hundred a month for that."
Nate shrugged. "So? We lived that way the first couple of years. It's what you do. We might need cabin six for something. Storage or something."
"Nope," said Clay. "That place was a sweat box and a fire hazard. He's not living there. He's our guy."
"But Clay, he's only been with us for a day. He's probably a criminal."
"He's our guy," said Clay, and that was that. Clay had very strong views on loyalty. If Clay had decided that Kona was their guy, he was their guy.
"Okay," said Nate, feeling as if he had just invited the Medusa in for a sandwich. "The Old Broad called."
"How is she?"
"Still nuts."
"How're you?"
"Getting there."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sanctuary, Sanctuary,
Cried the Humpback
When a visitor first drives into the Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale Sanctuary — five baby blue shiplap buildings trimmed out in cobalt, crouching on the edge of the
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