|
|
Executive Times |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
2006 Book Reviews |
|||
|
|
The Whale
Caller by Zakes Mda |
|||
|
Rating: |
*** |
|||
|
|
(Recommended) |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
Fishy I’m still scratching my head after
reading Zakes Mda’s new
novel, The
Whale Caller. The prose is captivating, the people are unusual, and the emotions
bubble over the top on many pages. On one level, this is a story of an
unlikely love-triangle. The unnamed whale caller plays love songs on a kelp
horn to the whale he loves and has named Sharisha.
The town drunk of Hermanus, a town on the west
coast of The whales have been gone
for many months, and the taverns of Hermanus miss
their love child. She has been gone for almost as long as the whales. Many rumours circulate, ranging from the mundane to the
sublime. She stowed away in an oil tanker. She was seen at the These stories change every
day, like the story of her own conception: one day she is seen riding on the
back of a dolphin which swims with her to the horizon, and the next day she
has joined a cloister of nuns and has taken the vow of chastity, or has been
discovered by a talent scout and now she sings the blues on a cruise liner. There are those who know a
different truth. They are the very few who have found reason to venture to
the beaches, to Walker Bay and the Old Harbour—areas
often shunned by the true-blooded citizens of Hermanus
as being too touristy. They have seen Saluni, they
claim, waltzing in the morning with a strange man who blows a kelp horn for
the whales. No, not Wilson Salukazana the whale
crier from Zwelihle, who is employed by the town
council to alert whale watchers as to the presence and location of whales.
Everyone knows the whale crier. He has been seen in newspapers and on
television. Everyone in the world who has a camera has photographed him. The
whale man seen with Saluni is a different one, the
bald brawny silver-bearded man in blue dungarees or black tie who does not
relish an audience when he blows his horn, but merely tolerates it because
there is nothing he can do about it. The one who calls whales to himself and
spends the nights dancing with them. Saluni is
often seen with him. Loitering on the beach like the strandlopers
of old. Strolling down supermarket aisles. Smiling broadly. Sometimes even
holding hands! Yes, the very Saluni that they
thought they knew so well! The love child. But the habitués of the
taverns do not want to believe these rumour-mongers.
Their story is pooh-poohed as the most ridiculous ever invented in the Saluni has indeed transformed into a watermaid of sorts. Her body has not turned into that of
a fish, but on sunny days she spends many hours with her feet immersed in the
emerald green shallows. Even on a day like this where everything is just a
mass of greyness and one can’t tell where the sea
ends and the sky begins, she sits on a rock playing with the water and making
monotonous splashes with her feet. When days are grey, water also assumes
dull colours. Not blue. Not emerald green. Misty
purple. Oily brown. Or just grey like the day. The Whale Caller sits on the
green bench above and watches her as he used to watch the whales. He can only
see her back. The wild wind blows her red hair in wild directions, making it
look like the hissing serpents of Medusa. But he knows that from the front
her face will not turn every living thing beholding it into stone. It is a
ravishing face, though the elements and the wine have taken their toll on it. He is alarmed at the intensity of his
feeling for her, so violent that it wants to burst out of his chest. It has
never happened like this before; even with the buxom women in the hamlets he
passed through when he used to travel the coast. Those were his
happy-go-lucky days. He indulged his youthful fancies and moved on. Sometimes
he lingered for a few months or even years when the ambience was convivial
enough. But ultimately he moved on because no strong attachments were ever
established in his adventures and misadventures with the female folk. This
feeling that is actually making him physically ill is a new experience, and
in spite of its debilitating effect it illumines his face. His whole body
feels light as if he is levitating, though he is actually sitting firmly on
the bench. Saluni is very much aware of his physical
illness. She shares a similar malaise, with slight variations, though she
sometimes doubts if his is directly related to her. She believes that it is
likely to be caused by someone—or rather something—else. Her doubts worsen
whenever he sits on that bench and has a faraway look in his eyes. She
suspects that on those occasions his mind is populated by images of Sharisha lobtailing and doing
all sorts of crude things in the ocean. Although the name of Sharisha has not featured in their conversation for many
months, she silently bears a grudge against her. She blames her for the sad
fact that she and the Whale Caller have not consummated their union. Her thoughts are on this
lack of consummation as she withdraws from the water to sit on the moist
sand a short distance away. Drawing deeply from her historical memory, she
chants spells from the binding rituals of those wonderful pagan epochs. She
commands through binding hymns that her beloved should be subject to her will
and act according to her wishes. With sand she builds an effigy of her
beloved, in the manner that the lovesick moulded
such effigies in old Egypt and Greece—a male pursuit in those ancient cultures—and
still mould them in the enchanting voodoo rituals of some Africans. In her sequinned handbag, which is lying on the sand next to the
stilettos, she finds a matchbox. She uses the matchsticks to pierce the
sandman in the arms and the legs and the heart, chanting the binding hymn
that the beloved will come to her running, burning with desire, and she will
drag him by his beard and even by his genitals, until he surrenders himself
completely to her. She tortures the sandman with her “needles” until the
Whale Caller feels the pain where he is sitting, and has seizures. He does
not know the immediate source of this further violence on his body, except
for the fact that the mere sight of Saluni has been
giving him feverish outbursts lately. Although the fever has
caused him great discomfort in the general area of his groin, he would like
to believe that it has nothing to do with carnal desires. His position since
his return from his wanderings and the discovery of the pleasures that can be
derived from whales is that there are things that are more beautiful and
less messy than copulation. The most important is just being at the same
place at the same time with the object of your affections, breathing the
same air and smelling the same smells. Doing little things for each other
rather than to each other. He loves doing little things for Saluni although she never seems to notice them. He does
all the giving and she is a thankless receiver. He rejoices in generosity
and has stopped being puzzled at her lack of any expression of gratitude. Once there was an outburst
about it. He had returned quite late from collecting his monthly pension
because of the long queues at the mobile pay point since such payments are
all made only one day of the month. Thousands of old-age pensioners and
disabled people had been queuing for hours, especially those, like the Whale
Caller, who do not have bank accounts to which the money is directly
transferred by the state. He had been standing in the queue all day long, and
could not even dash away for lunch lest he lost his place. He was very hungry
and was looking forward to a nice hot meal when he got back to the Wendy
house. But Saluni had not cooked any food. She was
just sitting on the bed filing and painting her nails. “You did not cook? Why?”
asked the Whale Caller. “I was not hungry,” she
responded. “You go to the Bored Twins
and when you come back there is a meal waiting for you.” “What have the Bored Twins
got to do with it, man? What are you on about?” “Whenever you come back
there is food waiting for you, Saluni. Did you
think I cooked it because I was hungry?” “Don’t get so worked up
about it, man. It’s only food.” “If I cooked only when I am
hungry there would be no meals in this house.” The Whale Caller sulked as
he brought water to the boil on the hot plate. It was no big deal to cook
macaroni and then to sprinkle grated “Oh, I see,” said Saluni, “you want a woman who will cook for you? You
didn’t bring me here to be your maid, did you?” “I didn’t bring you here at
all. You brought yourself.” “But I am not your
servant.” “I am not your servant
either, but I do cook for you. Did you think I was doing it because I was
your servant?” “So now you are nitpicking,
are you?” “I look after you because I
care, not because I am your servant. I expect the caring to be mutual.” Saluni only laughed. He vowed to himself
never to raise the matter of Saluni’s selfishness
again. Now he has learnt to live with it. It is how Saluni
has been created. She means no harm by it. She just has never known how to
look out for the next person. He watches her with pride as she chants her
binding spells. He can’t hear what she is saying. He thinks she has invented
a new childish game. The grey sky darkens, and Saluni stamps on her sandman, chanting more binding
spells. His body convulses, which he tries hard to hide though his face is
mapped with pain. Mercifully the pain evaporates as soon as she stops the
manic dance. In Saluni’s fit of unfulfilled erotomania the flattened effigy has joined the other
grains of white sand that will become sand castles in a few months’ time when
the winter rains have stopped and the warmth of summer has returned. She
grabs her stilettos and handbag, and walks up to the bench. “It looks like rain,” she
says. “It smells like rain,” he
says. “Perhaps we should go home.” “You might have to carry me
on your back,” he says. “My whole body feels sick.” “I know.” “How do you know?” “Somehow we make each other
sick. But don’t worry, you will get over it.” “I don’t want to get over it. It is a
beautiful sickness.” They slowly walk back to the Wendy house. Like it or not, The Whale
Caller may be the most unusual book you’ll read this year. The
fascinating characters are certainly memorable. Steve Hopkins,
March 23, 2006 |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
Go to Executive Times
Archives |
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the April 2006
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The
Whale Caller.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
