by Jay Garnet
‘OK, I’ll try. I’ll really try.’
That evening Niko turned up at the Navarinon.
‘Mikis! My son!’ he said, holding Mike by the shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.
‘How are you, you old sod? Glad to see you!’
As they ate moussaka and drank retsina, Niko told Mike of the previous season’s sponge diving. The sponges were good enough to buy petrol-driven compressors. But not as good as before the war. They had been away from Kalymnos for many weeks. There had been problems. The sponges, some of the diving boats, they hadn’t done so well last year. Too many boats, not enough sponges. Divers had to go too deep. Some would not be coming back this year. The young boy, Panyotis, the silly boy, was one. When they brought him on deck there had been pain, first in the joints, then in the head, and now he could not walk very well.
‘What did he want to do that for, Niko? I told you about the bends, and why it happens. After a long time down, they have to come up nice and slow.’
Niko shrugged.
‘I know, Mikis, I know. But the others, it is hard to make them understand. There was a breeze coming, the sun was going down . . . the men were tired.’ He sighed. ‘These sponges, I ask myself, how long will these sponges last? I have seen sponges, even here in Piraeus, made of rubber and plastic, by machines. We suffer and die for sponges, our wives and daughters weep, and then come sponges from machines. Is this justice? Is this the will of God?’ He shrugged again. ‘Perhaps our time is past. I am thinking, perhaps I try one more year, then perhaps we do what you say, eh?’
Mike couldn’t have put things better himself. He would never have dreamt that Niko would have come round so soon. After all, there was surely still money to be made out of sponges if the equipment was right, and if the divers knew what they were up to. He narrowed his eyes and looked at his friend over the top of his glass.
‘Come on, Niko. What’s up? You know all the risks, and you’ve lived with them for years. There are still sponges down there. You’ve got the equipment. You can always find people to dive for you. There’s more to this story. Got to be.’
Niko grinned, reached across the table, slapped him on the upper arm and seized the bottle. He seemed delighted that his bluff had been called. Clearly there was more, and he was aching to tell.
‘Mikis, Mikis, you know me already too well! Yes, there is more. But . . .’ He leant across the table and lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘It is very . . .’ Then he raised his hand and waggled it to signify infinite mystery, winked and laid his index finger along the side of his nose. ‘We go to your room?’
It was a ham-fisted piece of play-acting, but it worked: Mike was intrigued. They paid and left at once. In Mike’s room, still clasping the bottle of wine, Niko told his story.
He had taken Mike’s offer seriously. He, too, had dreams of wealth. He had asked about ancient wrecks among the sponge divers of Kalymnos, and among the divers from many other islands. He had learnt of many wrecks, and one in particular off Mikonos, in water too deep to be easily reached. No sponges grew there, but the wreck was big, with many amphorae, and might contain many things. He had been told the location. He had found the place. He had sent young Panyotis below. In two dives Panyotis had wandered about the ocean floor, one hundred and eighty feet below the surface, without finding a single sponge. But he had found the wreck, outlined in seaweed and coral and containing hundreds of amphorae. He had seen the arm of a statue. He had knocked off a piece of coral and found two coins – gold coins.
‘That was when we had to bring him up, and he come up too fast. Poor boy. But perhaps it is for the best. Now he will stay with his mother. Anyway, he not like down there. Very dangerous place, he say. Boat on edge of steep, steep hill.’
Niko fished in his pocket, drew out his hand and threw on to the table between them two irregular, flattened lumps of metal. They shone a dull yellow. Both coins were clear on one side, and on the other bore the battered but still recognizable features of a woman in profile, wearing a headband, pendant earrings and a necklace. Later, when Mike had identified the coins, he found that they were known as staters and had been minted in Carthage about 350 BC. They were not the earliest of the several currencies that underpinned the Mediterranean economy in the first millennium BC, but they were early enough to be of great archaeological value. Mike did not need to know any of that to guess that these coins would be worth enough to buy Niko a nice new boat with the most modern diving equipment.
There was a long pause while the two men looked at each other. Then Mike said, quietly and thoughtfully: ‘An ’undred and eighty feet! It’s possible, Niko, possible. You know the problems working down there. The bends and the narcs. But if you do as I tell you . . .’
Then, with Niko staring at him, he began to fantasize a little about the future. You could go deeper with helium. But you had to buy it from America. That took money. But if you did the sums right, sold the products for more than enough to finance the helium supplies . . .
‘Look, Niko, let’s do it! Let’s make this work. Let’s make some money and then go deeper. We’ll be the first to get down to all those wrecks beyond the reach of your sponge divers. Two hundred and fifty, three ’undred feet, maybe more. There must be so much down there – just waiting.’
Niko smiled broadly. ‘Is good! But . . .’ The smile vanished dramatically from his face. ‘. . . Is also bad.’
‘Bad?’
‘Yes, Mikis. Is against the law. Illegal. The police, they put you in prison.’
‘Well, we ain’t found nothing yet, ’ave we! Except these two coins. That’s not much. Wait a bit: are we breaking the law now, Niko? These coins, what you supposed to do with them?’
‘Report. Hand over to government. Then government put in museum.’
‘Stuff that! You wanna give these things to a museum?’
Niko shook his head.
‘Too bloody right! These are yours, mate! You keep ’em!’
‘No, Mikis, my son, that I cannot do.’ That lugubrious look again.
‘Niko, are you crazy?’
‘No, Mikis. We are partners. I cannot keep both. You must have one. This I give you. Then we trust each other. And perhaps you need it, yes, to find buyers? Perhaps we then get money?’
‘Perhaps. But if you’re right, and this wreck is in an ’undred and eighty feet, we don’t need much money just yet. All we need is fuel and food. I’ve got enough for that. When do you want to leave?’
‘My friend! My son! I need two days! I must tell my friends they must find another boat. A few I can see here, to others I can send messages. Then I buy fuel and food. Then we go!’
The next morning Sandra came again. This time they had coffee downstairs.
‘Gee, I really put the others in hot water . . . Helen lied through her teeth, said I’d gone up to the Parthenon, but her parents were still really wild! And I came back and said I was sorry and they made me promise I’d never go out on my own again, what with Daddy coming in a couple of days . . . so I had to tell the other three about you. I swore them to secrecy, and this morning we all went out together, and they’re all going to stay out for lunch, and I have to meet them at the Grande Bretagne at three o’clock.’
They went back to his room. There he kissed her, holding her against the door. Her hips pressed against him, searching for his response. Underneath her coat she wore the same skirt, with a silk blouse. He kissed down her neck, pushed back the coat, undid the top button of her blouse and began to pull it out of her skirt.
‘We gotta go to bed,’ he said. ‘You know we gotta go to bed. It’s not fair not to. We’re both of us going to die otherwise.’
At that moment it felt as if he was telling the truth. She was his whole universe.
And for her, too, delay would have been unthinkable. It was her first time, and the circumstances were so perfect. An attractive, understanding, flattering man, utter privacy, no parental control, and her own desires – how could s
he possibly say no?
By this time her blouse was undone and his hand was on the bare skin of her back, sliding up underneath the strap of her bra.
‘Let me,’ she said.
He stood back and unbuttoned his shirt. She carefully took off her coat and hung it on the back of a chair; then her blouse; then her skirt, all of which she hung over the same chair. She stood up, in her bra and panties.
‘I had a heap of ironing to do last night,’ she said with a quick smile.
Then she came to him and lifted her face up to kiss him. At the same time she reached behind her to undo her bra, and let it fall from her arms.
‘Now,’ she said, and with a swift movement she stepped out of her panties and got into bed.
He was very careful with her. He said all the right things, and meant them. He told her she was beautiful, that he had never met anyone like her, that he loved her. It was the first time he’d said that to anyone. She was a little apprehensive, then relieved, then passionate. As he had warned her, he finished quickly, and lay for a long time savouring her skin, hair, breasts, lips.
Later they made love again, for longer. There was more talk of love. Later still she rested on him, exploring his face and chest. She was indeed unutterably sweet to touch and see. In that short space of time he had fallen completely in love with her.
‘There’ll be more in a minute, girl. Much more,’ he promised.
He was as good as his word. The third time she was utterly responsive. It was as if she’d been at it for years.
They began to talk.
To ensure that she returned the following day, Mike told her about his plans, taking her into his confidence, and impressing her. Then, because she was young, and it was all he had to offer, he told her about Niko and the wreck. He got out of bed, naked, and fetched the gold coin. He showed it to her. She said it was beautiful, then became thoughtful. He told her he’d have to sell it sometime. It was then she said, ‘Gee, that’s a funny thing.’
His hand was running idly over her stomach and up on to her breast. But her mind was temporarily elsewhere. She bit her bottom lip. ‘Daddy has something to do with antiques. He’s got a whole heap of stuff. Perhaps he’ll buy them off you.’
‘Well, that would be nice,’ said Mike, and gave no further thought to that part of the conversation.
Shortly afterwards Sandra said she really had to go. It was quarter past two, and they’d been making love, on and off, for two and a half hours.
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. It’s going to get more and more difficult. I’ll try, I really will.’
The next morning she didn’t show up. He spent two hours in a state of high sexual tension which was partially resolved at lunchtime when Niko arrived. Tomorrow they would go, early. They had a full day’s journey ahead of them and it would be good to travel during daylight hours.
The next morning, after leaving a note for Sandra pinned to his door, Mike boarded the Hecate. He had little with him other than the rope-soled sandals and the old navy trousers and shirt he was wearing – just another shirt, some swimming shorts, a toothbrush and a razor. By six o’clock they were off. There was almost nothing moving at that hour except two or three fishing boats looming through the morning mist. Along the marina the launches and yachts of the wealthy rested in silence. Apart from the mewing of the gulls and the thud of their ancient engine, the only sound was the swoosh of a glorious cabin cruiser whose owner was probably going out for some early-morning fishing.
It was a superb, still, spring day, the best time of year to be in Greece. To either side of the silent port the rough-cast hills were dusted with green. The sky was clear but for some high wisps of cloud. Later it would be hot.
They journeyed all day. Once, Niko waved at another vessel. Soon afterwards they drank wine and ate bread. Mike spent most of the day smoking, browning his already tanned body, dozing and steering the course set by Niko.
In the late afternoon, after refuelling the tank just once from the five-gallon cans stored below decks, Niko pointed out an island in the distance. ‘Mikonos!’ he said.
He halted about a mile away from the island, put the engine at idling speed, then began to zigzag, his eyes darting between Mikonos, two other islands on the horizon and his compass.
‘We must line up these three points: the northern tip of Mikonos – the lighthouse there. Can you see it? Then the right-hand point of Tinos at three hundred and fifty-five degrees – almost due north; and that point over there at a hundred and ninety degrees . . . There! Now, Mikis, let me anchor.’
They were too late to dive that evening. Mike swam around the Hecate to refresh himself, Niko cooked some spaghetti, they drank wine and then ouzo, and fell asleep.
The next day, after a breakfast of coffee and bread, when the sun was high enough to light the depths, the diving began in earnest.
Mike clambered into his suit while Niko checked their position, before helping him on with the corslet and helmet.
Then there came the heavy boots, the weighted belt, the depth gauge, the knife, torch and a bag, which was to raise small finds, but also contained a crowbar, hacksaw, tape measure and markers.
‘OK, Mikis, my son. I look after you. I look after the compressors. I let you out to a hundred and thirty feet. Then I check my position. Then I come back and lower you down to the floor. Then you signal that you are all right. Then I check every damn thing, and you look hard. You give many, many pulls, and I know you find wreck.’
‘OK, Niko. But the thing I really care about is coming up. That’s a good compressor. But you note the time, make sure your watch is going, look at the bloody tables, OK? See? An hour at that depth and it takes me two hours and twenty-three minutes to come up, stopping at these depths for this amount of time. Now, I won’t stay down much longer than that, because it’ll be cold. But if I do, follow the tables, or I’m going to . . .’ He crunched his fingers up to imitate the agony of the bends.
‘I know, Mikis. Is OK. I understand. You are not Panyotis!’
Niko screwed on the helmet and Mike clambered heavily over the side and down the metal ladder into the water. He took up the slack on his pipe and lifeline, felt Niko’s double pat on his helmet, let go of the ladder and hung in the water briefly before dropping into the depths.
As he descended there was no sensation of pressure on his head and lungs, for the compressor on the surface ensured that the air pressure inside his helmet balanced that of the water outside. He did feel the pressure of his suit on his legs, but there was no discomfort.
Landing on sand in the semi-darkness, he waited for Niko to register the absence of weight on the end of the line. Then, as the slack was taken up, he gave the line a single jerk.
He looked around.
The water was clear, but even so his vision was limited to about thirty feet. The seabed was a combination of sand and rocks, and it sloped. His feet sank in hardly at all, kicking up small clouds with each pace. Tiny fish darted out of the darkness and then vanished again.
As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw that on one side of him a hill rose another thirty feet; on the other, the sand and rocks ran off downhill into darkness.
He stepped forward to explore, then suddenly stopped in surprise.
In front of him the ground simply vanished. Six feet ahead was the lip of an underwater canyon. At some time in the distant past this must have been the shoreline of an island over which the sea had since risen. He bent to look at the rocks around him. He was standing on a shelf formed by a coral reef, which ran almost due north–south.
There were only two directions to go. He chose north. As a home base he found the Hecate’s anchor, walked fifty yards away into the darkness and stuck in one of his markers.
By chance he’d moved off in the right direction. He came upon the wreck a few yards further on. Niko’s navigation had been extraordinary – within a hundred yards of the spot.
; Directly before him lay the wreck, its shape defined – as Panyotis had reported – by coral and waving lines of seaweed. All the wood exposed to the water had long since vanished, but the basic shape was still there, and had become part of the ocean floor. Contained in the area that had once been the hold lay row upon row of amphorae – the ancient equivalent of plastic bags and tea chests, Mike thought to himself. They were far out of reach of any wave action. Some still stood upright, supported by those on either side. Others, at the edges, had fallen sideways, and scores were broken.
From where he stood, he couldn’t see to the edge of the field of pots, for the ship had been large. But it was clear that he was standing near the bows, for the ranks of amphorae narrowed near him and became wider at the limits of his vision.
He walked down the edge of the wreck, counting his paces. It was seventy feet long – a large trading vessel. At the stern the pots had all been broken. Mike guessed there had been a cabin above the hold at this point, which must have collapsed when the ship hit the bottom, or soon after. There were enigmatic rocky bumps scattered among a group of broken pots.
He glanced at his watch. He’d been down twenty minutes.
Remembering the way he had found the coins in Crete, he concentrated on the lumps of rock in the middle of the field of shards. He delivered an experimental kick at one. To his surprise, the little mound burst apart and exploded in a cloud of silt. He squatted down, careful not to let his helmet drop beneath the level of his chest – to avoid a blow-up – and felt beneath the sand.
Under his glove small plates slipped about against each other. He closed his hand and lifted.
Coins. A dozen in one handful. As they rubbed gently against one another in the cupped palms of his hands, he saw that, beneath the light covering of silt and mud, each coin was gold, strangely grey in colour – for at that depth most colour is absorbed by the water above – but gold nevertheless, and as pure as if newly minted.
He opened the bag at his waist and, as carefully as he could, poured them in. A few tumbled slowly to his feet. He retrieved them and began to fumble for more.