Journey to Atlantis

by Philip Roy

  “I hope so.”

  I stared out to sea. It always fascinated me to see the water from such a height. You could see the curvature of the earth. It made the world seem smaller.

  “Why do you suppose that nobody’s found Atlantis before?”

  Doug shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because of expectations.”

  “Expectations?”

  “Well, if you are expecting to find a city under a bubble, you’re not going to pay much attention to one that isn’t.”

  “Oh.” That was a good point.

  “But promise me something, Alfred?”

  “What?”

  “If you do find a city under a bubble, come and tell me before the whole world sees it, okay? I’d like to see it first. Okay?”

  I laughed. “Okay.”

  “Good. Actually, I’m glad to know that somebody is looking for Atlantis. Now, I suppose we should get our carcasses back down the mountain. You know what we forgot to buy?”

  “What?”

  “Ant traps.”

  The moment we stood up and started down the mountain I picked up a strong smell; it was like being inside a barn full of stinky animals. Hollie rode in my backpack and stuck his nose out stiffly and made his quietest growl, which always sounded like a tiny electric motor. But we had only the smell — no goats.

  There were crevices here and there, and sharp jagged cliffs, but they were not places where any creature could climb, not even mountain goats. Or so I thought. The smell was so strong towards the cliff, I just had to lie down, crawl to the edge and peek over. As I inched my eyes over the very edge of the cliff and nervously peeked down, which was a dizzying experience, I saw surprised faces looking up at me, whiskered faces, with goatee beards and curled horns. How they could be standing there I just could not understand.

  The goats were not happy about having been discovered and started to move. I wished they wouldn’t because I was sure they were going to fall, and I felt terrible about it. It would be my fault because I had scared them. Well, miraculously, they didn’t fall. Neither did they fall when they scurried across another impossible precipice and up an even steeper cliff. Like big fat birds with long skinny legs, the goats disappeared. Their smell lingered though, and so did my amazement.

  It was dark when we returned to the jeep. We were exhausted and starving. I was dying for pizza. Doug said he knew the best place. So we drove there. But the employees and customers made such a fuss over Doug we couldn’t seem to place our order. Finally we went somewhere else. This time, Doug waited in the jeep while I went in and ordered. I was beginning to see how difficult the life of a famous person could be. It was sort of like being an outlaw.

  We stuffed our faces and drove back to the cove where Hollie and I returned to the sub to sleep. The next day Doug met us on the beach with a big smile. He was holding up one of the local newspapers. On the front page was a picture of the two of us coming out of the hiking shop in our ball caps and sunglasses. The headline read:

  IS THIS DOUGLAS NICKELS’ ILLEGITIMATE SON?

  Later, as we climbed into the dinghy to leave, Doug shook my hand firmly and asked me to promise to visit on our way back home. I promised. I was beginning to understand something Sheba had told me. She said it was the interesting places that made you travel somewhere, but the people that made you go back. How true.

  Chapter Twenty

  “DID YOU GET HIS autograph, Al?”

  “Uh … no, I never thought about it.”

  “You spent a couple of days with Douglas Nickels and didn’t even get his autograph?”

  “He’s just a regular guy … well, except out in public. You wouldn’t believe the fuss people make over him.”

  “I think I would. Do you realize he’s married to Greta Sachs, one of the most beautiful women in the world?”

  “Sheba’s more beautiful!”

  “Al. Are you telling me you met Greta Sachs too?”

  “Yes, but Sheba’s more beautiful and a lot smarter.”

  “I will tell her you said that. But Geez, Al, what did Greta Sachs say?”

  “Not much. She really wanted some ant traps but we forgot to buy them.”

  “Unbelievable! So what’s next? Where are you sailing next?”

  “Well, I think I should avoid France, because they’ve got the biggest submarine fleet in the Mediterranean. I think we’ll go south from here, towards Italy.”

  “I’m looking at the map as we speak. Looks like Corsica and Sardinia are in your path.”

  “I know but we can sail between them, through the Strait of Bonifacio.”

  “Italy has submarines too, you know.”

  “Oh yah. Well, maybe I should stick to North Africa. It’s pretty nice there and it’s a lot less busy.”

  “Okay, but avoid Libya. The newspapers say there are terrorists there.”

  “I will, though I don’t believe everything the newspapers say.”

  “Better safe than sorry, Al.”

  “True.”

  Ziegfried was the voice of caution.

  I decided to sail for Tunisia for a chance to peek at the greatest desert in the world. It would have been nice to sail through the Strait of Bonifacio, but that was just too risky. The north side was Corsica, a large island belonging to France, and the birthplace of Napoleon. The south side was Sardinia, a large island belonging to Italy. Both would have been patrolled by navy and coastguard ships, possibly even submarines. In fact, according to my guidebooks, there were twenty-four NATO bases on Sardinia. Yikes! But Sardinia also had a few incredible things, such as a herd of miniature horses and the world’s only albino donkeys. The miniature horses really were horses, not ponies, even though they stood only three feet tall. How I wished I could have seen them. But they were too far inland. I didn’t see how we could get there.

  The problem with the donkeys was that they were on a smaller island, Isola Asinara, that also just happened to have a maximum-security prison. It was little wonder I had a bad feeling about that place.

  Something else Sardinia was famous for was its caves. They were cut out of cliffs that dropped into the sea. Since we were going to sail so close to the island anyway, I thought maybe we could take a peek at the cliffs as we went by, maybe even get Hollie out for a run on the beach.

  From a distance, through binoculars, the caves looked like black dots on a white birthday cake. I entered the twelve-mile zone a bit nervously. Why would one island have twenty-four NATO bases anyway? Canada was part of NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, and maybe that would work in our favour if we were stopped. We crossed the line before dawn and I raised the Canadian and Italian flags while it was still dark, just in case we were being watched as the sun came up.

  Five miles from the cliffs I hadn’t picked up much on radar, just a few fishing boats. For an island with twenty-four NATO bases it seemed strangely quiet. And then, from the north came a radar beep, and it was coming in too fast to be a ship. Yikes! A helicopter or a plane! We didn’t even have time to dive. Well, we could have dived but would have been spotted from the air anyway, the very moment we appeared on their radar screen. It was a good thing we were not submerged, and were sailing with proper flags. We were at least legal.

  It was a small plane. It flew right over our heads, made a turn and a second pass, taking a closer look. I stood on the portal and waved. I wanted to show them we were friendly. The plane dipped its wing, a way of saying hello. That was a good sign. They must have identified our flags. Was it the coastguard? I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was just a pleasure craft. Would they report us? Probably, but I couldn’t know for sure. What to do — take the chance and go see the caves, or play it cautious and leave the twelve-mile zone? What would Ziegfried do? I looked down the portal at Hollie, wagging his tail and staring up expectantly. “I’m sorry, Hollie. There will be other beaches. We’ll find another one.” I turned the sub around. Less than an hour later I was glad I did. Radar revealed two ships leaving the shore i
n our direction, but too far away to catch us before we reached the twelve-mile zone. Then, just as we were leaving the zone, the plane flew over us once again. This time I got a closer look at it with binoculars. It was the Italian coastguard all right. I waved again as we left their waters. They dipped their wing. Ciao!

  We would have to visit caves somewhere else.

  Tunisia offered the best opportunity to see the Sahara. The desert wore a collar of mountains along its northern border, hundreds of miles thick in places. But in Tunisia, in the Gulf of Gabes, the Sahara reached up a thin finger and touched the sea. It was the one spot where we had a chance to see it, if we were lucky.

  Also in the Gulf of Gabes was the island of Jerba, where fishermen still dived for sea sponges, although it was a dying tradition. And, there were reports of a sunken city! Could it be Atlantis? Probably not.

  Gabes, a coastal town on the mainland, was the gateway to Chott El Jerid, a large salt lake that supposedly sparkled like jewels but was as barren as the moon. It was a place where you could see mirages. I wanted to see that too!

  It took only a day to reach the coast of Tunisia. In the Atlantic, a day’s journey didn’t take you very far. In the Mediterranean it took you everywhere. But we were now two days at sea without a break. I hadn’t slept at all, and Hollie hadn’t been out for a run. The coast of Tunisia made a sudden downward turn, like an elbow joint, and went south for about six hundred miles before straightening out on the border with Libya. In the darkness of night, with our lights on and a hot breeze coming from the desert, we went down the coast, keeping an eye open for traffic and ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. Just a couple of hours before sunrise we reached the island of Jerba, the Land of the Lotus-Eaters, according to my guidebook, and the very island where Odysseus and his crew were bewitched into never wanting to leave. As beautiful as it might be, I didn’t think we would have that problem.

  The periscope revealed a makeshift breakwater — just a pile of large rocks tossed into the sea — a wide beach, and not a soul. I surfaced and opened the hatch. Seaweed went out and inspected our surroundings. Hollie and I climbed out, moored the sub to a rock and hopped onto the beach.

  Hollie was such a smart dog. He never barked in a strange place. Nor did he run far away. We went down the beach about half a mile, back up, and down again. The air was hot and dry and very pleasant. The sand was warm beneath my feet. The sky sparkled like a chest full of jewels. It felt wonderful to be back on the continent of Africa.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  SOMETIMES YOU MEET someone, and know right away you will become good friends.

  I slept through the entire day and most of the night. I brought the sub up a few hours before sunrise, opened the hatch, tossed Seaweed some dog biscuits and took Hollie out for another run on the beach. This time, I moored the sub between rocks at the breakwater and left it awash, the bow and stern submerged, just half of the portal sticking out of the water. When we returned from our walk I made a proper breakfast and we sat on the hatch and watched the sun come up. Hollie was happy. The life of a submariner was sometimes peaceful beyond words.

  When I felt confident we were well enough hidden, I brought Hollie back inside, put the radio on for him, gave him a new ball, went out and shut the hatch. I intended to practise diving here, where divers supposedly brought up sponges from the bottom and my guidebook said there were rumours of a sunken city.

  In the three years since I had met Ziegfried and we began to build the sub, I had learned to free-dive to nearly a hundred feet and hold my breath for two minutes. It didn’t seem like such a big deal now but there was a time when forty-five seconds and forty feet were way beyond my reach. Improving on that had taken me a lot of practice.

  The water beneath the sub was only seventy-five feet, so I swam out a little ways, to where I guessed it was ninety feet, did my breathing exercises and went down. The sea was as warm as a bathtub. The early morning sun pierced the water for about thirty feet or so. Compared to the dark water back home, it was like another planet.

  It was easier to dive more deeply and hold my breath longer in warmer water, and this made diving more fun. I was having such a good time in fact that I just kind of assumed I was alone in the water.

  I wasn’t.

  At the bottom I discovered sponges attached to rocks, just like the sponges Sheba kept in her bathroom back in Newfoundland, except maybe a little rougher. I put my hand on one and squeezed it. It felt the same, but was attached to the rock and wouldn’t come off with a strong tug. It would have to be cut off. I decided to return to the sub for a knife. I turned … and froze! No more than fifteen feet away was a large shark! It came straight towards me then veered off at the last second. Its mouth was open and I saw rows of jagged teeth. It all happened so quickly I never had time to think. I was frightened but didn’t panic. The shark swam around in a circle then came back. It was fast! I had to return to the surface for air but was afraid to move. The shark came towards me again so quickly I saw its whole body shake with exertion. I got ready to duck. Just then, a slim brown body went over my head, straight towards the shark! The shark veered again and vanished. The figure was holding a knife in his hand. He turned and faced me. He smiled.

  We swam to the surface. I saw that he had a floating burlap bag he was filling with sponges. The bag was tied to three plastic jugs, which acted as a buoy. He didn’t have a boat; he had swum out from the beach all by himself. He was pretty excited to have found me and said something in an excited voice that I didn’t understand. Then, he gestured that we should dive again. Wasn’t he afraid of the shark, I gestured? He shrugged, not at all! He started breathing exercises, just the way I did them. So … I joined him.

  Together we went down and I watched as he expertly cut sponges from the rock and put them in a smaller bag. He worked quickly but calmly. I kept watch for sharks.

  His name was Omar. He was my age and my height. He was very lean and in amazing shape. We made about ten dives together, which was great practice for me. I saw two more sharks but they didn’t bother us. I could tell Omar did a lot of diving the way he moved so gracefully in the water. Beside him I felt rather clumsy. He let me hold the knife a couple of times and showed me how to cut the sponges free. I chose two nice ones to bring back for Sheba.

  When Omar’s bag was filled, we swam towards shore. I pointed in the direction of the sub, which we couldn’t really see from where we were. He wore a questioning look on his face. I said, “submarine,” but that didn’t help. I started to swim towards the sub and gestured for him to follow me. I would just have to show him.

  Omar was fearless against sharks but absolutely frightened of the submarine. He stared at it as if it were a sea monster and wouldn’t come close to it at all. I tried to coax him but he shook his head. So, I climbed up, opened the hatch, went inside and brought out Hollie. When he saw Hollie, he broke into a big smile and started to relax. Eventually he came over and climbed up, but would not come inside.

  Later, we sat on the beach and communicated by drawing pictures in the sand. Seaweed dropped by when he saw us scratching with a stick, and so, the first thing I had to explain was that Seaweed was part of the crew. That wasn’t easy. Then Omar explained that he was from the desert. As far as I could tell from his sand pictures, he sometimes travelled through the desert by camel, with his family, and sometimes came sponge diving, all by himself. That was his favourite thing to do; I could tell by the way he smiled when he drew himself diving. But he missed his family then. I asked him how many brothers and sisters he had. He drew twelve figures in the sand. Wow. Beside his father he drew three women. Did his father have three sisters, I asked? No. Three wives. Oh.

  From another picture Omar drew, it looked as though they also had a farm in the desert. I couldn’t understand how anyone could have a farm in the desert, but he drew a picture of a mountain, and put the farm on the side of it. Then he drew rain clouds and scratched them out. There wasn’t enough water? He nod
ded.

  The hardest thing for Omar to understand was the submarine. Why didn’t it sink? The only way I could really show him that was to coax him inside. That took a long time. He came down the ladder as cautiously as a cat and looked around with wide eyes. He caught sight of the pellet rifles and nodded his head approvingly. I picked one up and gave it to him. That made him so happy he hugged me. Then I showed him the engine compartment and the piles of toys still wrapped in their plastic packages. Would his brothers and sisters like these things, I asked? Yes, indeed. But when Omar saw the engine, his mouth dropped and his eyes grew very serious. He tried to explain something to me, something very important, but he was gesturing too fast and I couldn’t understand. I gave him a piece of paper and pencil and he very carefully drew a long diagram. When he handed me the paper, I stared at the picture and tried to figure out what it all meant. He kept pointing to the engine and the diagram on the paper, which included a map. Was there another engine? Yes. Did he want me to see it? Yes. Did he want me to fix it? Yes. Was it far away? Not too far, he said, three or four days by camel. Would I come, he asked? Yes I would!

  But I did have a few concerns. Where would I hide the sub for so long? Three or four days out meant three or four days back. I would also probably need a few days to work on the engine, maybe more. That meant at least a week and a half. I could take Hollie with me, for sure, but what would I do with Seaweed? I didn’t mind leaving him for a couple of days, but nine or ten days was too long. Could a seagull survive in the desert if he had enough water? I would have to ask Ziegfried. I needed to consult with him about fixing the engine anyway. Which tools should I bring? Which spare parts? Although he had taught me many things in the last three years, I was still only an apprentice when it came to engines.

  We took the pellet rifles over to the beach, set up targets and practised shooting for hours. When we ran out of pellets we combed the beach for tiny round pebbles that fit in the rifles. It was the most fun I had had in the longest time. I asked Omar if anyone might discover us. Should I worry about my passport? He said, no, nobody would come. And when we went into the desert, I would wear a cloth around my head, just like him, and no one would know me. Cool.