The sea became restless out of season.
“Strange, this is supposed to be the flat season for the sea. Maybe the Deacon is correct about the miasma,” Manta said.
“What the—This ain’t the thirteenth century, Manta,” I said.
“Look, the Deacon knows. And, he made sense,” Manta continued.
“A drowned dead man who is alive is giving off evil exhales. Come on, Manta. That is from the dark side of the moon,” I said.
“We, the Deacon and I, were in the LION the other day,” Manta said.
“Yeah, I know. I saw you there,” I said.
“Yeah, and he showed me J-14A.”
“So,” I said.
“That substrate was live. The specimens were live. And, now they are dead,” Manta said.
“I’ve been meaning to put up a new display, but have not done it yet. That’s all. You know stuff dies.”
“Stuff dies, sure. I know. Stuff dies. But the only stuff that’s died in the LION has come from the area above the sunken U-Boat and that old slaver,” Manta said.
“Just one of those things, man.”
“And, stuff in the sea is beginning to die around that U-Boat and old slaver. I know that you have seen the stuff and the Deacon has shown it to me and it is the same stuff that is in the sea,” Manta said.
“What’s going on here?” John Henry began to question us.
“The Deacon has convinced Manta that a drowned dead man is alive and is killing the sea with a miasma from his breath,” I said.
“I did not say killing the sea. He is giving life to the sea,” Manta said.
Are you flying crazy?” I said.
Manta turned to John Henry. “First it was light. Now, it is life that cannot exist in the cloud of the miasma,” Manta said.
“But you said that it was giving life,” John Henry said.
“It is. It is spawning itself. It is spawning its dead self,” Manta said.
“What! ” John Henry said in disbelief.
“That is the Deacon’s secret?” I asked.
“One,” Manta replied.
“If J-14A contains a miasma, then what about his large tank?” I asked.
“That is for the spawning miasma,” Manta said
“What the—!” John Henry and I said at the same time.
The entrance of the elderly Capt’n broke the tension.
Capt’n was what passed for law.
“What’s up, Capt’n?” We all spoke in unison
“Nice job of rescue yous guys pulled off," he said.
“What rescue?” I wanted to know.
“Some school teachers. They was good ’nuff people and these guys done did good. She done given birth—cute little thing. And he is back at the high school. Man, dey sure was lucky. That storm really blew up fast. The fastest blow-up dat I ever did ever see and the way that the Deacon done did know where to go to. It ain’t nothin’ short of a miracle. But don’t say that to him, please. You know the Deacon.”
In unison, we all said, “We all know the Deacon.”
“That stranger that come ashore—that strange feller John Henry knew—well, he done come ashore drowned. It ain’t right to talk down the dead, but he weren’t no good.”
We three were silent.
“That Deacon must have a crystal ball. As a matter of fact, I said so. I told him he has a crystal ball and he said no, he just has a crystal tank. Ain’t that a hoot.”
Capt’n began to laugh aloud.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Just this. We were there when that stranger was about to take off and I asked, I asked where he was off to. He said that he was off to fish for tuna. Tuna. Funny, huh. Tuna this time of year, and besides, he did not have one rod, not one reel, or one anything ‘ceptin’ some dive gear and fancy-dancy do-dads. We watched as he made his way and the Deacon said that he was going to come back drowned dead and he did come back drowned dead. That Deacon’s tank sure got the spirit of Endor,” Capt’n said.
“Was his bearing toward that U-Boat?” Manta asked.
“Straight and true. Straight and true. You gots a crystal ball too, Manta.”
You could see ‘What the—’ in Manta’s eyes.
The Capt’n began to ramble and then babble on about the good ole days and such but John Henry’s eyes, Manta’s eyes, and my eyes went to J-14A. But only for a moment, for looming always was the tank of the Deacon.
16
As if we three were fish, our imaginations were captured in the gill net of what each one of us denied to ourselves and to each other, but which one of us was coming to realize was the fact of the water or, better put, was the water.
“What are you doing?”
The voice came from behind me but, nonetheless, I knew it was the voice of the Deacon.
I did not answer at first and simply waited, but he did not repeat his question. He knew that I had heard his question and was not about to waste the energy of a second breath on a repeated action. It was one of those very long moments of eternity that lasts for part of a second.
“I am about to redo J-14A. After all, it is about time,” I answered.
“Not today. Not ever. I do not wish to appear to be interfering but it cannot be changed.” He spoke slow and low as he always does, but almost meekly.
“Not to be confrontational, but LION is my design and I am autonomous in the project, as I understand,” I said.
“You are hearing what I am not saying. I am not telling you to do anything. I am asking you not to do something. What you do under your authority is for you to do; however, what you do not do is another consideration,” the Deacon said.
There was one aspect of the Deacon that was precious and that was his Vulcan phraseology. He spoke as if he had learned communication parented by VG-Factor 8 language computers.
“Your request is that I do nothing rather than doing something?” I asked.
“Look…”
I expected to hear “Vaughnie” and would have died if he had said it, but I did not really expect to hear it. He continued.
“What is in there is the breath of death,” he said.
“Do not start that island loco voodoo mumbo-jumbo nonsense,” I said.
“Island loco voodoo mumbo-jumbo does not have to be nonsense. But, in fact, in this case it is nonsense. Not in the sense that you have intended—as being without intellect or understanding—but rather in the correct sense of no sense,” the Deacon said.
“What are you talking about? I do not want to be offensive but—”
He cut me off and then continued.
“With your permission, you think that I have been underwater too long and have sucked in too much nitrox mix under pressure, or perhaps you think that I have become island-happy. No, I am not crackers. It is that there is faith as you know, belief in things unseen; there is what you call nonsense, not believing in what you have not seen or have no faith in; and there is seeing what is, but is neither an article of faith nor an article of the cleverness of our understanding. It is in our sight but it is out of our insight. It is perceived but is not of our perception. It is in the light of our senses but is discerned in the darkness of our nonsense, if you will. Yes, you are correct. It is nonsense but that does not exclude it from being true. Does it? It is nonsense because it is not in the universe of what is behind our eyes and in front of our ears.”
Unbelieving, I began to question him. “Do you believe or think or feel that your drowned dive buddy is alive?”
He gave me an answer.
“Your question is about him, my dive buddy. He, my dive buddy, is drowned but he is not dead—not him. What he used to be is dead. What he used to be is not what is alive.”
“What!” I couldn’t help shouting.
There he stood as if alone, looking through me as if he did not hear the deafening sound.