roman

Zakes Mda, The Whale Caller, London, Penguin Books, 2005.

Whale Caller, le protagoniste du cinquième roman de l’écrivain sud-africain Zakes Mda, semble être sexuellement attiré par les baleines, en particulier l’une d’entre elles qu'il a nommée Sharisha. Il rencontre une femme nommée Saluni, qui tombe profondément amoureuse du Whale Caller. Celui-ci essaie de lui rendre son amour, mais il ne peut pas abandonner sa baleine bien-aimée.

The sea is bleeding from the wounds of Sharisha. But that is later. Now the tide returns in slight gentle movements. Half-moon is the time of small tides. The Whale Caller stands on one of the rugged cliffs that form an arena above the bay. He has spent the better part of the day standing there, blowing his horn. Blowing Sharisha’s special song. Blowing louder and louder as the tide responds by receding in time to the staccato of his call. Yet she is nowhere to be seen. His eyes have become strained from looking into the distant waters, hoping to see Sharisha lobtailing in the glare of the setting sun. It is September and the Southern rights have returned from the southern seas. But Sharisha is not among them.

Night is beginning to fall. Slowly the Whale Caller makes his way down the cliffs to pour out his pain to Mr Yodd. He selects the longer but safer route that traverses the concrete slipway on which blue, green, yellow, and red boats are displayed. They used to belong to fishermen of a century ago. He makes certain that he does not stumble against any of them for they are brittle. If he were to trip and fall on one of them it would surely disintegrate. Experts from Cape Town spend months trying to restore them to their former glory, so that present and future generations, brought up in these days of engine-powered trawlers, can see how fishermen of old endured the stormy seas in small open boats powered by their own muscles.

When the Whale Caller is in a happy mood he can see the weather-beaten fishermen shrouded in the mist of time, taking to sea in their fleet of small boats. Some are rowing back with their catch, while others are gutting the fish or drying it on the rocks. He can see even deeper in the mists, before there were boats and fishermen and whalers, the Khoikhoi of old dancing around a beached whale. Dancing their thanks to Tsiqua, He who Tells His Stories in Heaven, for the bountiful food he occasionally provides for his children by allowing whales to strand themselves. But when there are mass strandings the dance freezes and the laughter in the eyes of the dancers melts into tears that leaves stains on the white sands. The weepers harvest the bubbler fort the oil to fry meat and light lamps. They will ultimately use the houses with the baleen. Ear bones will be used as water carrying vessels. Other bones will become furniture. Or even pillows and beds. Nights are slept fervidly inside variable whales that speckles the landscape.

But first the weepers will eat the meat until their stomachs run. They will dry some of it in the sun. They cannot finish it though. Most of it will putrefy and fill the shores with a stench. Hence they weep for the waste. Tsiqua, He who Tells His Stories in Heaven, shoud learn to strand only one whale at a time. One whale after seasons of migrations to the southern seas and back, and the bodies of the weepers explode into laughter once again. Once more the Men of Men – which is what the name Khoikhoi means – thank He who Tells His Stories in Heaven for the bountiful provision.

Today the Whale Caller is not in the mood to amble in the mist of the past. He is racked by the sadness of the present. His whole body is pining for Sharisha.

He treads carefully down the crag until he reaches the grotto that Mr Yodds shares with the rock rabbits that have become so tame that they don’t run away from people. In daytime they can be seen scavenging in dustbins when there are no tourists to feed them. The grotto is just above the water made brown by seaweed that looks like dirty oil. He squats on a rock and looks into the grotto. A rock rabbit appears, looks at him closely and languidly walks back to its hole to resume its disturbed rest. (p. 1-3)