The Deep

“Why do we need a leader?” Gail thought he was kidding. “Are you on a power trip?”

“No, dammit,” Sanders said, more sharply than he had intended. “It’s just that underwater we have to do things together. We have to know where each other is, all the time.

Like then: If that had been a shark instead of a barracuda, and you wouldn’t listen to me and shot for the surface, we’d be in a hell of a mess.”

“A shark! Around here?”

“Sure. Chances are they won’t bother you, but they’re around. And if one does come along, you don’t want to do something stupid.”

“Like?”

“Like panicking and rushing for the surface. As long as you have air, the best thing to do is stay on the bottom and find shelter in the reef. As soon as you start for the surface especially if you’re scared and swimming in a hurry-you become prey. And on the surface, you’re lunch.”

“Suppose I run out of air.”

“You share my air and we wait for a chance to come up together. Unless he’s a real monster, we’d have a pretty good chance of making it to the boat.” Sanders saw that the talk of sharks was making Gail nervous.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Just don’t do anything without checking with me.”

Gail looked at him and drew a deep breath.

“Okay.” She put her face over the side and looked through her mask into the water. “You think that barracuda’s gone?”

“Probably.”

She continued to look underwater for a moment more, scanning the bottom. She was about to take the mask out of the water when she saw something big and brown behind the boat. “Hey, what’s that?” she said, passing the mask to Sanders.

“Where?” He leaned over the side.

“Behind us. About as far as you can see.”

“It’s a timber. I’ll be damned. There it is.”

Sanders uncleated the anchor line and let the boat drift backward a few more yards. “Let’s have a look.”

“What did the bell captain say it was called? Goliath?”

“Yes. Goliath.”

They went overboard together, and as soon as their bubbles had risen away, they could see debris on the bottom. A long thick timber lay at right angles to the reef. Rotten wooden planks littered the white sand. Sanders touched Gail’s shoulder and she looked at him. He grinned and put thumb and index finger together in the “okay” sign. She responded with the same sign.

They swam along the bottom at the base of the reef. Gail found a rusted can, its seams burst and jagged. From a crevice in the rocks Sanders pulled a Coke bottle, intact. Gail lay on the bottom and dug beneath the near end of the big timber.

She found a fork and part of a plate. Sanders saw something sticking out of the sand at the far end of the timber.

He dug around it until he discovered what it was: the fluke of a huge anchor. Gail motioned that she was going up. He followed her.

Treading water on the surface, Gail spat out her mouthpiece and said, “Let’s go over the reef.”

“Why?”

“It looks like this is just the last bit of the bow.

There’s got to be more of her on the other side.”

“Okay. But be careful of the surge as you’re going over, and once you start to run out of air, don’t screw around. Head for the boat.”

Seaward of the reef, the bottom looked like a trash heap. Pieces of wood, rusted iron, and coral-covered metal were scattered everywhere. From the sand Gail plucked a pewter cup. One side was caved in, and the handle was rippled with dents, but otherwise the cup was undamaged. At the foot of the reef, Sanders saw an impossibly round ring of coral. He picked it up, held it to his face, and smiled at Gail. It was the remains of a brass porthole. Gail dug in the area where she had found the cup, and soon she had amassed a small pile of flatware-forks and spoons and knives, all gnarled and scarred.

She swam over to Sanders, who was poking in the crannies of the reef. Near the bottom of the reef there was a coral overhang: the coral stopped two or three feet from the sand, and there seemed to be a small cave underneath. She tapped Sanders and pointed to the overhang. He shook his head-no-and held one hand with the other, telling her that something might be living in the cave, something that would grab a probing hand.

They separated. Gail swam back to the area where she had found the forks and spoons; Sanders continued to poke in the reef. He came to another cave, slightly larger than the one he had warned Gail away from. He bent down and peered beneath the coral overhang. It was forbiddingly dark inside, and he was about to turn away and look elsewhere when a glint, a tiny flicker of reflection, made him look again.

Holding a rock to steady himself, he stared at the shimmering object, trying to guess what it could be.

He looked at his rag-wrapped hand, and an image came to mind: a photograph he had seen of a man’s hand soon after it had been bitten by a moray eel. The flesh had been tattered, and the bone showed sickly white. He hesitated, hearing the pulse thumping in his temples, and he knew he was breathing too fast. He felt fear; he detested the feeling. He stared at his hand and willed it toward the mouth of the cave.