“Are we to dive to our destruction and cry in our desperation? No, we must not float on the tide in season only to pass as rot on the shore or film on the crest. Nor are we to not dive and claim ignorance. Such things as the Deep, the seasons, and jellyfish are lesser than we, but all are our greater, also.
“Even a dead jellyfish can kill.”
The Cyanea capillata that had started its journey at one thousand atmospheres below the surface had reached the final surface film of one atmosphere and was floating and its giant bell of six and a half feet pulsed slowly and in rhythm to the beat of the waves. Its hundreds of feet of invisible tentacles descended for a bit but then ascended to the surface and simply lazily floated along. The always armed microscopic and uncountable ruthless cnidoblast-nematocyst units were ready to generate death without motivation, neither malice nor mercy.
28
“Are not you embarrassed by the tag of Vaughnie? What kind of moniker is that for a man grown full? Is that gonna be your cute I.D. forever?” It was the voice of the Deacon.
“What the—? Is everybody on this island a child of the living dead?” I said.
The Deacon was no more than five feet distant from me but I had walked right past him. He was as stationary as the coconut tree that he was sitting on in the light of the dark sky. As always, his calmness showed his internal confidence and tranquility.
“Look in the spit of light,” he commanded.
I looked. I knew what he wanted me to see.
“Cyanea capillata,” I said.
“I do not know if you are all that smart or just goodly schooled but either way you know your stuff, kid.”
What the—
The Deacon used the familiar in his conversation and it was to me.
“Yeah, a Lion Mane jellyfish is out there a ways or so. Giant, big creature. Maybe six or seven-foot bell, with a tentacle net long and wide enough to envelop a whale. Giant, big creature but inoffensive and totally nontoxic. You can bump into it and be home free. Just a giant, big beast. Lion Mane jellyfish sounds better than Cyanea capillata.”
What the—
The Deacon was a scholar. He played at being boorish. In the dark light, his intellectual refinement was radiating.
“It is never of the giant big that you have to be vigilant, wary, or suspicious in life. On the whole such things are slow, dumb, and harmless but they fool you into thinking that they are a peril and a menace and, in haste caused by fear and panic, we put ourselves in jeopardy and expose our vulnerability,” he said.
I spoke, then. “Chironex fleckeri.”
He laughed out loud.
“You got it, kid. The whole South Pacific contains a few harmless Lion Mane jellyfish that ain’t nothing more than floating balloons of glue which people avoid like salvation. But, it is filled with untold scores of killing, invisible Box Jellyfish that can and will hunt you down. And, as with all great evil, you are inveigled by its non-appearance and then only upon your death pang do you find the truth of the lie, kid.”
What truth are you trying to reveal and impart to me?
Then I continued aloud, “What the—”
He laughed out loud in an uncontrollable manner.
“The first time I saw you on the island, I told Manta what I was going to do to you. I wanted to see if you had a spine or a bag of jelly for a backbone. I knew you from the first. I gave Manta the thumbs up and then Manta gave you the LION.”
“What the—”
Then he began, again. “It is beginning not to matter at all, however. The storm season is going to come early and will probably be here in days, not weeks. The reason for this over-population and higher density of jellyfish is the same reason the tides and water overran Apocalypse Reef and are causing rogue waves here: the bottom is falling apart.”
“The sea tide is going to claim this island," I said. "The deep tide is going to claim that U-Boat. When it, the Deep, opens up I wish that I could drop that cursed thing into its gaping mouth.”
29
“Is that you, Deacon?” It was the voice of John Henry.
Why was she asking if I was the Deacon?
Then she called out again, “Is that you, Deacon?”
I did not answer. I just walked toward her voice and Manta’s imposing darkness.
For a short time there was quiet.
Then Manta called out. “Hey, Deacon. Something up? Is there a problem?”
So now Manta just had to start playing the game. Well, I was not going to play it. So, in silence I proceeded toward John Henry and Manta.
There were a few more shout-outs but I remained silent. They must be in cheerful spirits to be playing such a mindless game. I proceeded in silence.
John Henry caught on. “It is not the Deacon.” The surprise showed on her face as she articulated the truth of her vision. “Vaughnie, it’s you,” she said. “You looked like the Deacon. Why didn’t you say something?”
I thought, but did not say.
I did not make the mistake.
“Yes, you did have a bit of the Deacon in your stride,” Manta said. “And, now in your demeanor, there is the influence of the Deacon. He must have poured a great deal of water into your glass.”
Were they just having fun at my expense? It did not matter. There was a bit of satisfaction in being associated with the Deacon but I thought better of telling my thought to them.
“Look, he is smiling,” John Henry said. “Isn’t that the sweetest little smile, Manta?”
“The sweetest,” Manta said.
They were proud of themselves and began to laugh.
“He walks like the Deacon. He is trying to stand like the Deacon. And now look, he is trying to be silent like the Deacon.” She spoke with a teasing laugh. “That’s so cute. But, I want my Vaughnie back. Vaughnie, Vaughnie, where are you?” Then she put her hands on either side of my face and, while squeezing, asked me her question. “Vaughnie, Vaughnie, are you still in there?”
In a very playful, serious tone Manta picked up the Mutt and Jeff act.
“He’s gone, John Henry.”
“Gone,” she said.
“Yes, gone,” he said.
“Oh, no. Not gone,” she said before covering her eyes as if crying. “How, when, why? I don’t understand.”
They were so proud of their little act.
“It is just one of those things. It happens now and again here in the South Pacific. Vaughnies come and Vaughnies go. That is all there is to it. National Geographic did a show on it once,” he said.
She pretended to cry but it came out as laughter.
Then Manta began again, “You see, what we have here is not a Vaughnie nor a Deacon, but a creature half of each, a hybrid beast. It is more advanced than a Vaughnie but less so than a Deacon. It is classified as Deconas Wannabeis but most people just know it as a disciple. What we have here is a brand new-born disciple.”
They thought they were as funny as three monkeys eating two over-ripe bananas on one swing. They fell out laughing. It was funny, however, and kind of quick-witted, also. As a matter of fact I enjoyed it. Who knew there was such dramatic talent between these orphaned sea dogs?
“Manta, Manta, Manta,” I said.
“Yes, new disciple.”
“You are an expert diver.”
“Yes, I am,” Manta said proudly.