Ahead of me, she Gillian directs the beam of the flashlight outward, illuminating a beige wall. Then I see how the air bubbles slide along her back. It is not a wall. It's the ground. We are at the bottom.
I instinctively stiffen. My breathing quickens; I'm not sure of the reason.
I look to the right, but the mask blocks my peripheral vision. I quickly turn my head to both sides. There's nothing to see. No one. That is, until something slides down the left side of my neck. Shaking like a man possessed, I whip around and grab him by the throat. Ahead of me, Gillian moves around me and shines the flashlight on me. She there she is she. My attacker: the inanimate tube that inflates the vest and is supposed to float beside me while I swim. Mugged by my own octopus.
"Are you okay?" Gillian asks me with a sarcastic hand resting on her hip.
Floating helplessly, I just nod.
Gillian plunges back into the darkness. Again, I follow her. She turns on the flashlight to scan the ocean floor, but all we can see are some plants flapping in the current, scattered shells, and what appears to be an abandoned, rusty lobster trap. Turning to the right, Gillian flaps her fins and stands wrapped in a fine cloud of sand.
"Not long," she tells me, holding her index finger just inches from her thumb. She lets out a big gulp of air, and bubbles rise between us. Following the gentle slope of the sea floor, it continues to descend. As I move after her, Gillian continues to swim. From my vantage point, the way she holds the lit flashlight against her chest makes the outline of her body glow with a faint halo of light. It's like chasing a firefly through an underwater forest.
A convex black wall rises from the sand bed and reaches a point above our heads. She continues to the left as far as she can hit the beam of the flashlight. Hand sliding across the splintered metal surface, Gillian swims to the right and quickly turns the corner. Above a broken rudder and missing propeller, the words Mon Dieu II - Les Cayes, Haiti run perpendicular to the ocean floor. Although she rests on one side of her, there is no doubt that she is a sunken ship.
As soon as I see it, my breathing quickens again. It's like standing in front of an abandoned house. Interesting and attractive, but there is no reason to enter. Gillian, naturally, is not of the same opinion. Wasting no time, he swims to the back deck, leaving me in the middle.
of a blob of bubbles. By the time I catch up to her, she's already investigating, shining her flashlight across the barely rotten deck. Some greenish-brown mold is noticeable, but not much; it has not long since sunk.
Directly above us a flash of silver catches my eye. At first I assume it's the metal railing that surrounds the deck, but as Gillian holds up the lantern, I quickly realize it's only a part of it: Bolted to the deck and perpendicular to the ground, a machine White and red Coca-Cola is balanced open above our heads. There is no can left inside. There is no doubt: the small ship hit a rock and quickly sank. Haiti steals soft drinks from us; we steal them again. In Miami I turn to share the joke with Gillian but, to my surprise, all I see is the lantern, resting on the ocean floor, shining its light toward the Coke machine. Confused, I look around the ship. No one. Above me, the door to the soda machine continues to sway with the current.
"Illian...?" I whisper through the regulator, even though I know he can't hear me. I turn around and turn my head in all directions. A cold wave of water hits my chest. I don't understand. Gillian has disappeared.
I pick up the flashlight and illuminate the horizontal plane. Ahead of me, a trail of bubbles leads directly toward the ship's two-story cabin. The door is out of the frame and the glass is gone from the skylight windows, but even from where I am I can see how dark it is.
I shake my head. I'm not going to go in there.
A minute later the bubble trail has disappeared. And Gillian doesn't show up. I direct the beam of the flashlight into the opening of the cabin door. There is no movement. No bubbles. I swim closer slowly, mentally replaying every razor blade move I've ever seen as a teenager. At the door I bang the flashlight against the metal hull. It resonates with a slight vibration. It's impossible for Gillian not to notice. Unless she's stuck somewhere...or she needs help.
I kick hard and slide through the door. The light moves everywhere, but I find it difficult to orient myself. It's a small kitchen—big enough, though, for three or four people—and the sink, stove, even the countertops are all on their side. In a corner, a staircase that must lead to the second floor goes horizontally. The same happens with the stairs that lead to the cellar. The roof is to my right; the ground to my left. When I look up, two empty wooden cabinets are swinging open like the Coke machine. Between the two there is an open light. Weightlessness sets in and the room begins to spin.
I do my best to follow the bubbles, but that tight space is defeating me. The walls undulate as if they were made of mercury. It's like looking through molten glass. My stomach flips over and I taste vomit rising in my throat. My God, if I vomit into the air tube… I spin frantically to my left, looking for the door. But, I find myself face to face with the linoleum floor. Has no sense. I keep turning but nothing looks familiar. The whole world moves like a kaleidoscope as I feel more and more dizzy. I clutch my chest, panting like a mad dog. I swear the room is getting smaller and smaller. And dark. Everything—in all directions—turns gray.
A sharp blow shakes my back and two arms close in front of my chest. We slide sideways and I'm not sure which way is up. The impact causes the flashlight to slip out of my hands and fall in slow motion to the bottom. As it falls, the entire room flickers like a disco.
I manage to break free of that hug and turn to find Gillian. I can barely see her through the bubbles. Her arms move quickly, grabbing the bottom front of my vest. It's the only part that keeps my air in place of her. Why are you trying to remove it? In a panic, I hold her tightly by her wrists. She digs her nails into me. Refusing to give up, she charges back, clawing furiously at me. But this time I look into her eyes.
Please trust me, she begs me with her eyes.
Desperately, her hand returns to action. A plastic hook opens and my lead belt slides to the bottom. Gillian grabs me by the lapels and drags me back. Following her gaze, I look up, and when I see the open porthole, Gillian lets go. Without the lead belt I start to climb like a human cork. She gives me one last yank to make sure she doesn't hit the oxygen cylinder during the ascent, but after that I shoot for the surface.
Gillian furiously swims up to me and she brings her fingers to her mouth to remind me to breathe.
She let out a big breath and looked up. Black turns dark blue and then turns sea green. Gillian takes my hand to make sure I don't go up too fast. Don't blow it now, Oliver. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
We surface and the cold night air hits my face. Beside me, Gillian is already inflating her vest.
-Are you okay? You can breathe? Her," she asks frantically as she swims past me. While she holds me with one hand, she with the other she presses the button to inflate my vest. She hugs my ribs and pinches my stomach. At that moment I gag but the vomit doesn't come out.
-Are you okay? She, she asks again.
Fluttering in the water, I barely hear the question. Slowly the color of my vision comes into focus.
"Why have you left me?" I ask him.
-Left?
—On the boat, I turned around and you had disappeared.
—I thought you saw me... I waved to you before I left...
"Then why didn't you take me with you?"
—For the same reason that I had to get you out of there; Going down is one thing, but moving around in a wreck... the disorientation... that's something you shouldn't try to do on your first dive.
"And that's the real reason?"
"What other reason could there be…" Her eyes widen as if she's driven a scalpel between his ribs. Do you think that I... would never leave you... I would never leave anyone like that.
Her voice trembles as she utters the last words. It's like she can't take it. She lets go of me and slowly floats away.
"Gillian..."
"I would never hurt you...
"I'm not saying you were going to do it to me, it's just…when you said my real name…"
"In the house...your brother said so."
—That's what I thought... but when I turned around and saw that you weren't there... I panicked.
"But to think that I could… My God! Here... this is where I come from before painting... when I was little, even now... this is my home. If I thought you didn't trust me, I... I never would have invited you. I extend my arm over the water and the
I lame the vest.
"If I didn't trust you, Gillian, I never would have come.
She looks at me for a long time, digesting each word.
"I'm very serious," I add.
quickly-. I wouldn't be here if...
Her hand shoots out like an arrow, grasping the back of my neck, pulling me close for a soft, tender kiss. The salty taste of her tongue stings me in the most wonderful way possible. Her fingers move deftly under the water and unzip my chest.
As we bob in the ocean, the wind is cold, everything is dark, and we will have to swim a good distance to get back to the boat. But right now, with the neon lights behind us, I just want to enjoy that kiss.