It’s strange to think there are fish at the base of the ocean older than me. Some of the larger ones we’ve caught must be nearer to my father’s age. I imagine myself there sometimes, in their realm, where no man has been before.
I had a dream last night that I joined the fish…I was washed overboard. Three times I managed to glimpse sky and flashes of the red-and-white hull, and breathe foaming air, but the waves struck again. Carlos was there, trying to save me. I could see his distraight face through the foam as I was battered against the hull by the weight of rushing water. I felt myself losing power and sensation in my arms and legs as the cold took hold. My mind blurred. Icy water paralysed my body and my lungs ached from a lack of oxygen. Seawater swelled my stomach until it was solid. I couldn’t cough. There was no air left. I thought of my girls at home. Of Virginia. My beautiful daughters. And Julia. I was a fish on a line, hanging by a thread. Suspended between life and death. The pain was intense. I managed to unfasten my safety clip and the sea welcomed me home. The pain stopped.