The Bacterium and the Blue Whale - Episode Four
A white whale seeks professional help to overcome his blues.
by Martin Smith
‘Psst! Doc! Are you there?’
The Doc’s two orbs, green and luminescent, lit up next to Physeter’s left eye.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Doc, it’s me.’
‘Who?’ The Doc’s orbs luminesced more brightly as he drew closer to the desperate voice. ‘Oh, Physeter, it’s you. I didn’t recognise you behind that cute little moustache of yours. Very Hollywood, very Clark Gable, I must say. No doubt, after a week, you’re the talk of Hollywood. How’s fame, fortune and adoration treating you?’
‘It’s not. Look, Doc, I’m incognito as I’m on the run from the FBI. Hence the moustache. I’m a wanted whale.’
‘Wanted? Wanted for what?’
‘Murder, I think.’
‘What? You’re a killer whale?’
‘No, nothing as black and white as that. I had a little accident out east, and to be truthful I’m really, really blue.’
‘How blue?’
‘Umm … well … I’d say … umm … midnight blue.’
‘That dark, hey? Why? What happened?’
‘I headed east as you prescribed until I reached the waters off the coast of California. I had no trouble locating Mr Snide as he seemed to be awaiting my arrival. We had a meet and greet, and next thing I knew he had an audition lined up for me. He said he had it all arranged for the next day, and that I should linger near the Santa Monica Pier until he arrived and gave me directions.
‘Next afternoon, as I shook from blowhole to fluke with nervousness, Mr Snide swam up to me and told me he was going to make me a star, the brightest in the firmament, and that the elite of Hollywood were awaiting my spectacular audition. Directors, producers, scriptwriters. You name them, they were there. Even the paparazzi were ready and waiting. Mr Snide confided that if all went well, I would share top billing with Chris Hemsworth in the blockbuster sequel to In the Heart of the Sea. And a romantic lead to boot. Apparently, there’s nothing movie fans adore more than a sizzling screen romance and a happy-ever-after. All I had to do was rise to the occasion, give those present my very best breach and flash a winners-are-grinners smile for the flashing cameras of the paparazzi to snap.
‘I gave a nervous nod, and Mr Snide suggested I “break a fluke” and then disappeared pier-ward.
‘Having swum further out to sea, I stopped, took a huge breath and dived deep, deep to the ocean floor. With a whispered “Hollywood or bust” on my lips and the tingle of adoration on the tips of my flippers, I surged shoreward along the ocean floor and approached the pier at a rapid rate of knots until, based on my calculations, I rose towards the surface for my “grand entrance” before the pier.
‘I surfaced, and with a dazzling smile and eyes closed in concentration, I breached with an inward 4 1/2 somersaults in tuck position on the way up. I could hear the roar of a nearby crowd and the clicking of hundreds of cameras, and as I went to land with a reverse 2 1/2 somersaults 2 1/2 twists pike, I opened an eye. And that, Doc, was when the shit hit the proverbial, for I suddenly realised I had miscalculated my approach as I hadn’t factored in the flood current. Directly below me stood a crowd of screaming, bug-eyed spectators. There was naught I or they could do but await a crushing finale.
‘I didn’t hang around for the body count. I just took the biggest breath I could and got the hell out of there. I didn’t surface until I had passed the Channel Islands, and when I did, I could see the Coast Guard chasing me, so I took an even deeper breath and dived deep and floored it all the way to the mid-Pacific.
‘To be truthful, Doc, adoration is for the high-profiled famous. Not me. I can’t be in the limelight now. I figure I need to keep a low profile, and yet there’s still something missing from my life, something that I need to overcome my blueness. And I know what it is: to be exalted.’
‘Exalted, you say? Well, if you wish to be exalted—verily exalted—then I prescribe you head west. Yes, west to the east coast of India, the land of polytheistic religions. That’s where you’ll find exaltation. There’s a guru there, Erapalli Kohli—or just “E.” to his followers—who’ll set you on the hallowed path to exaltation. He’ll make you a god; indeed, he’ll make you the most exalted god in the universe.’
‘Oh, Doc, that sounds heavenly. Thanks for all your help.’
‘Good luck. I suspect we’ll not meet again. Once you’re an exalted being, you’ll forget about us little fish in the big pond. But always remember to heed my warning: avoid V. vulnificus. For if you don’t, your exaltation, if attained, will be short-lived.’
‘I’ll never forget you, D—’
But the two luminescent orbs suddenly disappeared, leaving Physeter in pitch darkness.
