Who but Joni came up behind me. She pointed at the coral and signaled she was going to blast it. Such a wholesome happy face she had, too. I stared at her, refusing to move and she looked confused. She swam ahead, but knowing her she had marked the spot to return. A bangstick went off like a slap. Gun must’ve gotten one.

More outcroppings with stalks and fan corals protruded into my swimming area. I swam between them which forced me to squeeze through a narrow passage and come out the other side. Then I experienced a burning pain over my body like a dozen wasp stings all at once. It didn’t go away but the dive was so fascinating I put off worrying about it.

The centerpiece of this underworld landscape was an astounding 30-foot high brain coral formation, the largest on earth. There must have been 100 “fissured coral brains” meshed together and growing embedded in this one giant outcropping. Countless coral stalks and bushes protruded from the surrounding mounds.

I floated around the giant formation, and saw what resembled a cave entrance on one side which I approached. Hundreds of radiant-colored fish swam around me as I approached the cave entrance to look inside. Then I suddenly felt the pull of a tremendous suction, and the cave mouth slammed shut like a hammer blow, then, opened again! It was the giant mouth of a colossal black fish! Sheltered in the shadows! That was no cave. The fish’s mouth was the size of a man! The fish itself must be three times as big! Bigger! My God. I gaped in a form of paralysis, frozen for fear it would chase me.

Gun came around the coral formation and saw what happened. He saw me jumping out of my skin in panic but he was carrying a spear in case anything did attack me. This beast wanted no trouble with us, content to lurk in its dark cubby. I did not recover from that scare. My air was gone fast while my heart rate never fell below the average level for terror.

The first thing on the surface I shouted out to Gun, “What was that inside in the brain coral?”

“A jewfish! That’s about a thousand pounds of fish!”

“Jesus.” I was shaking. “My God…” A jewfish in the brain coral.

“Stop whining,” he said in a scorching tone, “the water made it look much bigger and closer than it was. And, topping it off, you’re a lousy swimmer, too! If you could kick worth a shit, you’d have been up to your ankles inside that fish before you could blink!”

The image of my body going into the mouth of the giant fish, with only my feet sticking out and the rest of my body swallowed up was no funny cartoon. Thank God I wasn’t a powerful swimmer.

While trying to rest it was difficult getting the engulfing vision of the jewfish out of my mind. Huge Mick Jagger lips, and a mouth bigger than a man.

“I’ll practice my kicking like you wanted. I’ll do it right now,” I told Gun.

“Good, God-dammit!” He was dead serious. He really cared, and I thought that was awesome. Or, did he just feel responsible for me almost being killed? I pushed off and skimmed around the surface, pondering the irony of the truth, If I Could Kick I Would Be Dead Now.

Regardless, that afternoon I did my last dive, almost 85 feet where I confronted every remaining fear. I pursued and stroked a few “harmless” nurse sharks, and held myself stiff whenever those white tips of the man-biting reef sharks appeared. I allowed my mask to fill up with water to purge it and restore my vision, another stupid thing considering my lack of experience. Way down deep I considered my recent thinking patterns. Perhaps the water pressure and the unfamiliar conditions created reckless impulses. A sign of nitrogen imbalance in the blood was not caring about small details. One ill-considered act could be fatal. And death by drowning was not quick, not at all. My luck held thus far. From one moment to the next I decided not to play around further. Something inside me disconnected from the fun. It was now time to gather myself, take stock of where I’d been and prepare for my next trip. Then I spotted thousands of small black fish swimming toward me in a dark cloud, like a giant sea creature made of infinite smaller parts! My heart paused for a beat at the possibility of these having sharp piranha teeth, but they veered away fast as though they hit an invisible wall of current.

I was cruising along fine when my stomach felt sick again and something, a big wad of stuff, suddenly rose up through my chest. Without any warning I knew I was going to throw up into my breathing regulator! Would it clog and shut off my air? Would I have to stop breathing and damage my lungs by doing so? I prayed for I had no idea how to handle this crisis. There was no time to make the wrong decision—there was no time to make any decision—the gobs of food clogging my throat and mouth vomited right into the regulator, tasting rancid sausage bits and green pepper purée. It all bubbled up as I watched the milky white and dark cloud of food giblets floating around my head. It attracted a crowd of tiny fish who feasted. I got out of the area fast before any bigger fish came along. Throwing up underwater was no problem, though, just another frightening surprise to figure out, the kind of excitement I was beginning to look forward to.

But after getting sick and being almost out of air I was happy to be surfacing for the last time on this phenomenal trip. Climbing aboard I shed my equipment in the proper order, secured it and joined everyone for a beer before dinner.

In the galley lounge there was an uncomfortable sensation of heat and mild stinging across my back when I tried pulling my t-shirt over it. Twenty minutes later Joni touched my back. For a moment I thought it was a sexual touch, but it made me cringe in pain. She told me, “You got stung there by some fire coral. Wash it down hard. Fire coral’s always around the brain coral. Just remember, if you ever touch the fire coral touch the brain coral right after, it cools the sting down. One of those special relationships only found in nature.” She grinned.

“That’s nature…” Carl added.

Joni handed me a small jar. “Nothing you can do about it now, rub this on.”

“Meat tenderizer?” I read the label out loud, and stared at her. “What do I look like—a piece of meat?”

Joni snatched the tenderizer from my hand with a scolding expression, and commanded, “Turn around, tough guy, you’re taking the medicine whether you like it or not.”

Everyone had a snicker as she carefully peeled off the t-shirt and began dabbing my flaming back with the tenderizer. She applied it with great care and relief was almost immediate. I got a definite sexual feeling when she rubbed me like she wasn’t just being nice but enjoyed the chance to touch my body and make it feel good. Perhaps it was my imagination but I was not too comfortable with her touching me that way, more so because I was unsure what to do if it came to a sexual encounter, whether I’d consent to have sex with her or not, if she wanted.

The fire coral stings didn’t burn afterward, I just smelled like food to cook.

Nothing Down

I woke up to brilliant daylight, hearing objects banging against each other, metal against wood, clinks and pings of metal on metal, then the engines powered down and people were talking about readying to dive, having breakfast, and a “smooth” Gulf Stream crossing. The boat was maneuvering slowly. Rocks and crags around the cabin door shone with the multicolored hues of shallow reefs.

“What time is it?” the older woman’s voice rang out.

“Eight!” answered old Jim.

I had only slept for a couple hours and the banging bothered me so much I got up to find the source. Everybody’s gear was hanging on rods from the walls and ceilings. Body suits, fishing gear, bags, all manner of stuff swung back and forth ceaselessly. No sooner would I locate one noise and stop it than another would start—a regulator knocking against a door, bottles rolling inside coolers, a scuba tank not secured properly in its sling, a sling not in the right place. And always the droning of un-muffled engines in the background.

“Did I hear right? You steered most of the night?” the woman Joni asked me with a sweetie face. “Nice work!”

Looking at her bright expression I decided not to dislike her. She looked in her late 40’s and had a square, rosy-colored face with short blond hair. Perhaps she was thirty pounds from her ideal weight but appeared very strong. When she picked up a big cooler and carried it across the deck with ease as the boat pounded through the waves, I knew she was strong.

Everyone assembled their scuba gear in preparation for the first dive, and she heaved a steel air tank across her shoulder with one arm and brandished a spear in the other like a baton.

I was amazed at the sophistication of their gear, rugged and colorful, digital instruments, buoyancy control jackets, prescription masks, various designs of fins. Shaved-head Carl, 6’2”, 250 pounds, had the fanciest gear including a tiger-striped wetsuit and big flat tank that resembled a backpack with thick shoulder and waist straps.

“What is that?” I asked him.

“It’s called a re-breather. Filters and cleans my air. You can stay down for hours with this. Doesn’t make bubbles either, good for sneaking up on fish. Plus, I can talk to you with this underwater speaker.”

The only one who wasn’t into the spiffy gear was skinny old Jim, who wore a ragged gray flight suit secured by string around the ankles and wrists, and his WWI style aviator cap with the earflaps up.

Everyone but Gun leaped in. “You’re not going down here, Caleb. Memorize these pages.” He handed me a diving instruction manual and flipped to the pages showing Underwater Hand Signals. “Learn the language, practice breathing only through your mouth. Don’t ever hold your breath. You don’t want to know why. Just do that. See you in 45 minutes.”

“Where are we, Bimini?” I asked.

“We’re in the Bahamas but we’ll clear customs after the dive. Doesn’t make sense to go all the way there then come back here.” He explained in a way that made me think he was leaving out something important. Then he showed off by jumping in with the scuba tank in his hand, and once in the water whipped the now-buoyant tank on his back with a single motion, buckled it, and descended. He was equally at home in the water as he was on it.

That scared me. This was dangerous business. Did I know Gun well enough to trust my life with him? He didn’t know me so well that I should be doing so. Maybe I wasn’t capable of diving. These people were experts. I tried lying back down in the bunk since the only sounds now were the generator and bilge pumps. I always slept on my side but that was impossible with the tossing of the boat throwing my weight from one side to the other. Then I tried lying on my back but as soon as I began to fall asleep my mouth opened wide and my breathing seized, waking me up to my own snorts and gasps. I was frustrated and confused about how to survive. More days and nights of this, all the unknowns ahead, the truth hit me hard as I was mesmerized by the boat’s rocking relative to the rocks.

I read the diver’s manual instead. Each 33 feet down equaled one more atmosphere worth of pressure on the body. Moving around at 66 feet was twice as much pressure against the body as moving at 33 feet, and used up air at a faster rate. Depths over 120 feet also caused a nitrogen imbalance in the blood that had a strong narcotic effect, similar to laughing gas, also known as Rapture of the Deep.

After beginning to pass out once again I was upset by the soft clanging of one object or another keeping time with the waves striking the boat. I didn’t care which objects, I hated them all. I continued shifting from side to side, onto my back, even trying to sleep on my stomach which I disliked the most. This felt like some prison in Paradise, a looming Devil’s Island experience.

Whiffs of gasoline and other noxious fumes blew from the stern in my direction. A roach crawled across the thickly painted plywood wall and I tried flicking it into the ocean, but it disappeared into the folds of Gun’s towel hanging on a nail. I chased it through the folds and it emerged in good position to be knocked down, landing on the deck, the surface of the sea, whatever—I didn’t care anymore! I was furious about the situation! This was a prison alright. We weren’t going back to Miami anytime soon. I hated the crud and slime and constant noise and movement of the boat.

But the divers began returning, dripping and exhilarated. The privacy curtain across the lower half of the berth was open. But, under my own closed curtain I saw sharp clean toenails and dark feet leading to slim ankles, one braceleted, with the appealing shape of a woman’s nude calves, thighs, and the puffy crease inside her soaking bathing suit. It was Ally dripping there. Since I could see her below my curtain she probably saw me last night while I was listening to her. Maybe she was standing there now to show me, making me stare at her fluffy wet tuft in silence. Despite my exhaustion the blood sprang into my dick and I almost opened the curtain to her, but she dabbed her towel in the place between her inner thighs and departed.

“Great morning dive!” one voice exclaimed.

“What about that shark?” asked another.

“You sure it was a shark?” said the other woman, Joni.

“It had whiskers,” someone else said.

“Did you see that Nassau grouper? He was like a curious dog, begging for food. I hadda push him away he was so nosy.”

Tanks and other gear clanked on the deck. Excited talk of the perfect reefs and the abundance of dazzling fish overlapped.

A few minutes later I joined people on the bridge. They dripped water everywhere and engaged in house-buying talk.

“So, how much did you put down on your house?” Joni asked him.

“Nothing. No money down,” Gun replied.

“Have to watch out for those no-money down deals,” said Carl with those laughing black eyes of his.

“Some like to bend the bank rules,” Killis spoke with a no-nonsense face.

“Sometimes you bend the rules to get something done,” Jimmy stated. Joni half-nodded in agreement. Little wonder why I had nothing in life, I didn’t take risks, these people did.

Gun moved in the chair, and his suit made a plunger sound as sea water squeezed out. “I’m not against bending the rules, a little,” Gun said with an ironic grin. As an original Woodstock ‘69 attendee he took pride in his anti-establishment streak. “About time to set down some roots.”

Joni left the bridge to hoist the anchor and Gun cranked up the engines, then he steered with his feet out of the lagoon. A short time later I went astern and there was Joni again with a big smile on her face, gutting open a two-foot long fish from the butt-hole to the head in a single stroke. More large fish flapped around dying on the deck. The slaughter might be a normal thing but it left me downhearted, almost taking life out of me. Nothing felt familiar or desirable out here. Even the breathtaking vistas seemed barren, and a wispy dark cloud of exhaust fumes trailed 100 feet behind the boat. I returned to the bridge.

“That woman,” I began, “she is something.”

“Joni, yeah,” Carl agreed. “She’s a good one.” He folded his arms satisfied.

“How long you two are going out together?” Gun asked.

“A year now. She is great. She’s the top producing Realtor in Orlando.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” I said with little emotion. “She seems to have the real killer instinct.” Nothing here mattered to me—Jimmy was patching his suit with duct tape, Killis was writing notes in a different language, then I mustered enough interest to explain something to Carl. “You know, I misread Joni’s bunk assignment as ‘Jonah and Caleb’. But, that was ‘Joni and Carl’. Not ‘Jonah and Caleb’. Ask Gun, I was adamant about not getting in a tight bunk with a stranger. Especially a Jonah!”

“Well, I’m adamant about you not getting in a tight bunk with Joni, either!” Carl was quite amused. Such a cheerful fellow he was, a good match for Joni.

“Ca-leb, my belle,” Gun sang out. “Blah blah blah.” He laughed. “Ca-leb, mah belle, da da da, dada,” he continued to serenade me.

It sounded so inane I tried not to crack a smile.

Few clouds were scattered across the bright blue sky and the waters seemed alive with sparkling highlights, leaping fish, and dive-bombing birds.

Jimmy and Killis didn’t jump into the conversation, so Carl and Gun traded stories of old Key West where they both lived. It turned out they knew many of the same people. They talked of wild people and the freewheeling hippie days.

“The Keys used to be a tight-knit community,” Carl said. “Not that long ago, God, I’m only 45. Yep, I still feel great, proud of myself,” he stated. “Push-ups, run, keep in good shape.” He had a good jelly-belly with those big arms and legs and the energy to match. “It was pretty wild back then. You remember Barker, did you know Barker?” he asked Gun.

“He disappeared. Nobody’s seen him for fifteen years.”

“Didn’t the IRS take his boat?” Jimmy suddenly entered the discussion. Gun gave him a strong glare and Jim shrugged.

“I heard they came up on him and slit his throat with a razor,” Carl said. He started chewing a fingernail.

Gun stroked his beard in his thoughtful way. “No. I think he’s wearing the concrete shoes.”

“Really...” Carl tweaked off a piece of nail. “He was always living on the edge. Maybe he’s hiding out in Europe or Asia.” He spit the nail out and examined the next one.

“Na-ah,” scoffed Jimmy. “They say he got on the wrong side of the Cubans on some drug deal around Andros Island way.”

“ Andros Island? No, sir, you don’t want to get caught by those guys.” Gun glanced back at me.

Joni dumped a bucket of mutilated fish parts over the side and we locked eyes on each other a moment. Her bright ruddy face was so full of goodwill that it was beginning to rub off on me. On the other hand there was the mysterious Killis, writing notes in squiggly letters that resembled a Middle Eastern language.

“Bad people around Andros Island?” I ventured to say. Joni popped up the ladder to join the rest of us on the bridge.

“Oh, those ones there, they’re vicious,” Jim said. “For years they’d come up on boats like this, kill everyone and use the boat to run major drugs, then sank it.”

“No trace of anyone or anything left,” added Gun. “Groups of Bahamians and Cubans working for the drug cartels. That’s how they used to do it.”

“God.” My mouth dried up, and I swallowed. “That’s like…the pirates.”

“Oh, pirates are alive and well around here!” declared Joni. “Great place for fugitives, too. Barely any police force.”

New and worse perils seemed to come from nowhere and multiply out here.

Gun spoke my way, “At night they come up on people. Silently. Razors across the throat. But, hey, Carl, you remember that one gang?” He nodded at Carl and Jim. “They were famous for daylight lagoon ambushes? None of these waters was safe for years.”

“Those ones were different. They did crazy stuff like that for kicks,” Jimmy said with a huff. “Yeah, that old pirate, what’s his name, Andros Red, him, one of his crews did that.”

I saw Killis grinning out of the corner of my eye, and couldn’t tell if it was because of our conversation or what he was writing in the other language, but I wanted to know.

“Yeah, Andros Red, wasn’t he the same guy that killed Barker?” asked Joni.

“They say that?” Jim replied. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”

Gun moved in his chair as though uncomfortable.

Carl remarked, “Ain’t heard a thing about Andros Red for years now. Used to be whenever anything happened down here, It’s Andros Red, he’s the one did it. Maybe he’s wearing the concrete shoes, too.”

Dolphins bounded ahead while the sea spray flew back.

“So, are these waters safe now?” I asked.

They all eyed each other, and grinned together. Joni answered, “Let’s put it this way. Not without a weapon. I have a weapon. I won’t tell you what it is.”

“I keep a 45 under the mattress,” Gun told me. “Not everyone sleeps when we’re anchored.”

“Wow...” I stared ahead. Except for the blare of our engines it seemed so peaceful out here. But considering this limitless expanse of sea and sky it was also no place to be caught out alone at night, either.

Killis took the opportunity to leave again. Then, Joni did the same, saying, “Naïve young friend you got there, Gun.” She departed with another big smile for me.

Later on, I told Gun, “Look, I memorized the hand signals, what else do I need to know?”

“What else did I tell you?” he answered.

“Don’t stop breathing. But what about my ears, I always get water in them and can’t get it out. I even have trouble in pools with ear infections.”

“You equalize pressure every few feet by pinching your nose closed, and blowing it lightly.” He demonstrated by doing so.

“You mean I get water inside my ears? Can’t I use earplugs?”

Both Carl and Gun thought that was the funniest thing. “Sure!” Gun blurted out laughter. “If you want the pressure to push the plugs into your brain!” He steered onward with his feet, grinning at me and hands scratching his blond hair. “Look, Caleb, do this...” He pinched his nostrils closed, and tried to blow his nose. “Doing that equalizes the pressure as you’re going down. And when you come up, the rule is never rise faster than your own bubbles.”

“Never faster than my own bubbles…don’t stop breathing…equalize pressure every few feet...I don’t know if I can do this. If I should do this.”

Carl got up. “I’m going to see how Joni is,” he said, heading astern.

Joni was tending several fishing lines that trailed the boat. Then her voice bellowed, “Slow the boat!”

Gun cut the engines.

“What happened?” I got scared.

“Joni’s got something,” said Gun.

“She’s hooked a ‘cuda!” Carl called back to Gun. “A big ‘cuda!”

I went astern, and there was Joni, her smile beaming as she reeled in a four-foot fighting barracuda. The colorful fish was like a missile.

“You going to eat that?” I inquired.

“Oh, no! I’d love to eat him up. But, he’s just too big!” She laughed raucously like it was sexual. Then she unhooked the fish and heaved his wrangling body over the side.

“You can’t eat a ‘cuda over 3 feet,” Jim explained. “They’re poisonous.”

“I just love to fight it out with them!” she proclaimed with a big smirk.

I went back up to the bridge, so anxious about everything I could only stare at a large upcoming body of land. “Bimini?” I questioned.

“No. That’s Cat Cay. A much smaller island. We’ll clear customs here and head over to the secret lobster spot.” He smiled and clicked his cheek. “This’ll take a couple hours.”

“Does that mean that we weren’t supposed to be stopped at that other island this morning?”

“Technically...” He looked away. “If authorities found us in the water, it might be a problem.”