CHAPTER TWENTY -TWO<\/p>\n
My childhood, a blur of delights and dilemmas, was the same<\/p>\n
as that of other children. I worked through special schools for<\/p>\n
the deaf and persevered my way through college. Painstakingly,<\/p>\n
I learned to read lips and, by over articulating my own speech, to<\/p>\n
make others understand me. I signed to those who understood that<\/p>\n
beautiful language; and to those who did not, I appeared the loner,<\/p>\n
locked in a cage of silence. Through determination alone, I man-<\/p>\n
aged to achieve my PhD, a doctorate in marine biology.<\/p>\n
After graduation, I petitioned school after school for a teach-<\/p>\n
ing position, but few wanted to risk hiring a deaf professor. In des-<\/p>\n
peration and with a passionate desire to put my love for the sea to<\/p>\n
some application, I interviewed for the position of staff biologist<\/p>\n
with a small aquarium and water park called Water Whirled on the<\/p>\n
coast near Los Angeles. My folks tagged along to help translate my<\/p>\n
signing and to buffer the first shock felt by most people when they<\/p>\n
interview someone who is deaf.<\/p>\n
Other than my childhood memories of marine parks, I was<\/p>\n
somewhat ambivalent about the entertainment value of the creatures<\/p>\n
of the sea. My childhood memory of the Beluga and the other de-<\/p>\n
lightful creatures at the aquarium was overshadowed by a sense of<\/p>\n
melancholy as I followed a teenage guide to the management offices<\/p>\n
of the open exhibit aquarium sitting on an old pier that thrust out<\/p>\n
into the bay. Sad-eyed dolphins watched doleful from tiny concrete<\/p>\n
pools as we clattered our way through this hodge-podge collection<\/p>\n
from the sea. In the largest pond at the center of it all, surrounded<\/p>\n
by carnival pennants and bunting, was a glass-paneled tank where a<\/p>\n
Beluga, not unlike my whale from years gone by, gently floated. As<\/p>\n
his winking, gleeful eye peeked at me through the viewing window, I<\/p>\n
knew that no matter which job was available, it was here I would stay.<\/p>\n
The heat of this hot summer\u2019s day reflected blindly off the<\/p>\n
artificial blue waters in tank after concrete tank. My parents and<\/p>\n
I were led into the office of the owner and manager of this ocean<\/p>\n
carnival, Dr. Melvin Lambert. His office was cool and dim in con-<\/p>\n
trast with the grounds and smelled of stale cigars, sweat, and cloy-<\/p>\n
ing cologne. In the middle of the room was a cluttered desk with a<\/p>\n
gooseneck lamp that spilled light over a paper mountain of receipts,<\/p>\n
other applications, and candy wrappers.<\/p>\n
Behind the desk sat Dr. Lambert himself in an overstuffed<\/p>\n
chair. His tousled hair framed a walrus-looking face, complete with a<\/p>\n
bushy mustache that wrapped about his mouth. He gave the im-<\/p>\n
pression of being eccentric but harmless–harmless, that is, until he<\/p>\n
opened his mouth.<\/p>\n
My father explained to Lambert that although I was deaf I<\/p>\n
could read lips as well as most people could hear, as long as the<\/p>\n
person speaking enunciated clearly. Lambert instantly began to<\/p>\n
over-enunciate every word, patronizing me from the start. I had<\/p>\n
promised myself that I would maintain a sense of professionalism<\/p>\n
throughout the proceedings, but Lambert\u2019s first question clearly<\/p>\n
shook my resolve, \u201cWell, little girl, why do you want to work at a<\/p>\n
sea life park?\u201d<\/p>\n
I signed and my father interpreted my slightly idealistic and<\/p>\n
overly prepared answer, \u201cEvery since I was a child I wanted to work<\/p>\n
with marine mammals. It has always been my desire because I love<\/p>\n
all creatures of the sea. Through research, I feel I can add some-<\/p>\n
thing, at least my understanding, to the world around me. When I<\/p>\n
was four I \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
The little walrus rolled his beady eyes heavenward and threw<\/p>\n
his chubby arms up. \u201cEnough, enough!\u201d he mouthed. \u201cStop before<\/p>\n
you get cramps in your hands, girlie.\u201d He sat there for a moment<\/p>\n
shaking his head. \u201cOh, lord!\u201d he laughed, \u201cas I live and breathe . . .<\/p>\n
another whale-saving environmentalist!\u201d<\/p>\n
Shortest job interview and rejection I had to date. I stood up<\/p>\n
and started for the door but my father grabbed my arm. \u201cHe\u2019s not<\/p>\n
done,\u201d he signed.<\/p>\n
I took a deep breath to control my temper. Calmed, I asked if<\/p>\n
I could write my answers to his questions rather than signing them<\/p>\n
through my father. Lambert reluctantly agreed, and a performance<\/p>\n
slate used to train dolphins was brought into his office My father<\/p>\n
went outside to wait with my mother, and I was left alone with this<\/p>\n
pudgy barracuda. For the rest of the interview, I scribbled in re-<\/p>\n
sponse to his interrogation. I am sure it was only by accident that<\/p>\n
my nails raked across the board as I answered some of his more<\/p>\n
asinine questions. It was fun to watch him grimace.<\/p>\n
At the conclusion of the nearly two-hour interview, Dr. Lam-<\/p>\n
bert leaned back in his chair and smiled a little oil-slick smile. \u201cYou<\/p>\n
know, Shar-oon,\u201d he mouthed, \u201cI really don\u2019t like environmentalists.<\/p>\n
I hate the Sierra club and don\u2019t get me started on Green Peace or<\/p>\n
any of the others. For the most part, they are nothing more than<\/p>\n
pests that stand in the way of progress. Worse yet, they want to be<\/p>\n
paid for being pests. If I hire you, I imagine you will bemoan the<\/p>\n
plight of our whale or the old dolphins. But, and there is a big butt<\/p>\n
and it ain\u2019t mine\u2026 if I don\u2019t hire you, then I am a heartless old fart<\/p>\n
who hates the handicapped.\u201d<\/p>\n
The chalk fairly danced across the slate as I angrily and<\/p>\n
boldly wrote, \u201cI AM NOT HANDICAPPED!\u201d and my fingernails once<\/p>\n
again screeched along the slate.<\/p>\n
\u201cHold on! Hold on!\u201d he muttered his eyes squinted in pain<\/p>\n
as he raised his hands as if to surrender. \u201cThere are several things<\/p>\n
in your favor. Because you are handicapped\u2014\u2018scuse me, because<\/p>\n
you are not handicapped rather hearing impaired\u2014the park will<\/p>\n
qualify for some major federal grants and money from the Feds is<\/p>\n
found money and found money is good. I like money. It keeps me<\/p>\n
company in my old age. Furthermore, your being on staff would add<\/p>\n
a bright pity angle to our public relations. Hmm, I like that . . . a<\/p>\n
handicapped employee that will help draw in the handicapped. Their<\/p>\n
money is good enough for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He paused as he noticed my angry expression. \u201cDon\u2019t look<\/p>\n
so shocked! This is the real world, kid, and deaf, dumb, or both,<\/p>\n
people are going to use you. The reality of life is making money,<\/p>\n
and that\u2019s what this is all about,\u201d he said, waving his pudgy little<\/p>\n
hands in a grand sweeping gesture about the room. \u201cIt would be<\/p>\n
a lot simpler just to keep the little fishies, cause they don\u2019t need<\/p>\n
much upkeep, and they kind of feed on themselves . . . but the pay-<\/p>\n
ing public wants a circus: they want a show. So, I give them whales<\/p>\n
and dolphins and sometimes a pretty deaf girl to feel sorry for. They<\/p>\n
get what they want, and I get what I want. They get to be close to<\/p>\n
that fat, floating chunk of blubber called a Beluga, and I get bigger<\/p>\n
gate receipts. Well, what do you say, Shar-oon?\u201d he over enunciat-<\/p>\n
ed. \u201cDo we have a deal?\u201d He extended his greasy right hand with<\/p>\n
its plump, sausage fingers.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t know what to do. On the one hand, I wanted to grind<\/p>\n
him up as shark bait, and, on the other, I had a begrudging respect<\/p>\n
for his blunt honesty. I took the job, but I didn\u2019t take Lambert\u2019s<\/p>\n
hand. I slowly wrote the word YES, my fingernails grating the<\/p>\n
slate with every stroke.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd,\u201d he muttered through a clenched jaw, \u201cyou have<\/p>\n
a cell phone, I presume?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cUse it to text me. From now on that\u2019s how we\u2019ll communi-<\/p>\n
cate. No more writing on slates.\u201d<\/p>\n
I fished my cell phone from my pocket and then paused. Us-<\/p>\n
ing the slate, the stub of chalk and my fingernails, I wrote, \u201cI don\u2019t<\/p>\n
have your number.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grabbed the slate and the chalk from my hands and<\/p>\n
scrawled his phone number on the board.<\/p>\n
With facades firmly back in place, we went out into the wait-<\/p>\n
ing room to tell my parents the news.<\/p>\n
My title was staff marine biologist, but my job was simply to<\/p>\n
care for the whale and dolphins. Mine was a basic task–to make<\/p>\n
sure that they were ready for the hourly shows, period . . . nothing<\/p>\n
else. Any research or study I wanted to do had to be done on my<\/p>\n
own time, which suited me fine. My office\/lab was an old bait shack<\/p>\n
near the end of the pier now turned Water Whirled, which was good<\/p>\n
and bad. The good was being on the water the bad was that until a<\/p>\n
day or two ago the shack was used for the storage of raw bait.<\/p>\n
My parents helped me find a small, furnished duplex to rent<\/p>\n
only a couple of blocks from Water Whirled, and, after moving my<\/p>\n
clothes and few personal items, they left me alone in my new sur-<\/p>\n
roundings. Through college and graduate schools, I had still felt<\/p>\n
like a child, but now, for the first time, I was truly on my own.<\/p>\n
So began my daily routine as a professional but a profession-<\/p>\n
al what? The first few weeks were focused on cleaning and painting<\/p>\n
the bait shack. I slathered on so many layers of paint to mask the<\/p>\n
cloying odor of decayed sardines and other bait fish. Once bear-<\/p>\n
able inside, I set up all the medical and examination equipment the<\/p>\n
park had which was little. Lambert allowed me a modest budget for<\/p>\n
a surgery which consisted of a small wheedled gurney and enough<\/p>\n
surgical tools and supplies to provide health care to the whale and<\/p>\n
the dolphins.<\/p>\n
For the most part, I steered clear of Lambert for both our<\/p>\n
sakes and concentrated on the care of the fish, dolphins, and the<\/p>\n
whale. Helping me was a Native American by the name of Peter<\/p>\n
Twofin. Peter was a Haida Indian from Alaska who, with his natural<\/p>\n
abilities, intuition, and rugged strength, was a great help. He had<\/p>\n
worked at the park for a couple of years while he attended a local<\/p>\n
college part time. Better than best, his mother and father were also<\/p>\n
deaf and he had learned to sign at a young age.<\/p>\n
Peter bothered me, though, because often I would find him<\/p>\n
staring at me and he wouldn\u2019t look away. He\u2019d grin. I\u2019d scowl. He\u2019d<\/p>\n
grin again, infectiously. And every time, I would smile back, feeling<\/p>\n
like an idiot, and then I would turn away, cheeks flaming. He was a<\/p>\n
great help but a bit odd.<\/p>\n
Nighttime at the marina was a gentle time when the whale and<\/p>\n
dolphins quietly swam about their pools and cast longing glances<\/p>\n
as I sat watching. \u201cWhat are you all about?\u201d I often thought as I<\/p>\n
sat there, watching the water lap softly on the backs of these gentle<\/p>\n
creatures. \u201cDo you think? Do you worry? Do you laugh? Can you<\/p>\n
read my mind?\u201d<\/p>\n
I privately named the beluga Pillsbury, and in my nighttime<\/p>\n
rounds he was my clown prince. Pillsbury was an absolute delight,<\/p>\n
even if a bit rambunctious. He seemed to know when everyone<\/p>\n
had left and we were all alone. Then his games would begin, and<\/p>\n
he would race about the pool in gleeful abandon. But he was old,<\/p>\n
and, other than simple non-performance appearances at the Water<\/p>\n
Whirled Revues, he did nothing more than swim idly in his tank<\/p>\n
and wait for me. It was odd, but there was always a perception of a<\/p>\n
greater intelligence and soul within the eyes of this Beluga. Since<\/p>\n
I had been a child, whales\u2019 eyes had always danced with a seeming<\/p>\n
desire to communicate. Now that I was working at the marina, that<\/p>\n
reaching out–that staring into the soul through the eye–was a daily<\/p>\n
occurrence.<\/p>\n
During my second month at the marina, I began to take note<\/p>\n
of the harsh training techniques of the infamous Dr. Lambert. If a<\/p>\n
particular dolphin did not perform to the good doctor\u2019s expectations<\/p>\n
or didn\u2019t finish a routine correctly, the animal\u2019s food ration was cut<\/p>\n
in half, Lambert\u2019s theory being that a hungry dolphin was a coop-<\/p>\n
erative dolphin. Late at night I would slip into the tank with fish<\/p>\n
for the delinquent dolphin, though not enough that Lambert could<\/p>\n
know anything was amiss.<\/p>\n
The punishments inflicted on the dolphins were nothing in<\/p>\n
comparison to the techniques used on poor Pillsbury. The doctor<\/p>\n
was obsessed with the Beluga\u2019s failure to do nothing more than<\/p>\n
swim around the performance tank and occasionally breach on<\/p>\n
command. Lambert had been to the famous marinas like Sea World.<\/p>\n
There he had seen all that he wished his marina could become. He<\/p>\n
would return from a conference in San Diego filled with envy for<\/p>\n
Sea World\u2019s gate receipts. \u201cWhat we need,\u201d he railed after one trip,<\/p>\n
\u201cis an Orca–a killer whale–a crowd pleaser. Then we could pull in<\/p>\n
the dough. Big bucks! But can I buy an Orca? Why? Because I<\/p>\n
ain\u2019t got enough room. No, I have only one big tank, and I can\u2019t<\/p>\n
afford to build any others. That one big tank is filled with a gigantic<\/p>\n
marshmallow that can\u2019t even burp on command.\u201d With hate in his<\/p>\n
eyes, he glared at the beluga\u2019s tank. Poor Pillsbury, sensing the<\/p>\n
mood of his captor, swam quietly to the other side of the tank.<\/p>\n
Shortly after one of these tirades, I began to notice odd,<\/p>\n
round welts on Pillsbury\u2019s skin. At first, they were only on his dor-<\/p>\n
sal fin, but, as weeks went by, they began to appear on his great<\/p>\n
snout and around his eyes. He also began to act listless even at<\/p>\n
nighttime, which was when he would play for me in the water. Now<\/p>\n
when the park was closed and I was tending to my rounds he would<\/p>\n
float quietly on the surface of the water, staring glassy-eyed at noth-<\/p>\n
ing in particular. I texted note after note to the other staff members,<\/p>\n
asking if they knew the cause of the round welts or the lethargy, but<\/p>\n
Peter and the others seemed as mystified as I.<\/p>\n
Even Lambert appeared almost sympathetic about the mys-<\/p>\n
terious lesions. \u201cTsk, tsk,\u201d he would mutter as he shook his head,<\/p>\n
\u201cpoor old whale must be butting his head against the tank at night<\/p>\n
after everybody is gone. Damn! I sure hope he\u2019s not getting that<\/p>\n
beaching virus.\u201d<\/p>\n
The so-called beaching virus, or whatever it was, caused en-<\/p>\n
tire pods of whales to beach themselves–to rush full-speed from the<\/p>\n
sea to the shore, there to lie until they died. I, too, prayed fervently<\/p>\n
that it was not this mysterious malady–for the end result was always<\/p>\n
the same . . . death.<\/p>\n
Peter and I spent hours checking the inside of the tank for<\/p>\n
any odd protuberance that could be causing the wounds, but we<\/p>\n
could find nothing. Nightly I would sit in my kitchen with a cup of<\/p>\n
coffee and scour the internet, but no amount of research solved the<\/p>\n
mystery. I would fall asleep at night and wake in the morning worry-<\/p>\n
ing about Pillsbury. No matter what I tried, from food supplements<\/p>\n
to shots of megavitamins, nothing seemed to work. Pillsbury was<\/p>\n
getting worse and worse. It came to the point where he refused to<\/p>\n
eat and seemed to give up on life itself. Peter and I began to force-<\/p>\n
feed him–fish at first, then mixtures of ground protein.<\/p>\n
Nearly six weeks after the mystery began, it abruptly ended.<\/p>\n
I arrived at the marina early, and somehow even to my deaf ears, it<\/p>\n
seemed muffled, wrapped in a cotton blanket. All the tanks, which<\/p>\n
normally sloshed and splashed about with the movements of the<\/p>\n
great creatures inside, were still. I looked first in the dolphin tank.<\/p>\n
The five creatures, which normally darted about in great anticipation<\/p>\n
of the morning feedings, lay quiet upon the water. I could feel the<\/p>\n
quiet–this pervasive stillness.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, my God!\u201d I thought. \u201cPillsbury.\u201d<\/p>\n
I raced down the concrete aisles and up the ramp that wound<\/p>\n
around the Beluga\u2019s tank. The fact that Pillsbury was also motion-<\/p>\n
less in the water didn\u2019t frighten me as much as the slackness of his<\/p>\n
skin and the odd way he was floating. Without hesitation, I leaped<\/p>\n
fully clothed into the tank. He didn\u2019t move. I swam to his side,<\/p>\n
stroking his long flank in the desperate hope that my worst fears<\/p>\n
wouldn\u2019t be realized. I reached his head, and, for a moment, there<\/p>\n
was a flutter of life. His great eye opened, scrunched together in<\/p>\n
that merry wink of his, then grew wide, and with a great exhaust of<\/p>\n
air from his blowhole–he died.<\/p>\n
Never in my life have I felt such grief, such anguish. My<\/p>\n
bones seemed to vibrate, and my body began to ache. I tried in<\/p>\n
vain to keep his head above water, but his dead bulk was finally too<\/p>\n
much. He slowly sank to the bottom. I dove repeatedly, trying to<\/p>\n
pull him up, but it was all to no avail. How long I stayed in the tank<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know. V aguely, I remember Peter pulling me from the water<\/p>\n
and holding me in consolation.<\/p>\n
Even Dr. Lambert seemed to be mellowed by the event.<\/p>\n
Grief-stricken as I was, I allowed him to wrap a spongy arm around<\/p>\n
me in sympathy. I finally took a deep breath and, with a shudder,<\/p>\n
accepted the reality of my beloved creature\u2019s mortality. After all,<\/p>\n
Pillsbury had been in captivity for more than fifteen years, and it<\/p>\n
was only by sheer luck that he had lived as long as he had.<\/p>\n
As I composed myself, Lambert began organizing efforts to<\/p>\n
remove Pillsbury from the tank. We had an old lift truck that had<\/p>\n
been modified with slings that I used to raise the dolphins from the<\/p>\n
water for examinations. It was moved into position and the sling<\/p>\n
was lowered into the water and, carefully, as if to honor the memory<\/p>\n
of this whale\u2019s past delights, it was slipped beneath the great bulk.<\/p>\n
He was finally free of his tiny sea, his prison. As they lifted him,<\/p>\n
I noted new series of welts concentrated on one side of his head.<\/p>\n
The odd thing was that there didn\u2019t seem to be a pattern. Part of<\/p>\n
one welt overlapped his eye, and the lid itself appeared to be burned.<\/p>\n
I rushed into Dr. Lambert\u2019s office texting him as I walked. He<\/p>\n
looked up and smiled. \u201cWhat\u2019s up Sharoon?\u201d<\/p>\n
Quickly, I texted, \u201cI want to perform an autopsy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said, over enunciating his words in his usual way,<\/p>\n
thinking it helped me read his lips. \u201cThat won\u2019t be necessary, Shar-<\/p>\n
oon. You\u2019ve been through a lot, and I know how much the whale<\/p>\n
meant to you. Let\u2019s just say he died quietly of old age.\u201d<\/p>\n
I began to text furiously, \u201cBut I want to find out what caused<\/p>\n
his death. What caused the great welts?\u201d<\/p>\n
His fat cheeks reddened as he came around the desk, \u201cRead<\/p>\n
my lips, little girl! I said, no and I meant no! Now if you will excuse<\/p>\n
I have things to do, like put out the trash. I want that marshmallow<\/p>\n
carcass out of here!\u201d He blustered out the door leaving me alone in<\/p>\n
his office.<\/p>\n
I stood there, leaning forward on his desk trying to com-<\/p>\n
pose myself. It was then that I noticed an odd, narrow tube lean-<\/p>\n
ing against Lambert\u2019s desk. It was about two and a half feet long<\/p>\n
and nearly an inch in diameter. I carefully picked it up to examine<\/p>\n
it further. One end had a handlebar like grip, and the other end<\/p>\n
was smooth. I idly touched it to my arm, and the resulting shock<\/p>\n
knocked me to the floor. I lay there dazed and then looked at my<\/p>\n
arm. A perfectly formed, round welt swelled from the burning of deli-<\/p>\n
cate flesh and nerves.<\/p>\n
Now I knew the cause of the mysterious disease that had<\/p>\n
plagued the gentle Beluga . . . greed!<\/p>\n
I vowed to bring full revenge to bear on the person responsi-<\/p>\n
ble for the horrible death of Pillsbury. And obviously, that person<\/p>\n
was Lambert himself.<\/p>\n
I moved quickly, taking whatever measures I felt necessary at<\/p>\n
the time. Then I waited, for there was nothing more I could do. As<\/p>\n
the days passed I would arrive at the marina early in the morning,<\/p>\n
and I could feel the hollow echoes of my footsteps against Pills-<\/p>\n
bury\u2019s tank. Everything seemed dank, as the fog-shrouded late<\/p>\n
days of summer reflected the mourning I felt. But revenge would<\/p>\n
come in its own sweet time. I waited patiently for the fat fish to take<\/p>\n
the baited hook.<\/p>\n
Nearly two weeks later, as I was working in the bait shack<\/p>\n
that had been converted to lab, office, and operating room, Lam-<\/p>\n
bert appeared. Leaning against the doorjamb, he watched me<\/p>\n
awhile in that affected, bemused style of his. In turn, I stared at<\/p>\n
him blankly. When I refused to comment on his presence, he stiffly<\/p>\n
mouthed, \u201cThe staff says that you continue to question the death<\/p>\n
of the Beluga. They say you took a lot of pictures of the carcass<\/p>\n
and, even against my wishes, took biopsy samples of the round<\/p>\n
welts. In addition, there seems to be a special training tool missing<\/p>\n
from my office. Well, little girl, I want the pictures, the biopsy sam-<\/p>\n
ples, and the training tool–now. When I have those in hand, I just<\/p>\n
might not call the police and have you arrested for petty larceny.<\/p>\n
Instead, you are to pack up and get off the grounds of this marina<\/p>\n
before I have you thrown off!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoctor,\u201d texting I smiled, attempting to soothe the anxieties<\/p>\n
I felt, \u201cI will not turn over the pictures of Pillsbury to you, nor will<\/p>\n
I give you the biopsies. For you see, Dr. Lambert, all the tests are<\/p>\n
completed, and the results, along with the pictures of the injuries<\/p>\n
themselves, are stored in a safe place. As for the training device,<\/p>\n
tests have already proven that it was the cause of the mysterious<\/p>\n
welts and the ultimate death. Now that the tests are finished, you<\/p>\n
can have it back.\u201d I reached into my desk drawer and removed the<\/p>\n
cattle prod. It must have been accidentally turned on, for as I re-<\/p>\n
moved it from the desk and slapped it into Lambert\u2019s fleshy hand,<\/p>\n
it snapped with renewed vigor from the freshly charged batteries.<\/p>\n
Lambert\u2019s eyes opened wide, perhaps in shock of the discovery of<\/p>\n
the truth: maybe the cattle prod really does hurt.<\/p>\n
Lambert stood there, his mouth open, a bit of spittle foamed<\/p>\n
on his lower lip. \u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d He paused, and then<\/p>\n
blustered, \u201cIt was an accident. I was training that oversized marsh-<\/p>\n
mallow and there was an accident. I haven\u2019t done anything illegal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat, my dear doctor, is a moral argument I don\u2019t wish to be<\/p>\n
involved in. The point is that if the press found out about this, you<\/p>\n
would get all the free publicity you could ever want to have. If you<\/p>\n
wish, I will turn the materials over right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lambert began to sweat profusely. \u201cBut the report of an<\/p>\n
accident could bankrupt me!\u201d he wailed. After a long, shuddering<\/p>\n
breath, he asked, \u201cWhat do you want me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou, Dr. Lambert,\u201d I continued texting, freezing him in his<\/p>\n
tracks, \u201care going to do a lot. I know you had the Beluga insured<\/p>\n
for more than a million dollars. With that money, you will build a<\/p>\n
new clinic and add to my staff. You will improve the holding pens,<\/p>\n
and, Dr. Lambert, if I ever discover that you are using that so-called<\/p>\n
training device again; the photographs and the test results will go to<\/p>\n
the press immediately. Do we understand one another?\u201d<\/p>\n
Gingerly holding his blistered right hand palm up in his left he<\/p>\n
nodded, smiled a greasy little smile and silently walked away. Three<\/p>\n
days later, work began on the new clinic and holding pens.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t like having to resort to coercion, lowering myself to<\/p>\n
Lambert\u2019s rock-bottom level but work continued on the new building<\/p>\n
and holding tank. I have always felt that we are today what we were<\/p>\n
yesterday, and yesterday I cast a die that maybe was no better than<\/p>\n
the one Lambert had thrown. At least, from my actions, some good<\/p>\n
would come. A compromise of ethics is sometimes needed.<\/p>\n
The old tank had been destroyed, and, with it, the last ves-<\/p>\n
tige of the Beluga\u2019s domain. There truly was a fading of memory<\/p>\n
as older, smaller tanks were torn down and replaced with bigger,<\/p>\n
deeper tanks, new modern tanks that interconnected were quick-<\/p>\n
ly constructed. Lambert even rebuilt the grandstands to seat the<\/p>\n
larger audiences he anticipated. When the new tanks were finished,<\/p>\n
they were quickly filled with fresh seawater and massive circulation<\/p>\n
pumps fired up.<\/p>\n
Whenever Lambert tried to cut short on quality that would<\/p>\n
put any of the creatures at risk, I simply reminded him of our \u201clittle<\/p>\n
deal\u201d–a deal, I might add, that wore heavily on my conscience. His<\/p>\n
guilt, or rather his fear of complicity, always caused him to capitu-<\/p>\n
late. Fortunately we avoided each other as much as possible. Sev-<\/p>\n
eral weeks later, greatly agitated, Lambert rushed to me and spun<\/p>\n
me around as I stood near the shark exhibit. He began to puff his<\/p>\n
lips in his odd, exaggerated way, assuming somehow that this con-<\/p>\n
torted speech would help me read his lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cShar-oon, the greatest of great news for sure!\u201d he mouthed.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve got an Orca!\u201d<\/p>\n
There were times throughout my life, for whatever reason,<\/p>\n
that I pretended to misunderstand what I knew people had said. I<\/p>\n
like to think I did this to give myself more time to answer complex<\/p>\n
questions. However, on the devilish side, carefully done, I could get<\/p>\n
Lambert to repeat himself as many as five or six times. I shook my<\/p>\n
head, incredulous, and texted, \u201cYou\u2019re excited because you\u2019ve got<\/p>\n
an orchid? We don\u2019t have room for what we got. Why would you<\/p>\n
waste money on a greenhouse?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOrca, not orchid, you idiot,\u201d he sprayed again, \u201ca big old<\/p>\n
male Orca from Ocean Villa. A killer whale that will bring us mucho<\/p>\n
dinero–big bucks. The greatest draw any marina could ask for. The<\/p>\n
ghost of that old, fat Beluga can leave now–we got ourselves an<\/p>\n
Orca.\u201d With that, he waddled away to pass on the news to the rest<\/p>\n
of the staff.<\/p>\n
Though nothing could take the place of my Pillsbury, I, too,<\/p>\n
was caught up in the excitement of the new captive. The Orca Lam-<\/p>\n
bert acquired was purchased from another marina that found itself<\/p>\n
with too many captives and not enough cash. Lambert had been<\/p>\n
able to buy this older, trained Orca at far below its market value, if<\/p>\n
indeed a market value could be placed on such a magnificent crea-<\/p>\n
ture. Although the whale was coming from just down the coast, I<\/p>\n
still feared for its adjustment to unfamiliar surroundings. Construc-<\/p>\n
tion was geared up to a fever pitch, and crews worked night and day<\/p>\n
to finalize the new facilities.<\/p>\n
By this time, my personal staff had increased, as I was able<\/p>\n
to add two additional interns, which, counting Peter and myself,<\/p>\n
brought my staff to four. We all rushed about, moving equipment<\/p>\n
and supplies into the new clinic, much to the chagrin of the work-<\/p>\n
men who were still trying to finish the structure itself.<\/p>\n
Peter continued his odd, smiling routine, and often I would<\/p>\n
look up and catch him staring at me with that silly grin on his face.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d frown, shake my head, and turn away before the twinkle in his<\/p>\n
eye became too infectious. Peter Twofin aside, all the preparations<\/p>\n
went well. It was my plan to give the Orca at least sixty days to<\/p>\n
acclimate himself to his new surroundings before submitting him to<\/p>\n
the rigors of training for performances. Lambert and I locked horns<\/p>\n
repeatedly about this issue, and only after a bit of compromise on<\/p>\n
my part did he relent to give me thirty days to settle my new charge.<\/p>\n
The whale, wrapped in water-saturated material to keep his<\/p>\n
skin moist and prevent dehydration, arrived by truck on a forty-foot<\/p>\n
flatbed trailer. Its dorsal, the great sail-fin, was drooped over his<\/p>\n
back nearly to the deck of the trailer. With the aid of a rented crane,<\/p>\n
he was lifted carefully up and lowered into a small holding pen where<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
The water level rose as his great bulk was lowered into the<\/p>\n
tank. Although older, he was a beautiful specimen. Because of the<\/p>\n
afternoon heat and the debilitating journey, Peter ran hoses into the<\/p>\n
tank and sprayed cooling waters over the Orca\u2019s back. With hands<\/p>\n
on rubbery skin, we massaged, more, it seemed, to console our-<\/p>\n
selves than for any aid we could give this behemoth. Slowly, we felt<\/p>\n
his body begin to undulate as he twisted and began to move. He<\/p>\n
slowly swam around the narrow confines of the holding pen, and I<\/p>\n
was amazed at his ability to turn in tight circles.<\/p>\n
After four hours of constant observation, with no apparent<\/p>\n
injuries from the transport I felt that he could safely be shifted to<\/p>\n
the larger tank, the concrete pen that was to be his home for a long<\/p>\n
time to come. The gates were opened, and, alone, I maneuvered<\/p>\n
him into the larger pen. Purposely I had placed two of our four<\/p>\n
dolphins in the pen for companionship and to act as a buffer to<\/p>\n
the shock of transfer. Oddly, I could feel the sound of the dolphins<\/p>\n
as they chattered excitedly. As we moved into the tank the Orca<\/p>\n
seemed to respond in kind with a low vibration that gave me goose<\/p>\n
bumps on my arms and legs.<\/p>\n
I ducked my head beneath the water, and, to my surprise, I<\/p>\n
felt the vibrations again, only stronger. It wasn\u2019t just a vibrating<\/p>\n
sensation on my skin, but a rhythmic, tonal buzzing in my head. In<\/p>\n
all my life, I had never heard a sound but had often felt its low-rum-<\/p>\n
bling vibration. But this was different. This buzzing continued in<\/p>\n
organized patterns. This seemed intelligent. This was a form of<\/p>\n
communication but communication of what?<\/p>\n
The old Orca\u2019s eye scrunched as if to smile, and, with one<\/p>\n
more buzz, he swam to his new companions. I popped from the<\/p>\n
water and signed to Peter, \u201cDid you hear that?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me oddly, \u201cNo, I didn\u2019t hear a thing. Besides,\u201d<\/p>\n
he laughed, \u201cyou can\u2019t hear anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know I can\u2019t hear,\u201d I signed sheepishly, \u201cbut I felt a strong<\/p>\n
vibration. You\u2019re sure you heard nothing?\u201d<\/p>\n
At the edge of the pen, I could see Lambert asking some-<\/p>\n
body what I said. Then he laughed, and, moving his lips slowly, he<\/p>\n
contorted, \u201cMaybe the whale was passing gas.\u201d<\/p>\n
Still perplexed, I slipped again beneath the water, staring at<\/p>\n
my new charge. I waited for the sensation to occur again, but noth-<\/p>\n
ing happened. Then, a moment later, came a short, intense vibra-<\/p>\n
tion. Then all was still. Although I stayed in the water for more than<\/p>\n
an hour, there were no more vibrations.<\/p>\n
What was the feeling–the buzzing in my inner ear?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
CHAPTER TWENTY -TWO My childhood, a blur of delights and dilemmas, was the same as that of other children. I worked through special schools for the deaf and persevered my way through college. Painstakingly, I learned to read lips and, by over articulating my own speech, to make others understand me. I signed to those […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-1371","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-uncategorized","7":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1371","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1371"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1371\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1373,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1371\/revisions\/1373"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1371"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1371"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1371"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}