A Dolphins Dream

by Carlos Eyles

  That morning he speared three more fish and after each fish his confidence grew. Not so much in his physical ability, though it did, but in his understanding of both how the fish behaved in the sea and how, in the knowledge of that behavior, he was perfecting the stalk. Aprosa had left out that important element, he thought, but then he did say that the sea would teach me everything else. This, then, is the teaching. How the sea works, how different fish behave differently, and yet how it is all interrelated. It would take a lifetime to know just an aspect of it. You could never know it all. Still, you could know enough to operate very effectively and survive.

  He returned to the beach for breakfast and fried up the first fish, which filled his stomach and his soul, a more satisfying meal he could not remember. Before dinner that evening he said grace aloud which he had never done except at Thanksgiving, expressing his gratitude to the sea for its gift.

  For breakfast the following morning he the last fish and in that knowledge and though satisfied, his hunger lurked and became a thing he knew would never disappear or be forgotten. It was in that urgency that he departed for the sea. He speared two small fish and returned to the beach without incident. When he entered the water a third time he discovered white tip sharks working on an old blood spoor. He lay upon the surface and watched them in their tireless pace, like confident dogs whose prey was a foregone conclusion. They paid no attention to him and moved as if he did not exist. He tried to learn something from their movements. Perhaps the shark in its cruel simplicity had no secrets to reveal. They needed no secrets. They reacted to weakness, that was all. Therefore, strength of body and mind was required at all times. When he dove upon them they reluctantly retreated to the depths. He became satisfied with himself, not so much so that he would hunt only in the area, and he moved a distance down the reef line where he dove deeper water. At forty feet he lay upon a boulder and waited out a ten pound coral trout. His breath-hold was good and the fish in its inherent curiosity tested it to his limits before coming into range. He focused on the spot and his body pulled the trigger. The fish quivered in its death throes but he had not the breath to swim over and retrieve it, so leaving the gun and the speared fish on the bottom, rose to the surface for a breath. While he regained his lungs three black tip sharks spun their way up from the deep drop off. He quickly realized that if the sharks were to descend on the fish they would take it and the spear to which the gun was attached to the far depths and he would be without the one tool needed to feed himself. He dove and reached the gun about the time the black tips arrived at the fish and as he ascended with the gun and the fish attached to the spear, twelve feet away the three sharks followed it up. They followed it right to the surface and now twitched in quick movements around the fish whose wound leaked blood.

  Compton reacted in the way of the perpetually hungry and only realized that much later. He swam for the sharks using the spear gun stock as a club and hit the nearest shark. It wheeled around and exploded for the depths. He hit the second shark with all the power he could muster and it too fled, taking with it the third shark. Quickly gathering up the line, he grasped the fish in its gills and swam it to the beach. In the swim he discovered a power that only appears when overcoming great fear. He held the fish like a trophy. It was the largest he had speared and it would serve him well for two full days. Such a small thing, he thought, to land a fish on the strength of ones’ own skill and courage. His exuberance unleashed a war hoop when he reached the beach. This, in its own way in terms of accomplishment, eclipsed the day he received his college degree but he did not know why. He cast himself on the beach and shouted the news to Moses.

  13

  Moses did not appear that day or the next. Compton would not see him for over a week. In that time he continued to spear fish on the reef and his knowledge of the sea grew in unimaginable leaps. The vegetables had long been devoured and his diet was reduced to fish and the coconuts that fell at irregular intervals in the grove that surrounded the huts. The hollowness that began in his stomach was a constant reminder of the task that awaited him. The lack of food, or perhaps more, the lack of any reserves of food, kept him on a strange yet satisfying edge. The possibility of being unable to produce something to eat was an anxiety he was unfamiliar with, yet he knew that much of the world and its children lived this way on a daily basis for most, if not all, of their lives. The dull ache of starvation would not soon, if ever, be forgotten and while his existence now had a very serious edge to it, this same edge raised his skill level and awareness to a sharpness he could not conjure on his own. While this state of being heightened alertness in the water, he was always a bit anxious on land. Every morning he hunted for food and in the afternoons after the husking was done, he went to the beach and lay in the sun and looked out over the strait, his mind as quiet as the breeze that wafted in from Taveuni. His body was changing. There was strength in his legs, he had lost weight and his stomach was toned, as were his forearms from the husking and cocking the spear gun. His hands had acquired a strength he had never known. He inspected his body and took long, deep breaths and felt lungs inside the expansion of his chest that had been cleared of pollution. His eyesight had acquired keenness from continued observations in the water that carried over into daily living and he found he was wearing his glasses less frequently. He became astute to the small changes in the sea; a shift in the wind, the movement of the tides, a change in current, swell and chop. He entertained himself watching the subtle ways of nature play itself across the Tasman Strait.

  His mind followed his hands over his body. It has been a long time since I have really paid attention to my body or seen such changes in it. Yet it is the simplification of my life that is remarkable. Layers of myself have been peeled down to some primal core that feels utterly real. All those years living in some sort of façade, some made up idea of myself. It disconnected me to anything real. Yet I went about my day pretending to have the answers to all questions. He smiled to himself. Only Moses seems to have all the answers. I wonder if these people, removed as they are from civilization are, in fact, more grounded by way of their acts in reality. They certainly seem to have a far better grip of it. Perhaps they have a better idea of themselves because they are reflected directly from nature. That is the key, he realized. Nature is the only true reflection. It does not lie or deceive. How you operate in nature is really who you are! Without the mind running the show it becomes possible to see what is really going on. There is no bullshit in nature. He paused and smiled and finished his thought, unless of course you’re camped out around a herd of water buffaloes.

  Compton felt good. I am ready for the big fish, he announced to the beach. I can punch out the deep dives and the last eight fish I have hit dead center and killed outright. A big fish should actually be easier. He reasoned that it’s a larger target. I’m ready for the deep reef. It’s about time I started paying my rent as Abraham declared. In the thought, Compton considered where this whole thing was going. He knew that both Moses and Abraham had something else in mind other than just learning to spear fish. In the meantime, I’ve been in Fiji over a month and my six-week visa will be up soon. Got to take care of that. He gazed at the tree before falling to the sand and picking up a handful of small, broken shells, letting them sift through his hand, astounded that such a peace was possible.

  Moses showed up the following day with fresh vegetables. “I thought I better bring you something. The fish and coconut stop you up after awhile.” He then laughed, as he always did at the daily drama of man. “Hunger makes a man shoot true, eh.”

  “Indeed it does, indeed it does,” said Compton nodding in agreement. “So much so that I think I am ready for the deep reef and the wailu.”

  Moses frowned. “Do not be too full of yourself, Keli. It is different water and different fish. More powerful, that ocean out there can kill you with ease, eh. It is a big step from this reef to the deep water.”

  “Well, when do you expect me to start paying my end
of the rent as Abraham suggested?”

  “When you are ready to pay the rent, eh.”

  “I think I am ready now. I can feel it. I can feel the sea, it’s inside me.”

  The smile returned to Moses face. “Yes, I can see it on your face and in your eyes but not qe is it in you. Soon, but the deep reef is still maybe two weeks away, eh.”

  “No, the deep reef is tomorrow.”

  Moses gazed deep and long at Compton then nodded almost indiscernibly, ”Okay, we go tomorrow. I pick you up early, eh. Go see the wailu, find out about how deep the sea runs in you.” He then handed the vegetables to Compton, turned to his boat and was gone.

  14

  The morning sun brought a shattering brilliance to the windless sea and sky. Bone white cumulus drifted high in the blue crystalline sky, and the sea, sparkling of liquid quartz, reflected a deeper blue of the sky. The high tide permitted Moses to motor over the barrier reef. Compton, with spear gun and gear bag in tow, came wordlessly aboard. Once clear of the reef Moses twisted to full throttle, lifting the boat up to a plane across the polished sea. Turning the point, they ran parallel with the black lava shoreline that, at the high tide mark, was devoured by green jungle. Enormous, hooded trees with ferns clinging to their lower branches rose high above the thick veined jungle. Scattered coconut trees sprang along the shore wherever there was space enough for them to grow. Beneath the flying hull the transparent water revealed coral gardens and fish of exuberant colors suspended in their airless chambers. The terrain of the sea quickly fell away to canyons of deep water and then to infinite blue depths.

  They motored northeast, straight out to sea. Moses took bearings off the easternmost point of Qamea, which stretched a considerable distance. After running several miles he slowed, checked bearings every few seconds, made a turn, corrected the bearing, made another turn, looked over the side and anchored with an old brake drum attached to a line. “This is it, brother.”

  Compton wiggled into his wetsuit more for a feeling of security than to keep warm in the seventy-five degree water. He hitched on the weight belt and the rest of his gear and, with spear gun in hand, threw a leg over the side. With a mix of anticipation, excitement and fear, he looked down into the water.

  “We are at the north end of the deep reef,” said Moses. “The mackerel are right here.”

  Compton put the snorkel into his mouth and nodded, slipping into the high atmosphere of the deep reef. The northern edge of the reef spread like a white parachute of coral stretching southward as far as he could see. The top of the reef appeared to be lying in sixty feet of water and he made a preliminary dive with intentions of reaching it. He kicked down to ten feet and began a slow glide to twenty feet and neutral buoyancy where the great weight of the water bore on him and increased his glide two-fold. At forty feet, the bottom still seemed another sixty feet away. The visibility was in excess of one hundred and fifty feet. It was the clearest water he had ever seen and it was enormously deceiving. There was the sense of being suspended in air and everything appeared closer than it actually was. At sixty feet he pulled up from the dive and immediately began to kick hard to avoid his continued plummet to the depths. Along the top of the reef, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of tiny fish whose colors had been filtered by the depths, scurried among minor coral heads, burying themselves in their convolutions. A large parrot fish crushed coral in its bird-like beak, the sound carrying to the surface like it was taking place but a few feet away. Across the reef, in the mid-water column, a school of iridescent blue baitfish wandered in endless figure eight patterns like butterflies catching a thermocline. A handful of mid-sized jack breezed by to inspect the bait, their forked tails cutting quick water. The weight of the water and its resulting pressure was still very much in evidence and he feared that if he were to stop kicking for an instant he would drop to the reef like a stone and there be pressed into the coral until he was liquid. He kicked furiously into the compressd atmosphere, heavily muscled thighs eating what was left of an already depleted supply of oxygen. Now straining mightily to reach the surface, he would not look up to gauge headway for fear it would steal the last of his air in desperate hunger. As he neared the surface the weight of the water decreased and he gained speed, lifting himself, at the very end of this breath-hold, up and through the ceiling with a resounding exhale followed by a series of gasping breaths that rendered him dizzy and weak. Not a good beginning, he thought.

  After regaining himself, he pulled back the three bands of rubber on the spear gun and hooked them onto place on the spear shaft.

  By the time he had finished cocking the spear gun, the current had moved him across the reef and over the dark abyss of open water and he hurriedly kicked back to the edge of the reef with strong thrusts. The force of the current demanded a steady kick to hold position atop the reef. It was here that he waited for ten minutes until, from out of the north edge, materializing from the cobalt sheen came a large silver fish followed by two others of lesser size. He had never seen the South Pacific mackerel, the wailu, but was certain that these fish were the object of his quest and he pumped up deep breaths and dove. He leveled out at thirty-five feet and waited. He estimated the lead fish to be well over sixty pounds and as it swam directly toward him, driven by a fearless curiosity, he realized the fish could be over eighty pounds, probably more. The fish moved in as if propelled by some other force, for there was no tail or fin movement that he could perceive. In that moment, he forgot his breath, forgot he was under the water and shifted the spear gun to accommodate the elevation change. He waited and tried to focus on the spot behind the gill plate where it bisected the lateral line. When the fish was twelve feet away, he pulled the trigger. The spear shaft spit out into the water like stainless lightning, arched, and fell beneath the fish, which swam lazily away. Rising to the surface on hurried kicks, he realized that the ultra-clear water had fooled him badly. The fish appeared much closer than it actually was, or it was much larger than it appeared or, more likely, both. Surprisingly, he was neither angry nor frustrated by the missed shot, reasoning that the reef was probably teeming with mackerel. His concern lay more with the degree by which the clear water had tricked him and the compensations he would have to make to correct for the distortion of distance.

  He reloaded the gun, re-strung the shooting line and worked his way to the north edge of the reef, fighting the current all the way.

  The fish returned in the same pattern as before, the big one in front, the smaller fish trailing. Dropping to their depth he waited until the big mackerel was so close it seemed that the end of the extended spear gun might well touch it, and let the spear fly. It struck high on the fish, which turned and accelerated for the depths in a rush of raw power. Instantly, he knew he had seen too much of the fish and did not see the small place that would have been the kill shot. The force of the fish’s run was such that he was violently pulled down and dragged like a child’s doll to the depths. He made a feeble attempt to pull the fish toward him but the force, the power of the fish, was beyond his imagining and he quickly submitted to the will of the line. In the violence and power of the fish lay fears he had not reconciled or, for that matter, had a remote notion of their existence. The force of the fish’s run was such that he could feel the seal of his face mask losing its grip around his face and he couldn’t reach up in time to grab it before it was pulled away. Now, for all practical purposes, he was blind in the grip of something well beyond any control and upon that realization he released the spear gun and struck for the surface as the fish hurdled to the depths. Compton reached the surface and raised his arm in signto Moses who came and picked him up.

  “Jesus, what a fish!” bellowed Compton, getting into the boat. “Silver, with big eyes, a long mouth and a full set of teeth.”