Big Whale, Small Tank

Jervis Kenzie Gunnerton was considered eccentric. This meant, if he’d been born poor, you’d probably consider him the sort of bloke worth crossing the street or changing seats on the bus to avoid engaging. As it was, J.K. Gunnerton commanded more wealth than several countries.

I first met J.K. during my gap year. I’d love to tell some crazy story to build up his myth even more, but it just boils down to me being shitfaced, and wandering into an exotic club where J.K. happened to be arguing with a drug dealer in broken Spanish. A few hours later, I’d already poured out my life story (short and uneventful) to J.K., who nodded blearily along as the walls melted around us. I must’ve mentioned my at-the-time interest in a career as a marine biologist, because, when I returned to my parents’ cramped, disapproving flat on the outskirts of Kensington, there was a job offer waiting for me.

Head Marine Biologist of the J.K. Gunnerton World Aquarium.

Obviously, I realised I was completely unqualified. What I’d neglected to tell J.K. (or perhaps he’d forgotten in the fog of cocaine) was that I’d left college with grades at bedrock. More U’s than a stuttering uncle, as Dad might say. University was as attainable as last week’s lottery winnings, hence the quarter-life crisis gap year trip to South America.

Of course, I took the job.

I rocked up the first day in my most professional attire, having found the aspiring aquarium by the docks of a grimy seaside town where locals ogled me like the first sign of alien life. Well, I call it an aquarium. When I got there, it was only a warehouse, and there were still rats and hobos scuttling in the corners.

J.K. came rolling in about an hour later, swarmed by security and people with notepads. He chomped his way around a bucket of greasy chicken-wings while he announced what he wanted for his aquarium. The only time he acknowledged me was to tell me he’d always loved wildlife, and he got the idea of an aquarium when he took one of his girlfriends to one in Morocco, only to be disappointed there were no whales.

“For too long, the aquarium industry has sold itself short,” he proclaimed. “Mine will be the finest in the world.” Pause to belch. “And we’ll be the first aquarium to have a live blue whale.” His eyes glazed over whenever he mentioned the whale he’d failed to see in Morocco.

He sauntered on with his attendants clustered around him. He jabbed grease-smeared fingers, and shouted for certain things to be arranged. I was left to wander around until I was called upon. But I wasn’t, so I went home after a productive day of doing not much of anything.

This was my usual schedule for a month, until J.K. remembered me again. He summoned me to his office – a glammed-up portacabin outside the warehouse.

J.K. rustled a handful of Your Favourite Name Brand cereal into his hand straight from the box. He chewed it down with gravelly crunches as he spoke.

“Another thing: how good are you with octopuses? Or is it octopi? Forget it. How good? How many can you get for me on short notice? I need something in the tanks.”

I didn’t get much chance to chat back. One of his bean-counters knocked politely and forcefully on the door, and I was evicted. So, I headed out to procure octopuses/octopi.

You’d be shocked how easy it is to acquire tropical animals if you know where to go. And I knew Uncle Jerry.

Uncle Jerry wasn’t my uncle. He wasn’t anyone’s uncle. And the veracity of the name Jerry could also be called into question. Don’t ask how I know him.

My visit to Uncle Jerry’s dingy flat was productive. When J.K.’s name came up, the three-fingered man almost dropped the python he’d been parading around. He hurried to scribble down coordinates for a man who’d get me what I needed.

As I trundled to the meeting place under cover of rain and cloud, J.K. gave me a call. He sounded excited.

“I’ve got a guy to get us our whale, Donnie!”

“My name’s not-”

“He’s taking his ship out tonight. Says we can get it next day, like Amazon.”

“A whale won’t-”

“Anyway, how’s about the octopi?”

I made my way to the place. An Eastern European man with a handlebar moustache glowered at me from a balcony above. Then a man with one eye and one ear (disconcertingly on opposite sides of his head, indicating more than one serious accident) came hobbling out from the doorway beneath. It was a rundown fish and chips joint, but apparently it catered to more adventurous clientele. My one-eyed, one-eared friend thumped a crate the size of dog’s cage down, and water sloshed inside it.

“Octopi?” I asked.

“Octopuses. Don’t let them near a blade.” He pointed to his mutilations as if I’d not already gawped.

“Right.” I handed him the required money, and dragged the crate back to the van J.K. had given me.

The next day, J.K was raving about the whale. It was on its way to the aquarium as we spoke. I looked around, and saw only peeling walls and stacks of cardboard boxes. As Dad might say, the roof could’ve fought Custer, ‘cos it was a patchy one. There were a few tanks, holding the recently obtained octoplural. The three eight-armed critters floated listlessly, observing us with too-clever eyes. I didn’t like the way one of them waggled its tentacle like a fist.

“You think it’s right to put a whale in here?” I said.

But J.K. was adamant. He already had one side of the warehouse converted into a massive tank for our behemoth. And the captain of his ship was bringing the whale into British waters at the moment, so we could keep it in the dock until we had our aquarium finished.

I’ll freely admit, I’m not a smart bloke. I’d blagged my way into this job, and managed to retain it by sheer luck and avoidance of my employer. But, as I looked around our aquarium, I struggled to picture a blue whale here.

As it turned out, the whale was a baby. J.K. was pleased regardless, and threw thousands at the captain, who was also pleased. It meant we could keep the whale in a smaller tank while renovations were complete. He ordered the aquarium to be made fully operational within the month, and fired the first three contractors he hired for telling him it was impossible. My reservations were starting to grow.

Within the month, we had the place properly outfitted. I still hadn’t seen the baby whale, as J.K. wanted to keep it secret from everyone. He put out the first adverts for the grand opening of the J.K. Gunnerton World Aquarium, and, on the day, the place was packed. Families, journalists, all sorts of locals. Even a few celebrities popped down to witness the rich man’s newest folly.

People oohed at the octopi and ahhed at the tropical fish, but everyone knew they were here for the whale. I was in the crowd with everyone else, just trying to appear zen. I have to admit, my heart was doing fluttery things when J.K. strode onto the makeshift stage to introduce the whale. Its big, empty tank silhouetted him with water.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” He trailed off as someone hurried onstage to whisper something in his ear. He waved them away with a scowl. “Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see has never been seen in any aquarium in living memory. I present to you the crowning achievement of this establishment: a creature many of us may never see again in our lives. I present, the mighty blue whale.”

And the roof unravelled as the crane lifted our blue whale from the docks where we’d been keeping it hidden. There was a shared intake of breath as it soared above us, huge and majestic, water cascading from its body in a fishy-smelling rain.

J.K. was the happiest I’d ever seen him. He basked in the adoration of the crowd. He raised his hands like a stage magician. People were all looking at the whale above. This was the one thing he’d wanted: the ultimate sign that his aquarium was better than any other. In the future, he’d probably forget this completely, and move on to another bizarre project which only his wealth allowed him. Maybe, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have given him ideas about marine biology.

There was a monumental creak as the whale was lowered to its new tank. You could see the big, sad eye on one side of its head rolling around. I instinctively stepped back further into the crowd.

It was almost at the tank. I realised my hands were damp, and not just with whale-water.

The whale’s tail thumped against the edge of the tank. Its chin bumped against the other end. J.K. froze in his elation. He slowly turned to regard the whale.

It was obvious to everyone the tank was too small. The crane operator might’ve even noticed. Not that it mattered at that point. The tether holding the whale up snapped with a terrifying, metallic twang. Tonnes of blubber collapsed against the tank behind J.K., then the tank exploded in a shower of glass, then a metric fuck-load of water came charging over the crowd. I turned to run, but was propelled along through the aquarium with everyone else. As I thrashed in the currents, I saw the menacing octopus erupt from its own tank as someone’s arm knocked it over. I swear it locked eyes with me.

I grabbed hold off an empty plinth, and managed to yank myself up out of the water. Scores of soaked visitors went rushing past me. I looked beyond them, and the fear I’d been doing my best to rein in suddenly took off again, full tilt.

Behind the crowd, the whale was still moving, flailing its flippers. What had started as a little baby whale was now a monstrous wall of fish-flesh avalanching through the aquarium. At that moment, I imagined facing one of these with a harpoon would be like throwing toothpicks at a bear.

I went swimming after the crowd, kicking hard in case tentacles found my ankles. Luckily, the angry octopus had decided to leave me to my fate. I made it out to the entrance, and clung to the edge of the dock as the water poured down around me into the sea. Several of our esteemed guests were bobbing around in the water below, looking unimpressed and bewildered. Someone was streaming the whole thing, calling J.K. a legend. I disagreed through chattering teeth. J.K. was a flattened smear somewhere inside the aquarium now anyway.

I climbed up onto solid ground just as the whale came soaring out of the aquarium. Well, I call it soaring. It demolished the wall. The entire building crumbled behind it. Huge mouth gaping, it rolled out on the last wave of water, and smashed down into the sea.

I stayed with the visitors to watch our whale swim back out to the ocean, then I wrung what water I could from my sleeves, and went to head home. I doubt anyone’ll take me on as a marine biologist now.