There was an absolute silence between her and me.
This ain’t no good mojo in here, either, sister, I thought.
If Manta is as quiet in the ocean as he is on land, then he swims without a ripple. A log fell upon my shoulders and, from its sheer weight, I knew it was Manta’s arm. The arm had solidness. Any illusion of softness was dispelled when I tried to remove it peacefully from around my neck—I did not want to offend the peaceful Buddha.
His arm suggested that I turn toward his face, and it was a good suggestion. Very properly I did turn toward Manta. There, as always, was that gorgon of open eyes and mouth looking down at me.
I imagined that with an inhale it was possible to be inhaled into his nose.
Then he began to speak, his speech slow and measured. He was being very sure to be correct and clinical. “I was with him, or better put, I was in the same place as he was when it all began.
“In short order, the fact that a Nazi U-Boat was on the reef became news. I really do not know how the information got off the island. I am sure that the Deacon never said a word, but maybe his buddy did say something; nevertheless, the information left the island. It would not have made a difference in the long run for there are no secrets.
“The US Navy was here. The German government, the Japanese, and even the U.N. were here at one time or another. We were very happy because it was easy money. Each said that they were just doing historical categorizations, but that was not true. They were each and every one looking for something specific. Their behavior was too focused and so very concise.
“The time frame is clear to me, but there is the problem of exactly when and not how the series of events happened. The Deacon and his buddy were good people and good neighbors but, for the most part, they were into their South Pacific fantasy. No time, no worries, no money, was their theme. Every now and again they would take up a job to buy air and, after the air was gone, they would buy food. I am telling you the story because it was around this time—and I am not sure if it was before, during, or after this event—that his buddy dived his last dive.”
John Henry passed a Coke to me, and I missed my mouth. The new stain on my T-shirt went well with the BBQ stain—which went with the basic grime, grit, and dirt that shaded the former white shirt into an eighteen-percent gray fashionable off-white hue.
Manta continued his story. “It wasn’t long before some wunderkinder from the Fatherland, some German scientific prodigies, got here and hired the Deacon and his buddy as underwater guides to explore the U-Boat.
“The wunderkinder had sent some equipment—very specialized, very scientific, and very sensitive—ahead of their arrival on the island. They needed a place to make specific final calibrations, and they rented my space. When they needed this or that, they would ask me the best procurement method. The wunderkinder were not secretive, but rather very particular about their workings and were very good at avoiding questions regarding to whom or what they were affiliated. Often I would observe, but for the actual diving they wanted the Deacon and his buddy. I guess they reasoned that since they had been first upon the scene, they would be the best on the block.
Manta went on. “There were the first explorative dives and then the dives became more involved and more complex in nature. Finally, you could see that the exploration was reaching a climax. The wunderkinder became ever more elated, as if success were at hand. The amount of equipment started to decrease. Their group never repacked it, but the general equipment became less until they started to rely on some strange Area 51-type stuff.
“Then one day they drowned. All the wunderkinder drowned—at the same time and in the same place. They were good divers—the kit and caboodle of the Fatherland’s best—dead, dead, and dead. The Deacon said they were trapped in the U-Boat. That the U-Boat had tumbled into a mangled mess. But, such things do happen, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, right,” I answered.
“The wunderkinder were dead for sure, but that thing about his buddy is the confusing part. It was about this time that he became the Deacon. And one more thing, I went over to the Deacon’s—for what or why is still not clear in my head—but, anyway, I was there and, laid out in perfect pristine display, was the equipment from the wunderkinder’s collection.
“I do not know how the Deacon gained possession of the equipment, in payment for service, or if he purchased the stuff, or if it was willed to him, or just left in the rented space.” Manta stopped.
I didn’t know what to think.
What could I say? The account they placed before me was presented as gospel. I knew that they believed it, but was it true?
“Check the tank.” They both said it in unison.
8
I had made the assumption that the overly-constructed old LION tank was empty. The water was more than perfectly clear and with such perfection appeared to be without substance.
What was the meaning of their command? I pondered. Was there something about the chemistry of the water that was particular or peculiar?
Before I could do a chemical analysis, it, the water, moved. The angle of the light produced a shimmer in the water. I had never observed this shimmer before. I had never been attentive to what to me was an empty tank of water under the mind and hand of a human aberration, the Deacon.
I gathered myself and was about to start again with intensified enthusiasm. As I was about to begin, a slow, low, and sure voice behind me declared, “Don’t.”
That was all, “Don’t.”
My first thought was, what the—
During my opening of the LION, the Deacon had stood haloed by the back light of the brilliant tropical sun. Now he pivoted and diffused away into the light. There was no emotion in his voice. It was not a command and it was not a threat—it was just a simple declarative statement. I decided to respect his declaration.
It was afterward that the Deacon became my obsession. As if I were doing a dissertation on a protozoan, I observed him. As if I were doing a vivisection on a dog, I dissected him. As if I were mapping the range of an endangered species, I followed him. The Deacon knew but he was uncaring and the truth of my participation into the Deacon’s life did not influence or invalidate the uncertainty principle of truth. My remote actions did not remotely affect the Deacon’s actions.
9
“The LION is ready for some new specimens,” I was telling John Henry.
“Well, let’s lock and load, Bro.” I had been talking to John Henry but Manta answered from behind.
“Don’t we need papers to collect specimens?” I asked.
“Papers! Who needs papers?”
Manta was a free man.
They both gave that ‘Last Island laugh’ that was a mixture of joy, revolution, and sabotage.
John Henry and Manta were excellent divers. Manta was one of those giant lumbering beasts that you see on land enslaved under the relentless and insufferable downward pull of gravity. I always imagined that Manta was just one exhale away from imploding under the force of his mass. It was only his massive backbone and his big-boned limbs that defeated all the laws of physics. In the water, Manta was unrestricted—seeming to slip through the inter-space of the ocean’s water molecules—a great gelatinous globule.
John Henry on the other hand swam with the precision of a diamond-cutter holding a fistful of nitro in a storm. There was no wasted energy in her motions and she seemed to prove that the Second Law of Thermodynamics was nothing more than an antiquated science sentence. Each portion of energy was utilized into a frictionless forward-motion pulse.