It was then I truly realised the whale is no more a fish than I am. So much blood. This was not like the fish on the quay, fresh caught, lying flipping and flopping, death on a simmer. This was a fierce, boiling death. She died thrashing blindly in a slick of gore, full of pain and fury, gnashing her jaws, beating her tail, spewing lumps of slime and half-digested fish that fell stinking about us. It was vile. So much strength dies slowly. We watched in awe, wordless. Ten minutes, fifteen, more. As she thrashed, she swam around in an ever dwindling gyre, and I begged her to die.
Being poor means you don’t have much control of your own life. It’s not a modern capitalism illness, it has always been like that since the dawn of history. Just as it was in the 19th century London.
Jaffy Brown didn’t choose to be born into poverty. It was just the way it was. As a child, he also didn’t choose to meet Mr. Jamrach. It was Jamrach who found him. And soon enough he founds himself going off as a teenage whaler in an expedition to catch Komodo dragon. After that, it was the vast ocean’s turn to claim Jaffy’s fate into its cruel hands.
Yet he survived the treacherous sea. But, would he be safe and finally…free?