“You’ve done your homework.”
I nod.
“So what are we really talking about, Franny Lynch?”
I retrieve the papers from my bag, then return to the stool beside Ennis. I place the papers between us and try to smooth out some of the wrinkles. “I’m studying the migratory patterns of the Arctic tern, looking specifically at what climate change has done to their flight habits. You know all about this, I’d say—it’s what’s killing the fish.”
“And the rest,” he says.
“And the rest.”
He is peering at the papers but I don’t blame him for not interpreting their meaning—they’re dense journal articles with the university’s stamp on them.
“Do you know of the Arctic tern, Ennis?”
“I’ve seen them up this way. Nesting season now, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. The Arctic tern has the longest migration of any animal. It flies from the Arctic all the way to the Antarctic, and then back again within a year. This is an extraordinarily long flight for a bird its size. And because the terns live to be thirty or so, the distance they will travel over the course of their lives is the equivalent of flying to the moon and back three times.”
He looks up at me.
We share a silence filled with the beauty of delicate white wings that carry a creature so far. I think of the courage of this and I could cry with it, and maybe there’s something in his eyes that suggests he understands a little of that.
“I want to follow them.”
“To the moon?”
“To the Antarctic. Through the North Atlantic Sea, along the coast of America, north to south, and then down into the glacial waters of the Weddell Sea, where the birds will rest.”
He studies my face. “And you need a vessel.”
“I do.”
“Why not a research vessel? Who’s funding the study?”
“National University of Ireland, in Galway. But they’ve pulled my funding. I don’t even have a team anymore.”
“Why?”
I choose my words carefully. “The colony you’ve seen here, along the coast. It’s reported to be the last in the world.”
He breathes out heavily, and with no surprise. Nobody needs to be told of the extinction of the animals; for years now we’ve been watching news bulletins about habitat destruction and species after species being declared first endangered and then officially extinct. There are no more monkeys in the wild, no chimps or apes or gorillas, nor indeed any animal that once lived in rain forests. The big cats of the savannas haven’t been seen in years, nor have any of the exotic creatures we once went on safari to glimpse. There are no bears in the once-frozen north, or reptiles in the too-hot south, and the last known wolf in the world died in captivity last winter. There is hardly anything wild left, and this is a fate we are, all of us, intimately aware of.
“Most of the funding bodies have given up on the birds,” I say. “They’re focusing their research elsewhere, in places they think they can actually make a difference. This is predicted to be the last migration the terns will attempt. It’s expected they won’t survive it.”
“But you think they will,” Ennis says.
I nod. “I’ve put trackers on three, but they’ll only pinpoint where the birds fly. They aren’t cameras, and won’t allow us to see the birds’ behavior. Someone needs to witness how they survive so we can learn from it and help them. I don’t believe we have to lose these birds. I know we don’t.”
He doesn’t say anything, eyeing the NUI stamp on the papers.
“If there are any fish left in this whole ocean, the birds will damn well find them. They seek out hot spots. Take me south and we can follow them.”
“We don’t go that far south. Greenland to Maine and back. That’s it.”
“But you could go farther, couldn’t you? What about just to Brazil—”
“Just to Brazil? You know how far that is? I can’t go wherever I please.”
“Why?”
He looks at me patiently. “There are protocols to fishing. Territories and methods, tides I know, ports I have to deliver to, to get paid. Crew whose livelihoods depend on the catch and delivery. I’ve already had to shift my route to take into account all the closing ports. I change it any more and I might as well lose every buyer I have left.”
“When was the last time you fulfilled your quota?”
He doesn’t reply.
“I can help you find the fish, I swear it. You just have to be brave enough to go farther than you have before.”
He stands up. There is something hard in his expression now. I have hit a nerve. “I can’t afford to take on another mouth. I can’t pay you, feed you, bed you.”
“I’ll work for free—”
“You don’t know the first thing about working a seine. You’re not trained. I’d be agreeing to pass you straight into the afterlife if I brought you aboard so green.”
I shake my head, unsure how to convince him, flailing. “I’ll sign a waiver so you aren’t responsible for my safety.”
“Can’t be done, love. It’s too much to ask for naught in return. I’m sorry—it’s a romantic idea to follow birds, but life at sea is harder than that, and I got mouths to feed.” Ennis touches my shoulder briefly, apologetically, and returns to his crew.
I sit by the window and finish my glass of wine. My chest is aching and aching and if I move I will shatter.
If you were here, Niall, what would you say, how would you do this?
Niall would say that I tried asking, so now I will have to find a way to take.
My eyes home in on Samuel. I go to the bar and order two glasses of whiskey and take one to his seat by the fire.
“You looked thirsty.”
He smiles, chuffed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been bought a drink by a young woman.”
I ask him about the book he’s reading and listen to him tell me its story, and then I buy him another whiskey and we talk more about books, and poetry, and I buy him yet another whiskey, and I watch him get steadily drunker and listen to his tongue grow steadily looser. I can feel Ennis’s eyes; now that he knows my intent I think he’s suspicious of me. But I focus my attention on Samuel and when his cheeks are rosy and his eyes glassy, I steer the conversation to his captain.
“How long have you been working on the Saghani, Samuel?”
“Nearly a decade now, I’d say, or close enough to.”
“Wow. Then you and Ennis must be close.”
“He’s my king and I his Lancelot.”
I smile. “Is he as romantic as you are?”
Samuel chuckles. “My wife would say that’s impossible. But there’s a little romance in all us sailors.”
“Is that why you do it?”
He nods slowly. “It’s in our blood.”
I shift in my seat, as intrigued by this as I am appalled. How can it be in their blood to kill unreservedly? How can they ignore what’s happening to the world?
“What will you do when you can’t fish anymore?”
“I’ll be all right—I’ve got my girls waiting for me at home. And the others are all kids, they’ll bounce back, find something else to love. But I don’t know about Ennis.”