Blood-drenched Beard

The boat rounds Vigia Point, and the waves start getting bigger. Excited by the view and the stories about exploding harpoons and giant whales, the tourists start talking loudly, filming and taking photographs. All the male tourists except him are holding still or video cameras. Most of the women and children are also pointing cameras and cell phones in all directions. The wind is cold, the sky is completely blue, and the nine o’clock sun is already stinging his neck. He feels the sweat trickling down his stomach and takes off the waterproof jacket provided by the agency as protection from the salt water that splashes up inside the boat. Jasmim is wearing the yellow jacket and a sarong — patterned with the famous multicolored ribbons from the church of Nosso Senhor do Bonfim in Salvador — is tied at her waist. The jacket is open a little, revealing a white bikini top with pink flowers. She has perfect white teeth and an auricle piercing in her left ear. She is covered in goose bumps.

Okay, everyone. Attention please. Continuing on: the Garopaba Whaling Station was founded in 1795 and was one of many along the coast of Santa Catarina State. Armação Beach, in Florianópolis, for example, also had one. When they realized how lucrative it was, the Portuguese Royal Treasury took over the running of the stations between 1801 and 1816, but they didn’t know how to manage them, and they ended up being leased again to private citizens. It was the main economic activity in the region. Our historical center was built to serve the whaling industry. Everything was there: the shore factory, the residences of the administration and workers, the warehouses. Some thirty African slaves worked in the Garopaba Whaling Station.

Do you live here in Garopaba?

I live in Ferrugem. I rent a house there. With a view of the lagoon. I’ve got a great view too.

What do you do here besides selling tickets to whale-watching excursions?

Jasmim gives a forced little laugh, then turns her head and looks at the ocean.

I’m not sure anymore. It’s a bit complicated.

Whaling started to drop off in the midnineteenth century. It ended officially in 1851. The main causes were the extermination of the whale population and the introduction of petroleum. With the advent of kerosene and cement, people no longer needed whale oil. But hunting continued sporadically until the nineteen-seventies, despite international treaties that had banned it since the thirties. Here in Brazil it was only legally banned in ’eighty-six. The right whale came close to extinction. There are now conservation efforts, and we estimate that the population has grown to eight thousand.

I actually came to Garopaba to do research for my master’s.

Really? Master’s in what?

Psychology. At the Catholic University of Porto Alegre. My thesis is on quality of life. The title is Evaluation of the Quality of Life of Young People in the Municipality of Garopaba.

She sighs.

That was the project, at least. But it’s complicated. I don’t know if I’m going to finish it. My deadline is the end of the year.

The boat accelerates as it follows the walls of rock bordering Ferrugem Beach. Some solitary fishermen tend their rods atop rocks that look impossible to reach by land or sea. Jasmim points upward.

The head of the Great Idol. See it? The sphinx at the top of the cliff. There, look. The stone head.

He makes out what looks like a giant skull without a chin at the top of the cliff.

Isn’t that natural?

No! It’s a prehistoric monument. Archaeologists have already been there and proven that it was sculpted.

Waves that have traveled from afar break on rocks and give up their shape in a final, tired gesture.

The boat passes Ferrugem Beach, Índio Hill, Barra Beach. A fat girl with bleached hair feels queasy and throws up in the bucket that Toni fetches for her just in time. Jasmim gets a glass of water and a seasickness tablet and goes to look after her. The three girls from the family he had seen outside the agency the previous afternoon vie for the attention of their father’s camera, and one of them almost falls overboard in her excitement. The boat passes Ouvidor, Vermelha, and Rosa beaches. The water is blue and opaque, the avocado green of the hills pulses in the sunlight, and the distant sand of the deserted beaches looks immaculate. When the boat arrives at Luz Beach, Elias slows down, and Toni points his binoculars toward Ibiraquera. It isn’t long before Elias’s experienced gaze spots a V-shaped jet of water. Everyone claps, and cameras of all kinds are turned on and adjusted. As the boat heads toward the whale, a male leaps out of the water far out at sea, but few people see it. Elias slows the boat and circles around, looking for the best way to approach the female that is beating the surface of the water with her tail.