The Good Whale - Ep. 5

From serial productions in the New York Times, this is the Good Whale. And so it was in a strange way what everyone had always hoped for. The moviegoers, the children, the fans, the trainers, the activists, the hangars on. Keiko out at sea away from humans for the first time since he was a calf. A Hollywood ending of sorts.

Keiko was last seen with a pod of wild whales as a storm was rolling in, but when the weather cleared and his care team returned, he was gone. And what happened next is a bit of a mystery. We know the broad outline, that for four weeks he traveled east until he resurfaced off the coast of Norway, swimming with kids. But why? What did this mean?

Did he come back to us, humans, because he couldn't make it in the wild? Or was it something else, because he missed us? We don't know. Was his journey based on a memory of a childhood migration, however dimly recalled, or something more banal like the ocean current? Was he a pilgrim on a mission, a kid lost at the mall, or a teenage runaway keen on adventure? We don't know.

We don't know how long he stayed with that pot of whales he was seen with at the start of his journey, whether he swam with them for an hour or a day or a week, whether he chased after them or begged for their attention, was accepted or ignored. Everything Keiko had gone through was leading to this, all the rehab and training in Oregon and Iceland, for this, four weeks of swimming east in an almost straight line.

If only we knew what he experienced, we'd know if this long grand experiment to restore wildness to a captive orca had succeeded. We'd know whether it was possible for a whale that had been captive for so long to live like a wild whale does with other whales in a pod, even for a little while. But those four weeks are essentially a black box. Anything we say about this period of time is much closer to make-believe than to reporting.

So to get inside those mysterious weeks, we're gonna have to leave journalism behind, just for a little bit, I promise. Just for this one short episode, we're gonna do something different. We're gonna take what we do know and think through what might have happened, how those four weeks might have gone. It's such an important chapter in our story, and we wanted to do a justice, and imagine it as vividly as possible.

We talked about different ways we could do that. A radio play, a piece of fiction. But then we decided, you know what? Screw it. Let's just do the most out there version of this. Like Keiko, let's just go as far as we can possibly go.

We decided to imagine these four weeks as a musical. What if Keiko was a killer whale in some animated film? And what if we could see his experiences and know his thoughts, his fears, his hopes for this critical month of his life? Let's try to imagine the story for the first time from the one perspective we've been missing through this whole series. Keiko's.

I know, I know, this sounds crazy. It sounded crazy to me when it was first floated. But trust me, there's a logic to all this. We enlisted professionals, people who do this for a living. Benj Pasek and Justin Paul. They write musicals, big fantastical stories for kids, but also stuff for adults. Dear Evan Hansen, La La Land.

We asked them to take the little we know about where Keiko started and how he ended up. And for one song, imagine what might have happened to Keiko in that time in between and how it felt to him. So here it is, and the song begins in the only place it can in the dark, briny blue. Many amused on the old mystery

Where went the whale that the world had sent free? Somewhere the answers are lost to the sea in the dark, briny blue.

Beneath waves as you turn it along We'll tell you three tales, but the tales could be wrong For only a whale knows the words to his song and can sing What is true? What did he do in the dark, bright age?

So much water, so much sky Giant shadows pass me by I join the pod, we're finned a fin They circle round and take me in We're weaving through the waves Soaring through the space They sing a set of songs that sound like mine We rough house and we race Through herring that we chase We slap our tails and splash along the coastline Now I'm part of a pack

In a swole, white and black and we're flying free Three and back, four in front, they helped me to hunt like a family And I spend days upon days upon days Growing strong here I spend days upon days upon days upon days I belong here But then one day

I get distracted of a million sort of sound An engine hums, I go to chase it But I get turned around And when I try to circle back Can't find a swirl of white and black And now my pack is nowhere to be found So much water, so much sky

Goodbye.

Just for a bit, did he finally belong? We told you a tale, but the tale could be wrong. For only the whale knows the words to his song and can sing what is true. One tale was told, let a second unfold. There's more to the hole in the dark.

So much water, so much sky Giant shadows pass me by Black and white, they're big and broad Just like me, is this my pod? I'm swimming to the side Hoping I can stay, I try to find a song that they might know But I can't get it right, I've never sung their way I fumble and I never find the flow

And there's having to spare But they don't want to share, they refuse to play And they're out in rough And I'm not quick enough when they swim away And I try to stun a fish, but I stumble I'm hungry and my stomach starts to rumble

And for days upon days upon days upon days of isolation And for days upon days upon days I have no destination And my mind goes blank And I miss my day

So much water, so much sky. Two different tales of our whales I would see. Was he embraced or exiled? How did he cope free from captivity?

How did he fare in the wild? All two different tales have washed up on the shore. And if you listen, the dark, bright blue holds one more. So much water, so much sky. Now I'm here.

I'm not sure why. Such an endless blue abyss. They fought to set me free. For this, I'm swimming with a pod. They're nice enough, I guess. And every day we keep the same routine. We swim and sleep and hunt. It's pleasant, more or less. But there's another world they've never seen.

Because they don't know the thrill When you show off the brilliant everytime And the kids cut their heads As they scream from the stands and you feel it's life

Cause for days upon days upon days upon days I was famous Now it stays upon days upon days upon days And I'm nameless, nameless

I miss the children who would play. I miss belly rubs all day. Packs of people swimming at my side. They hold onto my thin and we would ride and ride. Gave the wild a real try. It's too much water.

Too much sky could buy Many have mused on the old mystery

So much unknown, but on this we agree He journeyed those long thousand miles Across the sea till he reached Somewhere new That much is true But what did he do? What did he do in the dark?

for four weeks he traveled until he bumped his nose on the edge of this giant pool called the ocean. That's on the next and final episode of The Goodwill.

He was out in these little islands off the coast, just rubbing himself in the kelp fronds. It was surprisingly good how good he was looking also, the way he was swimming. And somebody called us and says, you better turn on the TV. People were trying to go and swim with him, trying to pat him. I was, I mean, I was beyond pissed off.

Okay, so we have one more really cool thing to share with you. We made a music video for this incredible song you just heard, and it has puppets and features Broadway star Jordan Fisher. The video was directed by Carlos Lopez Estada, who happens not just to be a contributing editor on the series, but also a real-life Hollywood director. Carlos has done music videos for people like Billie Eilish and The Thundercats and the rap group Clipping, and now us.

So go to our Instagram serial podcasts or sign up to our newsletter at nytimes.com slash serial newsletter. You don't want to miss it.

The Good Whale is written by me, Daniel Argon, and reported by me and Katie Mingle. The show is produced by Katie and Alyssa Ship. Jen Guera is our editor, additional editing from Julie Snyder and Ira Glass. Sound Design, Music, Supervision, and Mixing by Phoebe Wang. Research, in fact, checking by Jane Ackermann with help from Ben Phalan. A truly talented team of people helped us put together this specific episode today. The song, The Ballad of Keiko, was written by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, and Mark Sonn and Blig.

produced by Pasek and Paul, Ian Eisendrath, and August Erickson, with help from me, Ira Glass, and Jen Guera. It was engineered and mixed by Derek Lee, mastering by Oscar Zambrano. The song features Jordan Fisher as Keiko, Quentin Earl Darrington, Brian Darcy James, and Paul Alexander Nolan as the Fisherman, with Adam Rothenberg on piano. Our music video, which, again, you must check out on our Instagram page at serial podcast, was directed by Carlos Lopez Strada and Anna Moskowitz.

Produced by a Lee Keysley with help from Alyssa Ship, Anday Chubu, and Mac Miller. Additional cinematography by Joshua Echeverria. Puppets by Vivela Puppet and Puppet Captain Michelle Samora. Edited by Maki Rupert. VFX by Justin Nguyen. Special thanks on this episode to Joshua Freed, Anna Spear, Danielle Perlman, Matthew Sullivan, and Francis Swanson. The Good Whale is from serial productions, and The New York Times.

For a limited time, you can listen to all episodes of The Good Whale right here, right now. But it won't be free forever. So if you want full access to this show and to all serial shows, you got to be a New York Times subscriber. Learn more about the New York Times audio subscription at nytimes.com slash podcasts.