I was born on a whaling ship. Father wanted to get ahead and Mother wanted to see. It was 1890, and even though sperm oil was down to 65 and 1/2 cents per drum, a barrel of bones brought $4.67. So on July twenty-third Father's harpoon hit a female to bring the bulls with a flag of red water. Mother screamed with her and I knew something had to be done. "Right now?" asked Father from the trigger. Our boat nodded and shot Mother into the ocean, into labor. I broke the water with a cry for life and cut the tether swimming. The whale fell quiet when I pulled the pain from her side. She sank to the floor grateful to go away in one piece. The bulls stood back--safe in their awe. But Father's thirsty pockets doomed them, so I pushed his spear through the hull and we drowned. Her blood marked me warlike, but the bulls know I fought for peace.