I, Orca

I remember...

...that my name was once different from what it is today. Today I am called by a name that means nothing to me. My real name would be unrecognizable in your language. But over time I have learned your language and even though I cannot speak it, I still have a story to tell.

I remember the sound of my mother’s voice, her soft singsong and the cooing way she would tease me. I knew her voice better than any other sound. I can still hear her calling for me, even though I know it is not possible.

I remember the love and safety of my family around me, the lessons, playtime, snuggle time. Oh, how I long for those days of my youth when my life was complete and so promising. I was safe, I was loved, I was protected...I was happy.

Oh sure, there are others like me here. But they are not my family, not the way I remember a family...My family was as old as the ages. Those who are here may look like me, but they have no connection to me, they are from other groups, speak differently, act differently from the way I was taught. Their jumbled words and thoughts are incoherent to me, and I do not care to decipher them. They are in the same situation I am and so they are angry too, like me. There is biting and raking and blood and pain. It confuses and frustrates me to try to please. I tried that, but I have learned that it is impossible to please them all. So I keep to myself, as best as I can.

When I was young my life was less complicated. There was no fear within the family, no anger, no hurting. We lived, loved and hunted for food. We shared with each other, we cared for each other, protected each other, worked together. Even though I was small, I had my place in the family. I was expected to help out and to keep up with the elder ones, to learn from my cousins and sisters and brothers. There were many who were old and those who were young. My mother’s mother was the head of our family and she was wise and very, very old. With many generations around me, I was the youngest of the group, but I was included in all aspects of our life. It made me feel important, valued, loved. I was never alone.

But that was long, long ago. That young one is gone and now I am alone, all alone. My family is long gone. Even still, I dream of them often. I am not valued and loved here. And I feel so hopeless, and frustrated, and angry.

Here I have been denied the basic needs in life. The companionship of family is the thing I miss most, I was taken from them when I was so young and had so much still to learn...

I have a need to hunt. I remember the thrill of the elders, the adrenaline, their blood racing and the excited chatter, the teamwork involved. I remember the satisfying taste of the fresh kill, meat so fresh it was still pumping and quivering as I ate it. Even the taste of my mothers milk was not as delicious, although it was close. There is nothing else like it not in my world anyway.

I remember my mother telling me, “Be patient little one, you will learn. You will grow in size and with experience. Soon you will be wise and strong.” That was the day of the big hunt in Winter. It was during a journey and our family had not stopped to eat for a very long time. The elders had singled out a small whale, large enough to feed everyone. I had not been able to keep up with the others and fell behind. I was so frustrated, I wanted to be bigger. I wanted to contribute. She only snuggled me closer and cooed my favorite song. I have never met anyone like her, my mother. So patient, so kind, so loving...Oh how I miss her.

I remember my father. He was majestic. I used to watch him in awe as he scanned for danger, organized the hunt, maintained his seniority over the other males, protected and corralled the family when we traveled. My father was the first of the favorites to my grandmother and he had earned the place of pride, the leader of the males...I wanted to be like him, all of us did. He was magnificently strong and in the prime of his life. My same age now, but I am nothing compared to him...

As I am older now, I have the need to breed. I have been denied the pleasure of searching for a companion, the chase, the eventual submission, and then the excitement and experience of coupling. My mother and father were like that. They played chase, they caressed and cuddled, they coupled and they shared their ecstasy through singing and groans of pleasure. The entire family rejoices when a couple shares intimacy. It was the natural way. My mother was carrying a young one before I lost her. We all knew, we could hear the heartbeat and it was cause for celebration and joy.

I have a strong desire to build a family of my own. One built with a connection, the link of shared experiences, of successful journeys, of problem solving, of bonding with a mate, and becoming parents, together. Of being a member of a larger extended family group. Earning the right to be the Leader of the males. Well, I am bigger now...much bigger and much older. I am sure I would be the leader of my own group, like my father...but that is not to be. It will never be. I have been denied the opportunity to build and grow and learn and love. I feel as if my life has been wasted, so much lost. And for that I can only feel despair.

The others around me have tried to form bonds, with me, with each other. It is our way of survival. But I have no patience for it. Young ones are born here, mothers feed them and try to protect and teach them, but our situation here is so unnatural that it more often leads to frustration and anger. Since I am the only adult male, I assume these offspring come from me, but the bonds are not there, I have not coupled with any of the females, and so I do not know the young ones names, other than from what their mother’s call them.

My mother and father used to sing my name to me repeatedly, so often that I can still hear their voices in my dreams. I have never once spoken the names of these young ones, so they will never dream of me, never long for my attention, never experience the loss of me when I am gone. It is better this way.

The loss...oh, the unbearable loss. I look at the young ones and it only makes me sad for the loss of my loved ones. I remember my mother’s screams as I was taken from her. The sound of her shrill cries and those of my family send shudders along my spine even now. Both my mother and father fought relentlessly to try and retrieve me and I thrashed and bucked until I was exhausted. They were frantic. My extended family watched from a distance, trying to protect their young from discovery. I could still hear their calls, they were crying too, for me, for my mother and father. On and on my parents fought, even as I lay limp and exhausted and was lifted from the sea, they jumped and rammed and thrashed. But they were caught in the woven barrier, their limbs were being cut and skin being torn by their own movements and the blood flowed and my tears flowed and then they were still. I was high above and I could see they had lost the fight. My beautiful mother, my majestic strong father, my unborn brother or sister, they were no more...

Not too long ago I was dreaming of that terrifying moment when the sound was so real, so near it startled me awake. At first I imagined it was happening to me again, the cries, oh the desperate wailing cries! But when I was fully awake, I realized that the horror was indeed happening, not to me, but to one of the young ones here. And her mother was in such pain, such anguish. The cries were the same as my own mother’s. Her suffering went on and on for many daytimes and nights and I wished her cries would stop. It was as if her life force were being ripped from within her. I know that feeling of torment. It is desolation and loss and utter despair. It is helplessness and loss of hope. The language of grief must be universal among our kind.