But somewhere along the line, as they say, I'd been lulled into thinking it was going to be cushy down here after all, because they wouldn't come, the sharks, wouldn't seek me out, wouldn't decide to make of this impudent clown a snatched meal, the jaws coming open as the great body turned with the tail driving it towards the kill, the jaws locking shut on impact and the flesh becoming shreds, the bones -
Out, get out for Christ's -
Yes, I'm afraid I got carried away a little, didn't I, and if you weren't quite so shit-scared I wouldn't have to suffer your pusillanimous bloody whining, I'd have a better chance to think.
Think.
Move very slowly, paddle with your flippers, arms to the sides, move towards the stern, towards that great grey fish with its tiny eyes, keep close to the hull, just underneath it, part of the ship, just a piece of equipment, nothing alive, nothing of flesh and blood, the jaws coming wide open as it – steady, lad, we came here to do this and we are going to do it, the sweat crawling, ignore it, ignore the itching, driving me crazy, ignore.
Then it moved and grew enormous as it drove past me and hit the shoal again and the fragments scattered and I held still with the breath blocked in my throat and my senses numbed, held still, a piece of equipment, nothing alive like the little fish over there, some of them crushed but slipping out of that cavernous mouth again, floating to the surface, awkward-looking, their blood trailing in the light of the moon.
Door banged somewhere, some kind of door, the clang of metal, and then the light was dappled with movement as things began drifting down, touched with silver and sending out small bubbles, some kind of things I didn't know what, my mind was too occupied with the shark over there, nosing through the water while the things went on drifting down, surrounding me, an apple-core moving against the face-mask, an apple-core, mother of God, the things that attract them are light, noise and rapid movement, but watch out if you see garbage being thrown overboard and keep well away from it.
Egg-shells, a chicken carcass, potato peelings, drifting around me and I started moving forwards, keeping horizontal and just below the hull but too close and the air-bottles banged against the plates and I froze and waited for the shock to pass and then put my head down and went lower, fanning with the flippers, not looking to see where the shark was because it would mean turning and I didn't want to turn, to move more than I had to. It was somewhere behind me now, the big grey fish, but I didn't know how far away. Only a third of the people attacked have reported seeing the shark. It's usually what we call a blind hit.
But suddenly it was in front of me, small in the distance, and I hadn't seen it go by. It must -
Two. Two sharks now.
A vessel of this size, I suppose, would attract attention at night, at feeding time. The memory cells inside those tiny brains would automatically steer them towards garbage. With this amount of light -
Three. Four.
They were zeroing in from the featureless expanse of water wherever I looked, and the big one behind me went past at a distance of a dozen feet as I floated just beneath the hull, a part of the equipment. The thing hadn't accelerated this time; it knew that garbage doesn't scatter when attacked. Two others -three others came in much faster, competitively, and went for the debris, brushing one another, making tight turns with their jaws wide, taking in what they could get.
The metal door clanged again and more garbage mottled the surface, dark at first and then catching the light as it sank, and the four sharks – five – became excited, dog-fighting their way through the debris, and one of them broke off and brushed against the propellers, jaws open, ready to attack anything, any shape at all, then it turned very fast and came for me head-on and I held still for as long as I could and then I was looking directly into the gape of the jaws and brought the cylinder up and squeezed the lever and felt the coarse hide graze past my shoulder as the toxic fluid clouded the water like milk and the tail fin hit me and the air-bottles rang against the hull.
Sake of Jesus Christ get out, get away.
Things not good, a degree of concussion, it had been a blow to the head, but I was aware of what was going on, though not terribly interested, blood in the water now ahead of me, 'a blossoming of crimson, perhaps one of them had gone for another, becoming frenzied, I didn't actually care whether -
God's sake get out, get out -
Yes, the voice of reason, moved my head down and turned with the flippers fanning, clear water now in front of the mask, fast as we can now, yes, usually call a blind hit, keep a cool head, so forth, blood again and the whole scene flashing and swirling in the moonlight as they circled just aft of the ship, the drift of milky toxin still hanging in a cloud, the blood worse now, a mist of crimson, you've turned, you shouldn't see them any more, you're not going straight, this was true, yes, I was wallowing, I think, not able to steer too well -
God's sake turn again, turn and go straight -
Using one arm, paddling, turning and seeing clear water ahead, moving faster now, feeling a little brighter, thing hit me like a train and I blacked out -
Blacked out, the music, the music of the spheres, a blind hit, that was what had happened, and the organism was trying to run on its own now, autonomically, the eyes still open and watching for clear water, the balance mechanism of the inner ear correcting, adjusting, but there was redness in the water and my feet were not moving, the blind hit had ripped the wet-suit away at the shoulder and broken the skin, the feet not moving, we need to move, my feet just lying in the water, move them, it is necessary.
Life is necessary, we are moving ahead again, fanning slowly, and the truth is that one of two things will happen, I will continue to move, to leave behind me the frenzied dance of the big grey bloodied fish, or one of them will come for me again and this time use its jaws to better effect and close on my body and shake me, crush me, with my arms and legs obscenely sticking out from that great shape like the legs of a frog I had once seen in the mouth of a golden carp, and then shall it be written, finis, finito, on the final pages of this man's life -
Move your feet, keep moving -
Philosophy, a rush of cheap philosophy through this semi-conscious mind, I agree, will get us nowhere.
The water was still clear ahead of me through the mask, and I rose a little and broke the surface and let the full light of the moon strike down against my eyes. The Coral Rock, she had said, would be my marker to the east, and there it was, a red winking eye in the night, and behind me, as I turned my head, the lights of the motor-yacht afloat on the sea, quite a distance from me already – I'd come farther than I would have thought. I went down again, to swim below the surface for a time, the legs feeling stronger now and the head clearing.