The Whale
Written October 01 2025
I sat down and wrote about two thousand words of this in one sitting a couple of weeks ago. I thought I could finish it the next day, but then I kept adding to it and revising it. Anyway, it’s finished now and I’m happy with it. This was just a random idea I had that I’m not even particularly attached to, but I just wanted to get it out as a sort of writing exercise. And I don’t think it turned out too bad, which feels pretty nice.
I also kept thinking about Stephen King while writing this, specifically that one short story about a car that eats the people who touch it, Mile 81 (from The Bazaar of Bad Dreams). I know, this story is nothing like that, it doesn’t contain any horror elements, but for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It’s probably just the idea of an ordinary thing that shouldn’t be there, taken in two very different directions. Anyway, that’s a good short story collection and you should read it.
Morning – Outside
A small town at sunrise. The distant hills look blueish gray and are blanketed in fog, turning them into smooth low bumps. The sky above them is a dark blue slowly bleeding into a soft orange glow. Under the morning sky, a sleepy town begins to stir. In the center is its main street of two- and three-story buildings with billboards on their roofs. A spiderweb of low buildings and residential homes spreads out from there towards the hills. A large water tower pierces the fog. The paint on its side that once spelled out the town’s name has long faded away; only the faint outlines a T and an E or maybe F are still visible.
Morning – Main Street
A wide street down the middle of the town. The asphalt is cracked and old in places, but the potholes are mostly filled and the markings are as fresh as can be reasonably expected. Shops and office buildings line the road: a locksmith, a used electronics store, a watchmaker, a print shop, a drug store etc. Some of their ‘closed’ signs have not been turned over in quite a while. A few storefronts are already boarded up. A large brick building, four stories high, stands by an intersection. A sign by the door simply reads ‘Insurance’ and lists the opening times. The streetlights turn off one by one.
A large sperm whale lies in the middle of the intersection. It is turned on its side and doesn’t move much, apart from the glacially slow rise and fall of its breathing. Its large gray body stretches diagonally across the street, blocking most of the intersection and part of the sidewalk. It glistens. Dew drops cover its surface.
A car – a white sedan, old but well maintained – drives down the road toward the intersection. Halfway down the street the car slows down and comes to a stop some twenty meters or so from the whale. Behind the wheel sits a man. His hands still grip the steering wheel tightly and he squints through the early morning murkiness at the whale. He moves his head forwards and back, mouth slowly opening and closing. He blinks a couple of times. Then he lets go of the steering wheel and exits the car.
From the car emerges Frank, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and frail wireframe glasses. He wears the uniform of an office worker — white button-down shirt, tie and slacks. He stands in the open car door, one arm on the roof, and stares at the whale. His mouth is slightly open. He licks his lips and breathes out in a gesture of cluelessness. He looks around, at the shops, the sky, the whale. Then he checks his wristwatch — less for information than for its grounding familiarity.
Another car comes down the road from the same direction Frank’s car came from, a more modern orange station wagon. It drives past Frank’s car on the right, then makes a sudden turn and the driver slams on the brakes, parking perpendicular to the street in front of Frank. The driver rolls the window down. It’s another middle-aged man in a polo shirt. He looks at Frank with wide-open eyes and points at the whale with a thick thumb. He sounds irritated.
Polo Man
What the hell is that?
Frank takes a second to take his eyes off the whale and focus them on the other man.
Frank
Looks like a beached whale.
Polo Man
I can see that. What’s it doing in the intersection?
Frank shrugs and slowly breathes in and out.
Frank
I don’t know.
The man rolls up his window again and starts to drive off towards the whale. He drives onto the sidewalk to get around it, driving over its tail fin and then vanishing behind its large body.
Frank rubs his eyes and gets back into the car. He grips the steering wheel and holds it straight for a few seconds, before turning the ignition. Slowly, at little more than walking speed, he approaches the whale. The large insurance building looms to the right behind its beached body. It blocks the intersection in just such a way that the building becomes unreachable (unless you want to drive over its tail fin). He pulls up to the side of the road. The whale’s head lies a few meters in front of him, its blowhole turned towards him. Frank stares at the whale. Almost his entire windscreen is filled with the gray mass of the whale. He shakes his head, slowly at first and then more vigorously.
Frank
No. No, no, no. No.
While saying this, he back up his car and takes off towards the left, taking the open path through the intersection. He parks his car some fifty meters down the road and walks back toward the Main Street.
Morning – Office
The inside of the insurance building. The slightly off-white-colored walls and the large windows give the room a sleek, modern feeling. In contrast, the desk that occupies most of the room is cluttered with stacks of paper, folders, office implements and an old computer. No personal items can be found in the room. Frank sits behind the desk and types away at the computer; he is pretty fast, despite using only his two index fingers.
A man knocks on the office’s clear glass door before immediately opening it. He looks like a copy of Frank, only ten years younger. He holds a paper file folder in his right hand.
Steve
Morning, Frank.
Frank
Morning, Steve.
Steve
How’s it going? How was your vacation?
Frank
Great. We had a great time. Went kayaking up in Ontario.
Steve
Sounds lovely. You seen that… thing out there?
Frank
The whale?
Steve
The whale, yeah. That’s it.
Frank
Yes.
Steve
Yeah.
He stares out of the window for a few seconds. It looks out on the intersection, though it’s too high up to actually see the whale from his position standing in the doorway.
Frank
What is it?
Steve
Oh, I’ve just got some new claims here for you.
With that, he lets the paper folder fall on top of the desk’s already well spread-out paperwork pile.
Frank
Alright, I’ll get to it as soon as I’m done with all of this.
Steve
Yeah, yeah.
He looks out the window again.
Steve
How’d you get here this morning?
Frank
With my car. Like anybody else.
Steve
No, I mean how’d you get through the intersection? What with the whale and all that.
Frank doesn’t look up. Instead, he leafs through his papers, shifting them from one end of the desk towards the other.
Frank
Parked down Lincoln Avenue and walked here.
Steve nods.
Steve
Ah, right. Yeah, I’m sure they’ll have it fixed by tomorrow.
Frank makes an agreeing sound. He clicks a pen and starts filling out a form.
Steve
Alright, I’ll leave you to it then.
Steve knocks on the doorframe and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Frank continues writing, filling out papers, typing on his keyboard, occasionally taking out a big folder from a filing cabinet next to his desk and putting some papers away. After a while, he leans back in his office chair, arms relaxing on the arm rests and eyes closed. He breathes in and out, then spins his chair from side to side for a while. Finally, he opens his eyes again and turns the chair around.
Down below in the intersection, the whale still lies. There are two police cars parked next to it, one on each side. A police officer stands on either side of the cetacean and tries to direct traffic around it. ‘tries’ is the operative word here: the whole street is clogged, in both directions. The occasional car horn is heard. A lot of people have left their cars and are standing in the traffic jam, talking to each other or just looking at the whale or the police. Some annoyed-looking people are trying to talk to the officers. A fireman seems to be inspecting the whale. It is still breathing quietly.
Frank turns around and gets back to his paperwork.
Noon – Office Hallway
A hallway in the insurance building. Some smaller offices with glass doors lead off from it. A plaque besides one reads ‘Steven Brunner’. Steve sits behind a much tidier desk and is silently typing away at his keyboard. Frank walks down the hallway unevenly. He knocks on the door and opens it, pushing his head inside.
Frank
I’m taking a break. You want me to bring you somethin’?
Steve leans back in his office chair, folding his hands behind his head. He exhales.
Steve
What are you getting?
Frank
Wanted to get a sandwich from Cindy’s.
Steve moistens his lips and nods.
Steve
Sounds good. Count me in.
Frank
Alright. I’ll be back in thirty.
Steve
See ya.
Frank nods and closes the door.
Noon – Intersection
Frank exits the insurance building. It’s bright outside. The asphalt practically glows. The air above it quavers. Main Street is still full of cars, some still filled with people, some abandoned in the middle of the traffic jam. There are people sitting on the curb in the shadow of some stores, talking. Others stand in small groups next to their open car trunks, pulling out drinks like they’re in the parking lot of a stadium on game day. A long line of people passes buckets of water to and from the whale, splashing it with a few liters each time. They’re trying to chaotically coordinate passing the buckets in both directions with only a single line of people. The policeman looks on with a questioning expression, but doesn’t do anything. The line reaches some fifty meters down the street towards a diner. It’s painted red and white and has a relatively large sign above its front door: Cindy’s. Frank looks at the whole scene and starts off towards the diner.
Noon – Cindy’s
A small diner off of Main Street, decorated in classic mid-20th century fashion. A line of people handing buckets back and forth is coming out of the kitchen. Other than that, all seems normal: people sit around the bar and in nooks enjoying breakfast, the head waitress, Cindy herself, is pouring out coffee.
Frank excuses himself as he pushes through the line of people. He looks back at them as they hand buckets from one person to the next, full buckets going out, empty ones coming in. They’re all different colors and makes, as are the people carrying them. Some office workers like him, some look like stay-at-home moms, some like retirees and some are kids who should probably be at school right now. Frank walks up to the counter and waves as Cindy walks past to get her attention.
Frank
Two beefsteak sandwiches. Please.
He holds up two fingers to underline his request. Then he gets back to watching the people. The other diner guests don’t seem to be all that concerned about the bucket chain, the heaving and ho-ing, the constant rush of water coming from the kitchen form buckets being filled, the people grunting with effort as they pass on the heavy buckets. Some guests are reading the newspaper. The front page doesn’t say anything about any whale.
Cindy plops down two paper-wrapped sandwiches next to Frank. He hands her a few dollar bills.
Frank
What’s up with the buckets.
Cindy
It’s water. For the whale.
Frank
Yeah, but why are you letting people use your kitchen for it?
Cindy
Where else would they get the water from? The print shop?
Frank looks back at the line. The people are sweating, straining, but none of them look unhappy. Burdened in a very literal, physical way, yes, but their morale does not seem to be going down. Some of them are smiling. Another diner guest – an old guy in overalls – buds in on the conversation.
Patron
Fire brigade should be here any minute now, too. That’s what they said.
Frank
The fire brigade?
Patron
Yeah, they’re going to water it. Give these people here a break.
Cindy
Oh that’s nice of them. Gonna have to bring them out some coffee too.
Frank picks up his sandwiches and passes through the bucket chain again.
Noon – Main Street
Frank walks down the street back towards his office, sandwiches in hand. His forehead glistens. The asphalt feels soft beneath his shoes, like warm, stretchy lava. He wipes his forehead with his free hand.
Suddenly, commotion. A woman drops a bucket and the man handing her another one accidentally lets go and drops another. Someone shouts, ‘shoot!’ The woman holds up her hands. Her palms are red and blistered. She says something, but it gets lost among the general noise. The buckets begin to back up. Commands are shouted down the line, but the buckets keep coming. Some people leap up from the sidewalk and hurry towards the woman. They take her to the curb, sit her down and comfort her. Some guy takes her place in the line and soon everything is working smoothly again.
After another minute or so, sirens can be heard. A red fire van rounds a corner onto Main Street. People are cheering as it goes past. It parks some distance from the whale. Firefighters in full uniform jump out and within a couple of minutes, they have attached a hose to a nearby fire hydrant and are spraying the whale with water. The people in the bucket line relax: they have been relieved. The door to the insurance building closes behind Frank.
Afternoon – Office
The same office as before. A dirty wrapper lies atop the already full waste basket. The desk is slightly less cluttered, but only slightly. Frank is still crouched behind his desk, working away at the pile.
Steve enters without knocking.
Steve
The news are here.
Frank looks up.
Frank
What? The news?
Steve walks past him and goes up to the window.
Steve
Yes, the news. National. Look, it’s CNN.
Frank swirls around in his office chair and gets up. Down in the intersection, there’s a big van parked next to the whale. A big, bulky man is holding a somehow even bulkier camera, one is holding a mike. The presenter is still fixing his tie and hair. The van reads CNN. The firefighters have temporarily stopped their spraying.
Frank
What are they doing here?
Steve
They’re reporting on it. Doesn’t happen every day that a sperm whale gets beached. It’s usually just the smaller ones, from what I’ve heard.
Frank looks up at Steve. He looks skeptical.
Frank
Where’d you hear that?
Steve
Louis said it earlier. He knows a lot about whales. They dive really deep, sperm whales.
Outside, the camera is now pointing towards the presenter.
Steve
Looks like they’re about to go on air.
Another man bursts into the office.
Office worker #1
They’re on! We’re on TV!
He and Steve hurry out of the office, dragging Frank with them.
Afternoon – Office Break Room
A well-lit break room. A small TV sits on top of a filing cabinet, next to a dying broad-leafed house plant. A table full of empty donut and takeout boxes is surrounded by about half a dozen office workers in identical attire, Steve and Frank among them. Sitting on chairs, sitting on chairs backwards, leaning against the wall, they’re all turned towards the TV. The news is on. Atop the red CNN ribbon sits an athletic-looking young man in a button-up shirt and tie. In the background: the whale.
Presenter
…where a beached sperm whale was found this morning lying across the small town’s main intersection. Shortly before noon, the local fire marshal told CNN, citizens began taking the initiative and formed a bucket line to keep the beached whale from drying out before the fire brigade could take over. According to the local fire marshal, nothing like this has ever happened before in the town’s one hundred and fifty year history, but they hope to formulate a rescue plan to bring the beached whale back to its natural habitat.
The program moves on to other human interest stories, though they are drowned out by chatter erupting from the insurance workers.
Steve
That’s incredible. I don’t think we’ve been in the news since that piece about the death of America’s lumber mills.
Office worker #1
No, there was the one about that train wreck up in Warburton. They showed the railroad bridge in that one.
Office worker #2
I don’t think that really counts. That’s, like, halfway to–
Frank
What do they mean by ‘a rescue plan’?
Steve
Huh?
Steve, coffee mug in hand, leans down towards Frank, who was sitting in the back.
Frank
How’re they gonna rescue it? Push it back into the ocean?
Office worker #1
Yeah, probably. That’s how they usually do it, I guess.
Frank
But how? We’re in the middle of–
Louis, who looks significantly more alive than his colleagues and was embroiled in a conversation with the rest of the crew up until this point, speaks up.
Louis
Actually, they can dive really deep. Like, a couple thousand feet actually.
Office worker #3
Really?
Louis
Yeah. That’s where they hunt.
Office worker #4
But thousands of feet? That’s crazy.
Louis
No, it’s true. They hunt squid down there.
There is a short pause. The TV shows some segment on cancer research and some potential new treatment involving fungi.
Office worker #3
Well, I get my squid from the takeout place on Lincoln.
They all chuckle for a bit.
Afternoon – Intersection
Frank leaves the office building. The sun is already nearing the horizon, the sky is starting to turn yellow. The fire brigade is still shooting water at the whale, but instead of a mighty fountain, it looks more like the stream of a garden hose now. The bucket line has dissolved and most people have picked up their cars by now. There are still some people sitting on the curb by the intersection. A father piggybacking his son is standing next to the beached sperm whale’s head. The kid is touching the great fish’s wet skin while his father explains something about whales to him. Frank stands there for a second, looking at them, before he sets off toward his car.
Evening – Driveway
The white sedan pulls into the driveway. It’s a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of town and right next to the woods. There are lots of trees among the white bungalows. The streetlights give everything a nice, warm touch. The house, which the car pulled up to, looks like any of the others: white, wood-paneled, single story, mowed lawn; suburban. The white shades of car and house glow yellow in the early evening sun. The trees sway in a slight breeze that is much too weak to bring any relief from the heat.
Frank gets out of the car. He holds a light jacket that spent the day crumpled up on his passenger seat. He locks the car without even looking at it and goes into the house. All is quiet in the neighborhood except for some birds.
Evening – Hallway
The hallway of the house. The walls are white, decorated with small, framed pictures of flowers, all of them prints of famous paintings: Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and Irises, Matisse’ Vase of Sunflowers and so on. A drab carpet is the only other decoration in this otherwise starkly functional room. A small table holds some letters.
Frank enters. He looks exhausted. After the door closes behind him, he leans against it, eyes closed. A voice comes from somewhere else inside the house.
Helen
Hi, honey.
Frank
Hi.
He opens his eyes, walks over to the table. He looks at the mail, rifles through it, puts it back down. Then he goes into the kitchen.
Evening – Kitchen
A rather spacious kitchen for such a tiny home. A big fridge and stove act as counterweights to the kitchen table, which seats exactly four. It is well lived in. There is an open magazine on the table, used coffee mugs turned upside down in the sink, a half empty bag of sliced bread next to the toaster. Nothing looks old or broken, just used; worn in.
Helen is slicing potatoes. Frank drapes his jacket over a chair: He then grabs the back as if to steady himself against it. He breathes in and slowly lets it out. Then he goes over to Helen and puts a hand on her back.
Frank
How was your day?
Helen
Good. I mean fine. Not much to do at work right now, not until new orders come in. At least I don’t have to worry about getting paid. What about yours, honey?
Frank
Fine, fine as well. I managed to work through most of the paperwork that piled up over the past two weeks. It’s been a pretty uneventful day that way, just writing up letters and sorting stuff.
Helen
So, you’re saying work is boring compared to kayaking?
Frank
Can’t say I wouldn’t have rather stayed in Canada with you for another week.
He starts to sway slightly, pulling her with himself. She laughs.
Helen
Aww. Me too, honey. Ontario was beautiful.
Frank
It really was. These old hills here just can’t compare.
Helen
Oh, I think they’re also quite beautiful. The rivers could do with some work though. It’s so awfully dry here. They should really think about converting one of those old mining pits into a lake for swimming. That would be good for tourism as well, I should think.
Frank
Probably. Sounds like it would make for a nice day trip.
They’re still swaying slightly. The kitchen is bathed in soft orange evening sunlight.
Helen
Apropos of water, have you heard that whale story?
Frank
Hm?
Helen
There was a whale in town today, at least that’s what they said on radio. Right in the city center. They’re gonna try and get it back to the ocean.
Frank
Sounds pretty difficult, what with us being in the Midwest and all.
Helen
Oh, don’t be such a crank. Lake Michigan’s only two hundred miles from here.
Frank almost says something, but then shuts his mouth. A few seconds later he begins to talk again.
Frank
Yeah no, I heard about it. Saw it on my way to work too actually.
Helen
Oh really? How was it?
Frank
Fine, I’d say, but then again, I’m no expert. They watered it with firehoses and it was still breathing. Alive, definitely, I think.
Helen
No, I mean, what was it like? What was it like to see it there?
Frank lets go of her. He sags a bit. He hadn’t really thought of it. All day he’d seen the whale and the fuss people made about it. He’d just been trying to get to work or grab lunch while a big whale blocked the street. He thinks for a while. Helen looks at him. She pushes potatoes soon-to-be au gratin into the oven.
Frank
Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve just been trying to get back into work after our vacation and… didn’t really think too much of it, if I’m being honest. We watched it in the break room together; it was on the news, I mean, the whale, and we watched the report in the break room. It was on CNN in the local events stuff. I think that TV report showed the whale for longer than I had actually looked at it outside. And it was right in front of our office. I could have just gone out and looked at it and, I mean, I, I almost did. I went and grabbed something for dinner, but I barely looked at it. I was more fascinated by the big line of people that were, you know, handing buckets back and forth to keep it from drying out, I guess.
Helen
I thought they sprayed it with firehoses.
Frank
Yeah, that was later once the fire department came. Before that they were handing buckets back and forth and just dumping buckets full of water onto the thing. And I just walked past them. I had to go through the line, like push past the people handing buckets back and forth, to grab lunch and I even thought, ‘wow, how rude,’ and… I don’t know why I thought that or if I was the one who was being rude or they for blocking the way just to get some water to a whale, to the whale. I don’t know. I’m just a bit tired, I feel like. That’s all.
Helen hugs him.
Helen
That’s alright. That’s an alright thing to feel. I’m tired too.
Late Evening – Living Room
A small but nicely furnished living room. One wall is full of bookcases. The mini-library contains smart-looking encyclopedias, history books, but also crime novels, classics and a well-assorted selection of other titles. Souvenirs and other doodads are propping up the books: Volcanic rocks, a small globe, a finely crafted pottery figurine. It looks classy. The rest of the furniture accentuates this. Paintings line the other walls, a nice sofa sits between two potted palm trees. It feels less like a living room and more like a salon.
Helen is sitting on the sofa, reading a book. A radio next to the sofa softly plays some lounge music. Frank enters. He has ditched the tie by now. He walks up to the window. Outside is a small patch of grass, a hedge, then the neighbors’ house. He walks around again, looking at the bookcases. He stops. Then he pulls out an encyclopedia, sits down in an armchair opposite the sofa and cracks it open. He leafs though it until he arrives at the entry he was looking for.
Whale
Any of the larger species of aquatic mammals belonging to the order Cetacea…
Then, he looks for another entry.
Sperm whale (Physeter macrocephalus)
The largest of the toothed whales, easily recognized by its enormous square head and narrow lower jaw…
His finger slowly traces down the page as he reads as if he’s searching for something. Then, he’s found it.
Sperm whales are deep divers, commonly reaching a depth of about 350 meters (1,150 feet), and have been found tangled in cables more than 1,000 meters (3,280 feet) below the surface.
He mumbles something to himself.
Frank
So he was right about that part.
Helen looks up from her book.
Helen
Hm?
Frank
Oh, nothing. I was just looking something up in the encyclopedia.
Helen
Ooh, what are you looking up?
Frank
Whales. Sperm whales, specifically. The one that beached on Main Street was a sperm whale. Did you know that they can dive thousands of feet? Here it says that they’ve been found at depths of more than three thousand feet.
Helen
Yeah, I did know that.
Frank
Really?
Helen
Yeah, I believe that’s pretty well known. They hunt for squid down there.
Frank looks back down at the book, somewhat deflated.
Frank
Huh.
The lounge music drones on.
Night – Bedroom
A small bedroom dominated by a king-size bed laden with pillows. Wardrobes cling to the walls; small bedside tables barely manage to cling on to relevance next to the enormous bedstead. A door leads to an adjoining bathroom, whose lights are on.
Helen is brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Frank sits on the edge of the bed. He is writing in a small diary. His handwriting is neat; he writes slowly and precisely.
First day back at work. Caught up with accumulated work. Saw whale on Main Street. Acid reflux getting worse?
He finishes with the dot of the question mark and looks down somewhat satisfied at his newest entry. The whole book is filled with these short reports, detailing mostly his work and whatever highlights there were that particular day. He wiggles the pencil in his finger, then adds a small ‘sperm’ below the penultimate sentence and draws a tiny arrow pointing at the gap between ‘saw’ and ‘whale’. He closes the diary, puts the pencil through the loop dangling from its side and drops it on his bedside table. Helen comes out of the bathroom.
Helen
Are you ready for bed?
Frank
Yep.
Helen
Alright then.
She sits down on her side of the large bed and shakes her pillow before they both crawl under their duvets.
Frank
Good night.
Helen
Good night, honey.
She leans over and kisses him on the cheek before turning off the bedside lamp. She turns around once before finding the right position, then drifts off to sleep. Frank tosses and turns, unable to find any rest. He lies on his back, opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. The whole room is dark, only somewhat illuminated by moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. Still, he turns around and around, trying to find sleep but unable to. After a while, he sits up. He looks around the room. It is still dark, but what he’s looking for isn’t here anyway. He gets up, quietly and carefully. Just as he has reached the door, he can hear Helen shuffling in bed and turns around. Her eyes are only half open.
Helen
Honey?
Frank
Yeah?
Helen
Where are you going?
Frank
I’m gonna go for a walk. I can’t sleep.
She slips back below her blanket and turns around.
Helen
Be safe.
He leaves.
Night – Driveway
Frank exits the house. He is wearing a light jacket against the chilly night air. Though it is night, the streetlamps and moon create enough light to be able to see everything without need for a flashlight. He steps off the porch and starts walking down the sidewalk.
Night – Neighborhood
All is quiet in the neighborhood. There is no wind rustling the trees, nor any cars disturbing the nocturnal silence. Total calm. Frank walks along the sidewalk, hands in his jacket’s pockets, head down. Suddenly, a sound starts building, swelling. He looks around now and tries to locate it. It gets louder and louder, amplified by the silence surrounding it, and then – two helicopters coming from the hills head towards town. Big cargo helicopters, tandem rotors. Frank follows them with his gaze, mouth open – not from shock or surprise, but fascination, maybe even awe. They vanish down into the valley and he loses sight of them as they dip below the houses and trees. It gets quiet again and then the sound stops completely. He looks around. The neighborhood looks just like it did a moment ago. He seems to think for a moment. Then, he turns around, starts walking towards town – quite a bit faster than before.
Night – Main Street
Main Street at night. The bright white streetlights create an almost sterile atmosphere. The empty street looks wider than during daytime, making the whole place feel more like a fake town for military training purposes than like a real place where people actually live.
Frank walks down the middle of the street. He can see the commotion from afar. Half a dozen cars surround the stranded sperm whale, including a fire truck. People mill about. Military, from the looks of it. They have floodlights trained on the whale. Some firefighters still sprinkle water on it.
Some fifty yards from the intersection, Frank is stopped. Two men in military uniforms went to intercept him. They put their hands out in a halting gesture. Both of them carry guns.
Soldier #1
Sir, you can’t get any closer
Frank
Are you gonna save the whale?
Soldier #1
Sir, you cannot be here, this is a military operation.
Frank
I just want to watch. You’re going to save the whale, right? I just want to see it.
The two soldiers look at each other and then exchange some words. One of them goes back toward the crowd.
Soldier #1
We are going to ask our commanding officer if you are allowed to watch.
Frank
Thank you.
They stand around for a while. Frank with folded arms, kicking the ground, the soldier just as stiff and alert as before. Then, the other soldier comes back.
Soldier #2
You are allowed to view the extraction under supervision, sir.
They take Frank and lead him closer to the action. One of the soldiers stays close to him. They position themselves some yards away from the rest of the operation and watch as the others work. They have put some kind of tarp on the ground next to the whale and now two bulldozers approach the whale. Soldiers are clearing the whole area, coordinating the operation. The firefighters retreat. Slowly, the bulldozers advance. They reach the whale and keep pushing. Slowly, very slowly, they roll it onto the tarp.
Frank
Is that what you got the helicopters for? You’re going to wrap it up and fly it to the ocean?
The soldier doesn’t answer.
Frank
Has this happened often?
Soldier #2
Second time, sir.
The sound of cars and construction machines is joined by the rising noise of the helicopters as they approach the intersection. They hover above the street, dangling long chains with hooks at the end. The soldiers rush in to connect them to the tarp. Within a couple of minutes, the whale’s stretcher is secured and the officer in charge gives the command to proceed. The helicopters start to lift the sperm whale very carefully. The tip of its tail is still visible dangling from the tarpaulin as the large cetacean gets lifted upward, foot by foot, and then, after the helicopters have reached sufficient height without any issues, they take off into the night and take the whale with them.
On the ground, all is quiet as everyone watches the helicopters go. No one moves. And then, without any command or directive, people start cleaning up. The firefighters roll up their hoses, the military people take down the road blocks they had put up.
Soldier #2
Sir.
The soldier nods at Frank and goes to help the rest of his crew.
Frank zips up his jacket and starts on his way back home. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. All is quiet again.