The Descent

The  tunnels  were  ample.  Their  path  looked  groomed.  Someone  –  apparently  long ago  –  had  cleared  loose  stones   and  chiseled  corners   to  form  walls  and  benches alongside  the   trail.  It   was   hypothesized   that   the   stonecutting   might   have   been accomplished  centuries  ago  by  Andean  slaves,  for  the  joints  and  massive  blocks  were identical to masonry at Machu Picchu and in Cuzco.  At  any  rate,  their  porters  seemed to know exactly  what the benches were  for  as  they  backed  their  heavy  loads  onto  the old shelves.

Ali couldn't get  over  it.  Miles  went  by,  as  flat  as  a  sidewalk,  looping  right  and  left  in easy  bends,  a  pedestrian's  delight.  The  geologists,  especially,  were  astounded.  The lithosphere  was  supposed  to  be  solid  basalt  at  these  depths.  Unbearably  hot.  A  dead zone.  But  here  was   a  virtual   subway   tunnel.  You   could  sell  tickets   to  this,  one remarked.  Don't worry,  said his pal, Helios will.

One   night   they   camped   next   to   a   translucent   quartz   forest.   Ali   heard   tiny underworld creatures  rustling, and the sound of water  trickling  through  deep  fissures. This  was  their  first  good  encounter  with  indigenous  animals.  The  expedition's  lights kept  the animals  in  hiding.  But  one  of  the  biologists  set  out  a  recording  device,  and  in the  morning  he  played  for  them  the  rhythm  of  two-  and  three-chambered  hearts: subterranean  fish and amphibians and reptiles.

The   nocturnal   sounds   were   unsettling   for   some,   raising   the   specter   of   hadal predators  or of bugs or snakes with deadly venoms.  For  Ali,  the  nearness  of  life  was  a balm.  It  was  life  she  had  come  in  search  of,  hadal  life.  Lying  on  her  back  in  the blackness, she couldn't wait to actually see the animals.

For  the  most  part,  their  fields  were  sufficiently  diverse  to  forestall  professional competition.  That  meant  they  shared  more  than  they  bickered.  They  listened  to  one another's  hypotheses  with  saintly  patience.  They  put  on  skits  at  night.  A  harmonica player  performed  John  Mayall  songs.  Three  geologists  started  a  barbershop  routine, calling themselves  the Tectonics. Hell was turning out to be fun.

Ali  estimated  they  were  making  7.2  miles  per  day  on  foot.  At  mile  fifty  they  held  a celebration,   with   Kool-Aid   and   dancing.   Ali   did   the   twist   and   the   two-step.   A paleobiologist got her into a complicated tango, and it was like being drunk under a  full moon.

Ali was a riddle  to  them.  She  was  a  scholar,  and  yet  this  other  thing,  a  nun.  Despite her  dancing,  some  of  the  women  told  her  they  feared  she  was  deprived.  She  never gossiped,  never  joined  in  the  girl  talk  when  the  going  got  raw.  They  knew  nothing about  her  past  lovers,  but  presumed  at  least  a  few.  They  declared  their  intention  of finding out. You make me sound like a social disease, Ali said, laughing.

Don't worry,  they  said, you can still be repaired.

Inhibitions receded. Clothing opened. Wedding bands started  to vanish.

The  affairs  unfolded  in  full  view  of  the  group,  and  sometimes  the  sex,  too.  There were  some initial attempts  at privacy.  Grown men  and  women  passed  notes  back  and forth,  held  hands  in  secret,  or  pretended  to  discuss  important  business.  Late  at  night Ali could hear people grunting like hippies among the stones and heaped packs.

In  their  second  week,  they  came  upon  cave  art  that  might  have  been  lifted  from Paleolithic  sites  at  Altamira.  The  walls  held  beautifully  rendered  animals  and  shapes and  geometric  doodles,  some  no  larger  than  postage  stamps.  They  were  alive  with color. Color! In a world of darkness.

'Look at that detail,' breathed  Ali.

There  were  crickets and orchids and reptiles, and nightmare concoctions that  looked like something the geographer Ptolemy  or  Bosch  might  have  drawn,  beasts  that  were part  fish  or  salamander,  part  bird  and  man,  part  goat.  Some  of  the  depictions  used natural knobs in the rock for eye  stems  or gonads, or spalled  divots  for  a  hollow  in  the stomach, or mineral veins for horns or antennae.

'Turn  off  your  light,'  Ali  told  her  companions.  'Here's  how  it  would  have  looked  by the flame of  a  torch.'  She  swam  her  hand  back  and  forth  across  her  headlamp,  and  in the flickering light the animals seemed  to move.

'Some  of  these  species  have  been  extinct  for  ten  thousand  years,'  a  paleobiologist said. 'Some I never  knew existed.'

'Who were  the artists, do you think?' someone wondered.