My pursuit to learn the full truth of the events surrounding the mysterious disappearance of the Albatross, a French Canadian trawler, had led me to a fisherman’s hut in Pessamit, a small town on the mouth of the St. Lawrence river in the province of Quebec.
The man sat before me presented a stark contrast to the wild weather outside. Upon entering the room, I sensed an overwhelming feeling of sadness, which seemed impregnated into the soul of the place, the musty smell of sea salt and stale air only adding to the atmosphere. He barely moved in his chair, except for a slight trembling in his right hand and a gentle nodding of his head. Reluctant at first to speak, his words monosyllabic and hushed, I had wondered if my journey would prove to be a fruitless one. It was when I showed him the piece of scrimshaw that be became animated, the piece of carved whalebone stirring him to life.
He held out his hand and spoke. “I never expected to hold this again.”
He turned the small object over and over in his hand, his fingers gently tracing the carved markings on its sides.
He began to tell his story in an accent that revealed little of his origins. By his look he was in his forties, his face creased by either time or despair, or perhaps both.
“I travelled to Quebec seeking work, with but the clothes on my back and a bag containing my few possessions. I secured this lodging, such as it is, renting it from a man who cared for nothing except payment. Finding employment ferrying people and goods across the bay, I enjoyed the sense of purpose, even though the work was hard. The reward was bread on my table, an ale in the evening and a few pennies to save. Occasionally, a piece of meat would fill my plate, should a customer tip me enough that day. One afternoon, a passenger offered me a peculiar-looking fish by way of payment, telling me it was all he had. I had a choice–either throw him back into the river with his fish, or accept his offer. In desperation, he told me it was fresh and worth more than the fare he owed. I asked what sort of fish it was, but he offered no response, save that he believed its flesh was tender and tasty. I took it from him and told him next time he travelled without coin he would end up in the river himself. When I arrived back home, I took the fish from the cloth it was wrapped in and placed it on the table. I picked up a knife to gut it when, to my amazement, I saw it open its mouth. It seemed to stare at me, and as its thin lips moved up and down, it seemed to me to be begging for its life. I decided that if it could fight so hard, then it deserved at the very least a reprieve, and so placed it into a large bowl of water. What a strange thing! Not only was I offering succour to a fish, but I was also forgoing a meal. Little did I realise the consequence of what would occur through my moment of charity.”
The man looked up at me, pausing for a moment in his discourse. “May I offer you a drink? Some tea perhaps? Or a glass of ale? You must think me a poor host!”
Concerned that a pause would stop his flow of words, I declined. “Please continue sir,” I said. “I would hear more.”
He laughed. “Do not fret, sir, for I would tell my story in exchange for knowing the circumstances of your discovery of the scrimshaw.”
He leaned back in his chair, its frame creaking like old bones. “Where was I? Ah yes, I remember. Now for the most amazing thing, and I would ask that you suspend disbelief at what I am about to tell you. The creature began to speak to me. It did not speak through sound, but spoke directly into my mind! Who would think of such a thing? I remember shaking my head, thinking that perhaps someone called from outside, or that I was experiencing a hallucination. But as I gazed at it in the bowl, a word kept repeating in my head. I became sure that it was the creature communicating with me.”
“And what word was that?” I asked, fearing that he was quite mad.
“The word was thanks. Thanks. Over and over. I stared into the bowl and its beady eyes, fixed atop its strange body, stared directly back at me.”
He paused a moment and looked up. “I see you do not believe me, sir. Whales sing to each other and men have heard their plaintive tunes. Dolphins click and chatter amongst themselves. So why not this? We know not of all the mysteries of the oceans.”
I nodded back, although my belief in his words was being sorely tested.
“Over the days I fed the creature morsels–breadcrumbs, oats, corn–anything to hand. It ate with a ravenous hunger. But now, it was constantly filling my head with another word.”
HUNGRY
“I often wondered, as I see you do now, if a madness had descended on me. Be that as it may, this situation continued for many weeks. Each time I fed the creature, it would communicate the word ‘thanks’, only to call ‘hungry’ when its belly demanded once more. Then, one evening, I noticed the creature could no longer turn in its bowl, so large had it grown. And another word came.”
“And what word was that?” I asked.
“Free,” he replied. “I understood the creature wished me to return it to the sea. As soon as this thought occupied my head, the creature repeated its calling.”
FREE
“I devised a plan to return the creature to its own habitat. Soaking some cloths in water, I lifted it out from the bowl, placing it in the wet linen. I carried it to the quayside and as I approached the water, I could feel the thing squirming to be free. I stared at the water lapping beneath my feet for a moment, then flung the creature, cloth and all, into the sea. Turning to walk away, I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder. The creature was gone, and that was the end of the matter.”
“And that was the last you saw or heard of it?” I asked.
“Oh, no!” he replied. “On the contrary, I had but begun my relationship with it. Much more was to come to pass before I bid the creature a final farewell.”
It occurred to me that whatever had happened to with this man, it had left him deranged, but still I would hear more. I asked him to continue.
“After I returned home, I experienced a profound sense of loneliness. The quiet that filled my head was disturbing, for I had grown accustomed to my strange dialogue with the creature. Then, one night, some weeks later, a new word filled my head.”
COME
“There was no doubting the origin. It was the creature. And it was beckoning me from afar. It was as if a lost love had returned. I spoke my response out loud. ‘Yes, I will come.’ Somehow I knew the creature heard, and excitement filled my being. If it had not been such a late hour, I think I would have left there and then. I barely slept, and in the morning gathered a few clothes together and ran to the docks. I found the skipper of a small trawler who was willing to accept my commission and explained I wished to voyage north. He considered my proposition, and after a little negotiation, spat on his hand and offered it to seal the contract. We set off the next morning, having secured sufficient supplies for a month’s voyaging. The skipper was a man of few words, with an expressionless face and a surly manner. He sought no conversation with me, save when an answer to a question was required. We travelled north-west, passing through the gulf of St. Lawrence into the Labrador sea. Two days later, we passed the island of Killinq, towards the southern coast of Greenland. He said nothing of consequence to me until a further five days passed and we had entered the Greenland sea. When he finally questioned the purpose of the voyage, I dared not answer, and as I searched in my mind for some response, the creature spoke once more.”
NORTH
“We continue north, I told him. The skipper looked at me with his expressionless eyes and replied that I paid the coin and he would do as requested. He said that only if he thought me mad or else put us in danger would he turn about. So we continued. The air grew colder, the skies more ominous, the sea more inhospitable. After two more weeks of sailing, he announced his intention to travel further for one day only, after which he would turn back. I pleaded with him for an extra day’s voyaging, but he would not be changed. It was later on that day another word filled my head.”
SOON
“I could somehow feel the creature’s presence close to us as I lay in my hammock that night. I fell into a troubled sleep but was awoken early by the swell and churn of the boat. A gale had risen, and the ocean was stirring. I hurried on to deck and saw that the skipper had already turned about and we were travelling south. I cried for him to turn around, but with the wind whipping my words away, he responded nay, and that he was the skipper, not me. I felt the wind rising more even as he spoke and but minutes later the squall grew into a storm. The waves crashed into the boat, tossing us around like a cork in the angry sea. The skipper called to me to hold fast, as he needed to secure the headsail. He made his way across the deck towards the prow, fighting his way through the biting wind and spray. Moments later, he was gone, washed overboard by a tremendous wave that crashed against us. I held tight to the wheel, praying that I would not follow him into that raging ocean.”
As the man told his story, spit flecked from his lips, seeming to mimic the storm he recounted. He gripped the side of his chair, as if holding on to the wheel once more. Taking a deep breath, he continued.
“You find me here, so you know I survived that wild day. What I am about to tell you will surely once more test your belief in the truth of what I am about to say. Suddenly, in front of the boat, an immense creature, a leviathan of unimaginable size, breached the ocean waves. Its enormous mouth opened wide and enveloped the boat!”
The man paused again. His eyes closed, and his breathing became shorter. I waited a few moments, then asked him if he should pause once more. He shook his head.
“Sir, I must compose myself, for the thought of what came to pass that day still fills me with terror. As the world went dark, I must have fainted. When I came round, it was pitch dark, and I had no sense of where I was or what had happened. I felt around myself for something to illuminate the darkness. With my scrabbling hands, I came upon a lantern, and somehow lit it. I was in the cabin, and the light flickering around me revealed my fate. Yes, I was still on the boat, although where the boat was, I knew not. Imagine my surprise when I opened the cabin door and looked out. Hard as it may seem to believe this, but I was in the belly of the beast that had swallowed me. Then, once more, a word came to me.”
FATHER
“That word pierced my brain like a crashing cymbal. So loud was it in my head, I fell to the floor, almost breaking the lantern as I did so. So this was the truth. The creature I had rescued had called me to it, like a priest summoning an angel, and now I was trapped inside its cavernous belly, which resembled some strange sort of rocky shore. Good fortune led me to find a supply of oil stored in the boat’s bow, enough to keep the lamp burning for a good while. I grew hungry, but could find nothing of sustenance onboard, so descended onto the belly of the beast. As my foot touched its skin, I felt it quiver, as if I had tickled it. On this extraordinary beach, I found some flapping fish amongst the flotsam and jetsam, and placed them in a small bag I had slung over my shoulder. I also came upon some pieces of whalebone.”
I asked the man if this was the scrimshaw I had discovered.
“Yes, ‘tis the very bone that you held in your hand. Let me continue. Upon returning to the boat, I set about preparing the fish for my dinner. Using some of the oil that I was using for my lantern, I prepared a rough stew, which, once cooked, I consumed with gusto. I was unable to find fresh water, though, and it was not long before I felt the ills of dehydration. In desperation, I called out to the creature. I cried out for water, expecting nothing in response though, for were we not at sea, where all water is tainted with salt? After some time, tired and thirsty, I fell asleep. Then, suddenly, I felt everything move, as if in an earthquake. The creature sent me another word.”
DRINK
“I felt a rushing of air and the boat rocked back and forth. It occurred to me that the creature must have opened its mouth. Realising the danger that loomed large, I found a length of rope and secured myself to the cabin wheel. Moments later, I saw an extraordinary sight. Rushing towards the boat amid a wash of seawater was an iceberg. It had swallowed it in order to satisfy my thirst! Then, the movement around me stopped and I believe the creature returned to the seabed. I ventured out of the boat shortly after to break away chunks of the ice to satisfy my thirst. Now my means of sustenance was secured–plentiful fish, endless water. My prison was still a prison, but at least I could keep myself alive. It was during the following hours and days I sought to distract my mind by carving into the whalebone. However, after a period a time, I know not how long, having no sun and sky to guide me, I noticed my supply of oil was running out. I wanted to let the creature know I would surely go mad if I was plunged into darkness so screamed for it to release me. Hours later, as the lantern spluttered its last, I made one last plea. The creature answered.”
FREE
“I took the rope and bound myself to the wheel once more. I felt the creature rise up through the ocean, and held on to the wheel for my very life. Moments later, I saw a light in the distance. The light rushed towards me and I realised the creature must have opened its vast mouth. It vomited the boat from its stomach and I was pushed out into the open sea. I turned to see the creature and watched as its dreadful eyes, huge and luminescent, regarded me before disappearing under the waves.”
GOODBYE
“That was the last word I heard from the creature. Whence it came from or whence it disappeared to, I will never know.”
The man seemed to relax as he spoke of his release, and he slumped back into his chair.
“What became of you, then?” I asked.
“I drifted in those arctic seas for days, having nothing to sustain me, save the fish I caught and the rain that fell upon the boat. I was finally rescued by a trawler some weeks later and taken aboard by the crew. Being delirious, I remember little of the trip back. When we arrived into the harbour of Quebec, I was but a shadow of the man who had left. The captain of the trawler was kind enough to organise my passage home, and I arrived here some days later. It was only when I recovered I realised the scrimshaw had gone. And now, sir, perhaps you can tell me how it arrived into your keeping?”
I was happy to tell the man of my chance conversation with a sailor in a hostel in Quebec, who told a tale of a wild man living in Pessamit who had lived in the belly of a giant fish, and how this man had carved a whalebone with intricate shapes and patterns. The sailor told me he stole the scrimshaw, and believed the object to be cursed, as such poor luck had pursued him since the theft, and would I lift his burden by taking the thing from him? I agreed, and it had been a simple task for me after that to discover his whereabouts.
As I tell him of the happenstance of my arrival at his house, the old man suddenly stands up, a dreadful look upon his face. “Oh my god,” he exclaims, “You must go! Now!” He pushes me towards the door, and I ask what is vexing him. “The creature has spoken to me again! You must go now. You are in great danger!”
“What does it say?” I ask.
“The creature says it has come for me...…”
As I push open the door, the sky is blotted out, and the earth shakes beneath my feet.