Jenny didn’t have a clue what Ramón intended, but when she saw she was awed. With his safeguards in place, he stood on the highest point of the boat with a small anchor—one he presumably used in shallow waters when lowering the massive main anchor would potentially damage the sea bed.
This anchor was light enough for a man to hold. Or, rather, for Ramón to hold, Jenny corrected herself. It still looked heavy. But Ramón stood with the anchor attached by a long line and he held it as if it was no weight at all, while Jenny nosed the boat as close to the whale as she dared. Ramón swung the anchor round and round, in wider and wider circles, and then he heaved with every ounce of strength he had.
The whale was maybe fifteen feet from the boat. The anchor flew over the far side of her and slid down. As it slid, Ramón was already striding aft, a far more secure place to manoeuvre, and he was starting to tug the rope back in.
‘Cut the motor,’ he snapped. She did, and finally she realized what he was doing.
The anchor had fallen on the far side of the whale. As Ramón tugged, the anchor was being hauled up the whale’s far side. Its hooks caught the ropes of the net and held, and suddenly Ramón was reeling in the anchor with whale attached. Or, rather, the Marquita was being reeled in against the whale, and the massive creature was simply submitting.
Jenny was by Ramón’s side in an instant, pulling with him. Boat and whale moved closer. Closer still.
‘Okay, hold her as close as you can,’ Ramón said curtly as the whale’s vast body came finally within an arm’s length. ‘If she pulls, you let go. No heroics, Gianetta, just do it. But keep tension on the rope so I’ll know as soon as I have it free.’
Ramón had a lifeline clipped on. He was leaning over the side, with a massive gutting knife in his hand. Reaching so far Jenny was sure he’d fall.
The whale could roll this way, she thought wildly, and if she did he could be crushed. He was supporting himself on the whale itself, his legs still on the boat, but leaning so far over he was holding onto the netting. Slicing. Slicing. As if the danger was nothing.
She tugged on. If the whale pulled away, she’d have to release her. They’d lose the anchor. They had this one chance. Please…
But the whale didn’t move, except for the steady rise and fall of the swell, where Jenny had to let out, reel in, let out, reel in, to try and keep Ramón’s base steady against her.
He was slicing and slicing and slicing, swearing and slicing some more, until suddenly the tension on Jenny’s rope was no longer there. The anchor lifted free, the net around the whale’s midriff dislodged. Jenny, still pulling, was suddenly reeling in a mass of netting and an anchor.
And Ramón was back in the boat, pulling with her.
One of the whale’s fins was free. The whale moved it a little, stretching, and she floated away. Not far. Twenty feet, no more.
The whale stilled again. One fin was not enough. She was still trapped.
On the far side of her, her calf nudged closer.
‘Again,’ Ramón said grimly as Jenny gunned the motor back into action and nosed close. He was already on top of the cabin, swinging the anchor rope once more. ‘If she’ll let us.’
‘You’ll hit the calf,’ she said, almost to herself, and then bit her tongue. Of all the stupid objections. She knew what his answer must be.
‘It’s risk the calf having a headache, or both of them dying. No choice.’
But he didn’t need to risk. As the arcs of the swinging anchor grew longer, the calf moved away again.
As if it knew.
And, once again, Ramón caught the net.
It took an hour, maybe longer, the times to catch the net getting longer as the amount of net left to cut off grew smaller. But they worked on, reeling her in, slicing, reeling her in, slicing, until the netting was a massive pile of rubbish on the deck.
Ramón was saving her, Jenny thought dazedly as she worked on. Every time he leaned out he was risking his life. She watched him work—and she fell in love.
She was magnificent. Ramón was working feverishly, slashing at the net while holding on to the rails and stretching as far as he could, but every moment he did he was aware of Jenny.
Gianetta.
She had total control of the anchor rope, somehow holding the massive whale against the side of the boat. But they both knew that to hold the boat in a fixed hold would almost certainly mean capsizing. What Jenny had to do was to work with the swells, holding the rope fast, then loosening it as the whale rose and the boat swayed, or the whale sank and the boat rose. Ramón had no room for anything but holding on to the boat and slashing but, thanks to Jenny, he had an almost stable platform to work with.
Tied together, boat and whale represented tonnage he didn’t want to think about, especially as he was risking slipping between the two.
He wouldn’t slip. Jenny was playing her part, reading the sea, watching the swell, focused on the whale in case she suddenly decided to roll or pull away…
She didn’t. Ramón could slash at will at the rope entrapment, knowing Jenny was keeping him safe.
He slipped once and he heard her gasp. He felt her hand grip his ankle.
He righted himself—it was okay—but the memory of her touch stayed.
Gianetta was watching out for him.
Gianetta. Where had she come from, this magical Gianetta?
It was working. Jenny was scarcely breathing. Please, please…
But somehow her prayers were being answered. Piece by piece the net was being cut away. Ramón was winning. They were both winning.
The last section to be removed was the netting and the ropes trapping and tying the massive tail, but catching this section was the hardest. Ramón threw and threw, but each time the anchor slipped uselessly behind the whale and into the sea.
To have come so far and not save her…Jenny felt sick.
But Ramón would not give up. His arm must be dropping off, she thought, but just as she reached the point where despair took over, the whale rolled. She stretched and lifted her tail as far as she could within the confines of the net, and in doing so she made a channel to trap the anchor line as Ramón threw. And her massive body edged closer to the boat.
Ramón threw again, and this time the anchor held.
Once more Jenny reeled her in and once more Ramón sliced. Again. Again. One last slash—and the last piece of rope came loose into his hands.
Ramón staggered back onto the deck and Jenny was hauling the anchor in one last time. He helped her reel it in, then they stood together in the mass of tangled netting on the deck, silent, awed, stunned, as the whale finally floated free. Totally free. The net was gone.
But there were still questions. Were they too late? Had she been trapped too long?
