The Deep

As Sanders lacked downward, he sorted out his feelings about diving with the Desco apparatus. His field of vision was much greater than with an ordinary mask; he could see his nose. The air hissing in front of the opening above his right eye felt cool. It was nice not to have a rubber mouthpiece in his mouth; he found he could talk to himself. But he was also aware of a faint tug at his head. He looked up and saw the rubber coil snaking down behind him. He saw Treece’s air hose leading across the bottom toward the reef, and he followed it.

Treece was waiting at the mouth of the cave, holding the aluminum air lift well above the bottom.

Even underwater, it emitted a loud noise, like a strong wind rushing between buildings.

When David and Gail joined him, Treece positioned them beside the cave. He made a circle of thumb and forefinger and looked at them. He said, “Okay?” The word was thick and indistinct, but the meaning was clear. They responded with the “okay” sign. Treece touched the mouth of the air lift to the sand.

Instantly, sand vanished from the bottom. It looked to Sanders like a speeded-up film of a vacuum cleaner working on a pile of cigar ashes. In seconds there was a hole a foot wide and half a foot deep.

Sand and pebbles were blown out the back end of the tube, causing a dense, blossoming cloud. The tide was running to the right, tending to carry the cloud away from them, but the wave action on the reef fought the tide, and soon Sanders found he had to lie on the sand to see the hole.

The tip of an ampule showed through the sand, quivering against the force of the suction. Sanders grabbed the ampule and passed it to Gail. She set it on the bottom of the bag.

The hole was deeper now, and suddenly a side gave way. Sand rose in Sanders’ face. Through the fog he saw a shower of glimmers; he reached into the hole and closed his hand around several ampules.

Treece raised the air lift, letting the sand settle so Sanders could see to collect the ampules. Then Treece moved the tube a few feet to the right and started another hole. Right away, he was in a field of ampules, some clear, some yellow, and a few amber.

Gail moved closer to Sanders, taking the ampules from his hand as carefully as possible, setting them, one by one, in the canvas bag. It felt good to move around. The water inside her wet suit was warming to body temperature, and when she moved her arms or legs, pockets of water were squeezed from one part of the suit to another. She tried to count the ampules in the bag, but there were too many. She worried that if she kept adding more and more ampules, they might be crushed when she took them out of the water. Here they weighed almost nothing; out of water the liquid might be dense enough to cause the ampules on the bottom of the bag to crack. She tapped Sanders on the shoulder and pointed to Treece, a hazy gray figure only three or four feet away. Sanders tapped Treece, who raised the air lift off the sand.

Gail kicked over to him and showed him the bag. He nodded and pointed upward.

As she surfaced, the bag acted as a sea anchor, holding her back. She had to struggle to make way, kicking as hard as she could and using her hand to force herself upward. She looked down and saw Treece tap Sanders and beckon him toward the reef.

Coffin had seen her bubbles, and he was waiting on the diving platform. He took the bag from her, and as he looked into it, his eyes glazed in recollection.

All he said was “Aye.”

Gail hauled herself onto the platform and lay on her stomach, panting.

“Next time,” Coffin said, “leave your weights on the bottom. Makes it easier.”

Gail said, “Yes,” and chided herself for not having thought of it.

“I’ll have this bag emptied for you in a jiff; just want to stow the glass.”

She pushed herself into a sitting position. “No rush.”

Coffin walked forward, and Gail could hear a tinkling sound as he removed the ampules from the bag.

“No trouble?” she called.

“Not a peep. I don’t guess the bastard’ll try anything with all them folks on the beach. He’s a piece of work underwater, ain’t he?”

“Treece? I suppose. Is the air lift hard to handle?”

“For most men. It can buck like a goat. But Treece’ll hold it steady as a tree for five and six hours at a go. I think he’d stay down there all his life if he could. He’s been happiest down there, away from people, for a long time.” Coffin’s voice trailed off.

“What do you mean, a long time?”

“You don’t know?”

“I guess not.”

“Well, it ain’t my place to tell tales.”

“Mr. Coffin,” Gail said, controlling her annoyance, “I’m not asking you to tell tales. But there’s something about Treece that everybody but us seems to know, and nobody will say. We’re living in the man’s house, sleeping in his bed. I think we have a right to know something.”

Coffin picked the last of the ampules from the bag.

“Maybe you do. All I’ll tell you is this: He was married.” He walked aft.

“Where’s his wife?”

“Dead.” He handed her the bag. “Two hundred and forty-six. Got a long way to go.”