Chapter Thirteen
THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER said that divers scoured the floor of the bay and found pieces of the mine. This evidence was matched with first-hand accounts by the jet-skiers, who said they saw the submariner trying to pull the mine out to sea. The jet-skiers, just twelve- and thirteen-years-old, said they thought the submariner was very brave but had been injured by the blast. And so, what started out as a search for an attacking foreign submarine, turned into the story of a heroic, solitary submariner sailing the seas for the cause of justice. “The people of Graciosa feel a debt of gratitude to the lonely submariner, and dearly hope he is not suffering too much from his wounds …,”read the morning paper, as translated by Reggie.
“Now you are a local hero, Alfred. Now we can walk through the village proudly and eat in the café for free.”
He chuckled.
“No, thanks. I think I’ll keep my presence a secret.”
I had been in the newspaper before and knew just how easily they could change the way people thought about you. I had also learned that news stories were like movies — they tried to make them as entertaining as possible and didn’t care too much whether they were really true or not. Reggie went on to read, for instance, that the submariner had been identified as a Swiss national, because the jet-skiers said that his flag was red and white — someone said a white cross on a red background. When that claim was contested on the basis of Switzerland being a land-locked country, it was defended by the fact that it was also a “neutral” country, the home of the Red Cross, Saint Bernard dogs and a reputation for rescuing people.
“Well,” said Reggie, “you can’t argue with that. I guess you’re from Switzerland.”
I was just glad that the chase had been called off and that I could sneak out of the bay at night without being seen. But I ended up hanging around for a few days anyway, because it was fun. Like me, Reggie was nocturnal. He liked to sleep after the sun came up, sleep into the late afternoon and stay up all night. Occasionally, like me, he would change his sleeping schedule to enjoy the day. One of his favourite things to do in the Azores, he said, was to take a hike into the hills, find one of the hot springs and have a soak. It was good for the body and good for the mind. So that’s what we did. It was particularly exciting for Hollie, who seemed to understand perfectly that we were out for a walk of considerable length, and paced himself well and drank plenty of water. Seaweed, on the other hand, joined us for about five minutes. Then he took to the air and probably went to the dump.
Graciosa is beautiful. It is a little bit like Newfoundland because it is rocky, but a lot greener. There are small farms and green fields and treed hills. The biggest difference is that it is a lot warmer. As we climbed into the hills, with a great view of the island and sea, we worked up a heavy sweat. Hollie was panting.
“It’s not too much further,” said Reggie, “and believe me, it’s more than worth it.”
The trail led to a small lake on top of a hill, which had once been a volcano. Beside the lake were the hot springs — small pools of water that flowed up from deep within the earth’s crust. Some of them were so hot you had to be careful where you stepped. We stripped down to our shorts, stepped slowly into the water and found comfortable spots to lie down. After a few minutes of getting used to it, I thought it was the nicest feeling in the world. Hollie sniffed at the water, licked it, pawed it, barked at it, then finally settled down in a shady spot and went to sleep. It had been quite a hike for him.
“So, Alfred,” said Reggie, “where to from here? Where do you go next and what do you intend to do?”
Reggie talked with his eyes closed and his toes sticking out of the water.
“I’m looking for Atlantis.”
“Really?”
“Yah, sort of. I mean, nobody knows if it really exists or not. But if it does, it’s probably in Greece somewhere. Some people say it might be around here, but more likely it’s off the island of Thera, in the Mediterranean. That’s where Jacques Cousteau went looking for it.”
“Did he find it?”
“He found lots of broken pots and statues and stuff. But that might have been dumped out of ships. Nobody knows for sure.”
“Interesting. I don’t think it’s around here. Nobody ever talks about it here. But they do talk about it on the Med. And you’re a lot more likely to run into mermaids there. And that says something.”
I raised my head. “Do you believe in mermaids?”
“It’s not so much whether I believe in mermaids or not — there’s definitely something there — it’s more a question of what they are. But if you asked me twenty years ago I would have said you were crazy.”
“And now?”
“Now I believe in something, but I can’t say what it is. Let me put it this way: the longer you stay at sea, the more you realize you are not alone.”
“Well, ghosts, for one. All the sailors I know who circumnavigate the globe, and it’s a more regular group than you might imagine, have ghosts appear on their boats from time to time. Some keep regular company with them.”
“With ghosts? Really?”
“Yes indeed. The sea is a tragic and lonely place, Alfred. I mean, there are those of us who wouldn’t be anywhere else, who couldn’t be anywhere else — I kind of suspect you’re a bit like that — but when all is said and done, it’s a tragic and lonely place, and that just draws the ghosts.”
“Oh. And mermaids?”
“Well, now that’s a different kettle of fish altogether. Mermaids aren’t scary creatures or anything, and I don’t believe they’re out to pull a man to his death, like some people believe, but I think they’re kind of mischievous.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“I can’t say that I have, but I’ve heard them, and it’s not a particularly nice sound. It’s very screechy.”
“That’s what my friend says.”
I was surprised how similar Reggie’s and Sheba’s descriptions of mermaids were.
“If you sail around the Mediterranean long enough I’m pretty sure you’ll hear mermaids for yourself. Have you been on the Med before?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you’re going to love it. And the Greek islands … just heavenly. But I don’t think anybody’s allowed to dive in Greek waters without government authority, which is probably impossible to get.”
“I know. I’m not planning to dive for anything, just to look. I won’t touch anything.”
“But what if you see a treasure?”
“I guess I’d report it.”
“Sounds pretty exciting. Maybe you’ll see mermaids. I’ve got half a mind to go back there myself. How are you going to get through the Strait of Gibraltar with your submarine?”
“I’m pretty sneaky.”
“This I can believe.”
“But I obey the Convention on the Law of the Sea … mostly.”
“The Convention?”
“Yah.”
“I see. And what about pirates?”
“I’ve never run into any. Have you?”
“Oh, yes! Vicious, vicious characters! If you ever see pirates, Alfred, slip beneath the waves and sail away as fast as you can. Pirates don’t care how old you are; they don’t care about anything except what they can steal from you and how they can hurt you.”
“Have they ever stolen anything from you?”
“Lots! Many times! But what really scared me was seeing a sailboat after it had been attacked by pirates and all its crew killed.”
“Killed? Really?”
“Oh my gosh!”
“Yup. The whole deck was covered in blood. Made me sick to my stomach. Everything bad you ever heard about pirates is true, and worse!”
“But I think I should be pretty safe in my submarine.”
“I think so. But be careful. What you want to watch out for is a sailboat that looks like it is in trouble but isn’t. That’s one of their tricks. They’ll be waving a white flag and looking distressed. Then, when you get close enough they’ll open fire on you and take your sub. More than likely they’ll kill you.”
“But how can you know? What if it really is a sailboat in distress?”
“You should be able to tell if you keep your eyes open. Take a darn good look with your binoculars before you get too close. Ask them to identify themselves and bring the whole crew on deck. If you get the slightest sense of anything suspicious, stay away, and call the authorities.”
I appreciated the advice from such a seasoned sailor. I hoped I’d never run into pirates. If I did, I hoped my premonition feeling would be working.
After three days it was time to return to sea. We went out together, sailboat and submarine, just five miles or so. Reggie and Seaweed sailed above, Hollie and I directly below so that we would appear as one beep on anyone’s radar screen, even though there was no longer a radar net in place. When I heard Reggie cut his motor, I cut ours and brought the sub up beside the boat. It was the middle of the night; we were all wide-awake.
“This is as far as we go for now, young captain,” said Reggie. “But I’ve got a feeling we’ll meet again some day. The sea has a way of bringing good friends together again.”
“I hope so,” I said. And I really did.
Reggie stood up and saluted me. I saluted back. He started his engine and turned around. I felt sad watching him go. He looked so alone. He lived all alone. He didn’t even have a crew, like I did. Speaking of which … Seaweed was still on his boat. As they disappeared into the darkness I started to wonder … then heard a familiar call and my first mate flew back to the sub.
“Goodbye, Reggie!” I called out.
“Goodbye, mate! Keep your eyes peeled for pirates!”
I would indeed.