"It was not till I shot to the surface with a mighty splash that I came somewhere near my senses. Below and behind me I could still see faint cold light. Above was twilight and the darkness of an oncoming small storm.
"At that moment the air in my last tank gave out-or rather that splendid Yank warning buzz, which means you have just time to get out of your harness, sounded off.
"I had, thank god, practiced the drill. Despite being a terror-paralysed madman, habit got me out of the harness before the tanks turned into lethal deadweight. In my panic, of course, the headlight went down too. I was left unencumbered in the night, free to swim toward Cuba, or Cozumel, and to drown as slow or fast as fate willed.
"The little storm had left the horizon stars free. I recall that pure habit made me take a sight on what seemed to be Canopus, which should be over Cozumel. I began to swim in that direction. I was appallingly tired, and as the adrenalin of terror which had brought me this far began to fade out of my system, I realized I could soon be merely drifting, and would surely die in the next day's sun if I survived till then. Nevertheless it seemed best to swim whilst I could.
"I rather resented it when some time after a boat motor passed nearby. It forced me to attempt to yell and wave, nearly sinking myself. I was perfectly content when the boat passed on. But someone had seen-a spotlight wheeled blindingly, motors reversed, I was forcibly pulled from my grave and voices from what I take to be your Texas demanded, roaring with laughter,"-here he gave quite a creditable imitation-" 'Whacha doin' out hyar, boy, this time of night? Ain't no pussy out hyar, less'n ya'all got a date with a mermaid.' They had been trolling for god knows what, mostly beer.
"The driver of that boat claimed me as a friend and later took me home for the night, where I told him-and to him alone-the whole story. He was Jorge Chuc.
"Next day I found that the young couple, Harry and Ann, had taken only a brief look at the charming unspoiled area, and then started east, exactly according to plan, with me-or something very much like me-following behind them all the way. They had been a trifle surprised at my passivity and uncommunicativeness, and more so when, on meeting Victor, I was no longer to be found. But they had taken immediate action, even set a full-scale search in progress-approximately seventy kilometers from where I then was. As soon as I came to myself I had to concoct a wild series of lies about cramps and heart trouble to get them in the clear and set their minds at ease. Needless to say, my version included no mention of diver-imitating fish-life."
He tossed the spark of his cigarette over the rail before us.
"So now, my friend, you know the whole story of all I know of what is to be found beyond the Dead Reef. It may be that others know of other happenings and developments there. Or of similar traps elsewhere. The sea is large… Or it may be that the whole yarn comes from neuroses long abused by stuff like this."
I had not seen him extract his flask, but he now took two deep, shuddering swallows.
I sighed involuntarily, and then sighed again. I seemed to have been breathing rather inadequately during the end of his account.
"Ordinary thanks don't seem quite appropriate here," I finally said. "Though I do thank you. Instead I am going to make two guesses. The second is that you might prefer to sit quietly here alone, enjoying the evening, and defer the mild entertainment I was about to offer you to some other time. I'd be glad to be proved wrong…?"
"No. You're very perceptive, I welcome the diverse-the deferred offer." His tongue stumbled a bit now, more from fatigue than anything he'd drunk. "But what was your first guess?"
I rose and slowly paced a few meters to and fro, remembering to pick up my absurd snorkel bag. Then I turned and gazed out to the sea.
"I can't put it into words. It has something to do with the idea that the sea is still, well, strong. Perhaps it can take revenge? No, that's too simple. I don't know. I have only a feeling that our ordinary ideas of what may be coming on us may be-oh-not deep, or broad enough. I put this poorly. But perhaps the sea, or nature, will not die passively at our hands… perhaps death itself may turn or return in horrible life upon us, besides the more mechanical dooms…"
"Our thoughts are not so far apart," the tall Belizan said. "I welcome them to my night's agenda."
"To which I now leave you, unless you've changed your mind?"
He shook his head. I hoisted his bag to the seat beside him. "Don't forget this. I almost left mine."
"Thanks. And don't you forget about dogs and mothers," he grinned faintly.
"Goodnight."
My footsteps echoed on the now deserted muelle left him sitting there, I was quite sure he was no longer smiling.
Nor was I.