We’re in a deep sea channel, a bubble of water that’s even colder than the already-cold water we’ve been sailing in; the engines have been turned off and the sub floats gently, following the current, with us inside, and that way it becomes undetectable; sounds bounce off the thermal barrier of the channel and it’s as if it didn’t exist, as if it had suddenly become water, all water: the boat, us, objects, time, just water in the water.
From my bunk I see the row of four, of those that are on the other side of the passageway, diagonally across from mine: in the lower one, Bighead Cuéllar is opening his Bible, a small Bible he carries with him on all the campaigns; in the bunk right above his, Helmsman Navarrete is resting; above him, Linares, and in the last one, the one closest to the ceiling, there’s someone, but from here I can’t make out his features; judging by the skinny body and the sneakers peeking out from beneath the blankets, it looks like Egea, the waiter, who, ever since we weighed anchor on this trip has always gone to bed fully dressed and with his sneakers on. Rest easy, you guys, Cuéllar reassures them in a whisper, I’m going to pray for us, all four of us in this row, so nothing will happen to us. Then he opens his Bible and reads, with the gentle intonation of prayer: Now the Lord provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights. From inside the fish Jonah prayed to the Lord his God. He said: You hurled me into the depths, into the very heart of the seas, and the currents swirled about me; all your waves and breakers swept over me. When my life was ebbing away, I remembered you, Lord, and my prayer rose to you, to your holy temple. Those who cling to worthless idols turn away from God’s love for them. But I, with shouts of grateful praise, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. I will say, “Salvation comes from the Lord.” And the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land.
A couple of the guys bring out the whip antenna and listen. There’s a group of men gathered around the radio, all wanting to know how the negotiations are going, if there’s any news; sometimes they get Radio Colonia and manage to catch some information. Those who are listening gossip among themselves, hands on hips, now somebody breaks away from the group, walks along the passageway by the bunks and remarks—nervously scratching his overgrown beard—that Chile seems to be prepared to assist the Brits. Now I see him, the guy that just announced this news, retracing his steps and heading for the fire control computer, maybe with the intention of lending a hand to see if he can fix it, but that computer can’t be fixed, not with the equipment we’ve got here; the logical thing would be to turn back toward Comodoro to get it fixed, but for now we’re not moving, we’re waiting for orders, and—most of all—hoping that the enemy won’t find us. Against all foreseeable predictions, we’ve been ordered to stay right where we are until further notice, so we’ll have to get along without a computer. And what about those guys who were in Germany, with their families, perfecting their knowledge of this kind of equipment for the 209, where are they? Not here. They never boarded this boat, maybe they were there that foggy day when we embarked, waving from the docks, but now, right now, when we need them, they’re not here. We’ll have to calculate the launching manually, like in the Second World War, by hand, and one torpedo at a time, instead of two or three, launching torpedoes we’ve never tried before. Suddenly the Hyena’s smile appears before me, floating in the air, just his smile, separated from the face it belongs to, like some stupid ad for toothpaste, but instantly it disappears and I feel overcome by this stubborn exhaustion I’ve been lugging around lately. Voices reach me from the computer area, several different ones, arguing about something I can’t quite hear, or don’t want to hear. So I decide to go back to the bunks and get into bed, plunge into my damp, cold, deep sea channel, my water bubble, so I can become invisible for a few hours.