Baleo! Baleo! — "The hunt is on!" The cry resounded through the village. A minute before, a motorboat had raced into the bay, and its crew had screamed the signal to the men on the beach, who themselves had taken up the cry. Now every man, woman, and child who had heard their alarm was adding a voice to the shouted relay, until all fifteen hundred souls in the ramshackle houses and surrounding jungle chorused that the sperm whales had been sighted.
For nearly three hours, the fourteen téna of the Lamaleran fleet chased the spouts of three young bull sperm whales across the Savu Sea, repeatedly closing in only to be saluted by the animals' flukes as they dove.
Finally, Ondu Blikololong, the lamafa of Jon's téna, screamed, Nuro menaluf! — "Hunger spoon!" or, colloquially, "Row as fast as you'd spoon rice if you were starving!" Or perhaps most accurately, "Row like you want to feed your families!"
A nasal boom echoed as the whale exhaled. Then droplets showered the hunters: mucous and warm, distinct from the chillier spray off the ocean, as if the whale had blown its nose in their faces. Everyone on the téna knew the animal was filling its colossal lungs for a dive that could last half an hour. Time was short.
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