Brothers of the Sea Read online

  He swam up alongside the pirogue. He caught hold of the gunwale with his left hand. He pulled himself up a little and then reached over with his right arm and laid the speargun down carefully on the planking. He pushed off and swam round to the bow, and then with a strong heave he pulled himself up out of the water and scrambled into the boat. He had almost capsized it once, trying to climb in over the side, and that was why he now always got aboard over either the stern or the bow.

  He pushed the mask up onto his forehead and hauled on the harpoon. He watched it coming through the water, and the fish on the end of it seemed to grow bigger and bigger. When the top of the shaft was still a foot below the surface he leaned out over the gunwale and plucked the harpoon from the sea. The pirogue listed dangerously, but it did not alarm him. He knew to exactly what extent he could abuse it with impunity.

  He unscrewed the harpoon head, knocked the fish off the shaft and then screwed the head back on again. He compressed the sprung barbs and secured them, and then he slid the harpoon back into the speargun. He pulled the mask off his head and rinsed it over the side. Before slipping it on again and going into the water he looked seaward. He saw that old Rousseau’s pirogue was already far out to sea. It looked very small and vulnerable in the distance, a lonely black spot on the dancing sunlit wavetops.

  In the next hour he shot only two more fish. One of them was a striped papillon, or angelfish. The other one was a cacatois, and the blue fire which had pulsed and throbbed within its sapphire-colored scales seemed to fade and die out altogether when he brought it to the surface with the harpoon through its gills. Both of them were much smaller than the snapper, and the red bourjois had only been a little over a pound and a half.

  He remembered the great grouper he had speared a few months ago. It must have weighed at least eighty pounds, and it was too big and powerful for him to halt. When it started moving off with him under the water he experienced a moment of pure terror. His brain went numb, and for the first few seconds he was unable to think at all. He realized vaguely that he would have to either let go of the speargun or drown. But he did not want to do either. He hung on, his desperation mounting, and the big fish continued to tow him slowly through the water. The pressure in his lungs became intolerable, and in that instant he realized finally that if he did not want to drown he had no other alternative. The knowledge that he would never again see his precious spear-gun and harpoon filled him with a terrible rage and hate for the fish. He went after the big grouper with murder in his heart. He pulled himself towards the fish, going hand over hand along the thin nylon line, taking a bight of it round his fingers each time so that he could grip it properly. When he reached the end of the line he grabbed the shaft of the harpoon. He jerked at it, trying to tear it free, but it had gone in deep and the barbs held it firm.

  He felt a moment of utter despair, but after that a raging madness took hold of him. He bore down on the, harpoon with sudden savage thrust and turned the swimming fish towards him. The fierce bulging eyes of the grouper rounded on him, and it seemed that the huge mouth opened in a silent scream of agony. He stabbed out with his right hand and drove his stiffened fingers through the gill-slit and then drove them deeper and deeper till his groping fingers found the gills. He tore out the blood-red hoops with one furious wrench, and the green sea darkened as the blood of the fish poured smoking from the ruptured vent.

  There were black spots edged with luminous silver dancing in front of his eyes as he turned the grouper once again. He levered it round with the harpoon and tore out the other set of gills, and then struck out for the surface twenty feet above him, wondering if he would make it before his lungs burst.

  The boy swam towards the reef, thinking of the bigger fish that were to be found there, the memory of the big grouper filling him with a glow of warmth. It was the biggest fish he had ever speared, and though he wanted very much to shoot a bigger one he knew it would not be advisable. He wished he had a good sharp knife, one with a sheath that you strapped to your leg. He had seen such a knife once, with a cork handle that made it float if you dropped it accidentally. But it had belonged to a tourist, and so obviously it must have been very expensive. With a knife like that on his leg he did not think he would be uneasy about any fish, unless of course it was a shark or a barracuda or one of the great fishes that drove through the water with a sword attached to its head.

  He swam on, kicking his feet like a frog, his left arm rising and falling and splashing into the water. He crossed the deep channel and the water began to get shallower. A little farther on it began to get deep again, and he knew he had reached the beginning of the broad reef. He glanced back across his shoulder. He saw that the pirogue was about fifty yards away. It was not far, but it was still quite a distance. He had thought about rowing the boat out to the reef, but that would have meant hauling up the anchor and lengthening the rope on it. He began to wish that he had not been so lazy.

  The seabed was now five fathoms below him, and the coral grew in wild confusion on the rocky bottom. In places it lifted in steep banks and fell away in tangled slopes, and in some parts it made archways which looked like those carefully trained creepers which some of the rich people liked to grow above their garden gates.

  The boy scanned the jungle beneath him, looking down on it through the faceplate of his mask. He saw many fishes swimming about their business, but all of them were small. Just as he was about to turn his face and snatch a breath of air he saw the big porgy. It glided out from behind a wall of millepora and then hung motionless in the water a few feet off the bottom. It was white with parallel blue stripes running horizontally along the-entire length of its body and head, and its dorsal and caudal fins were bright yellow with markings like a cheetah in a deeper shade of blue which was so dark it looked almost black.

  The boy allowed his feet to sink slowly to a vertical position and then he began to tread water. He took two deep breaths, filling his lungs to capacity and exhaling with a measured control. It was a long way down, and a longer way back, and he wanted his lungs clean before he took the final breath that he would have to hold all the way there and back.

  He sucked in a great lungful of air and jackknifed. He went down, kicking slowly. The sight of the beautiful porgy made him want to increase his speed, but he fought the temptation, because he knew it would only burn up and waste his air, and working at these depths every little bit of it was precious.

  He swam towards the striped fish at an angle of forty-five degrees. He took in the wavy wall of millepora, and his mind warned him automatically of the small stinging barbs. At fifteen feet he felt a sudden and intense pain shoot through his ears. He swallowed quickly, forcing his tongue against his palate and contracting the muscles of his throat, and after that the pain went away.

  He began to align the muzzle of the speargun, pointing it at the gill-slit just in front of the left pectoral fin. The pressure in his lungs increased. From experience he knew he did not have much time to waste. He consoled himself with the knowledge that it was much worse farther out, on the edge of the reef which was at fifty feet. You had barely enough air to get down, and you had to shoot the moment you were there and then claw your way back to the surface before your head burst.

  He was on the point of squeezing the trigger when the porgy swam off with a flick of its tail. He swung the muzzle of the gun, his heart beating wildly with excitement. He wanted to shoot, but he did not think he would hit it. He hesitated uncertainly for a moment, wondering if it was now too late to squeeze the trigger, and then in the next instant he knew that he had waited too long and that it was already too late. He kicked out furiously, driving himself after the fish which swam so easily through the dark blue water. He chased it a little way, burning up the last of his air, but the distance between them lengthened.

  He changed direction quickly, swooping upwards and striking out for the glimmering milkiness far above him. He felt sick with disappointment, because thinking about it as he swam u
p he felt certain he would have got the fish if he had pulled the trigger instead of being so cautious. He began to feel angry with himself at having missed such an opportunity when the terrible pressure inside his chest drove everything from his mind except the frantic cry for air.

  He burst through the surface and rolled over onto his back. He lay there for a few moments, gasping and blowing, kicking his legs lazily to keep himself afloat. When he got his breath back he flipped over and scanned the scene below him. His eyes glowed with an impatient expectancy, but after a few moments the fire in them went out and they grew dull with resignation.

  He started swimming again, going farther out to sea. The formation of the reef below changed gradually. At six fathoms it was an almost level bed, with sprouting antlers of coral reaching up through the foggy blue. He swam slowly, twisting his head from side to side as he searched the water. He was about to turn back when out of the corner of his mask he saw a splash of mottled yellow that caught his attention instantly.

  He turned towards it, knowing already that it was a porgy. It looked very big from where he was, but in his mind he made reservations ,about its size because he knew that all fishes looked much bigger than they actually were, when you looked at them under the water. It was finning its way slowly in and out between the branches of a gray-looking coral, drifting through a cloud of tiny, brightly colored fishes which shared the same coral and paid it no attention. He wondered if it was the same porgy he had chased a little earlier on.

  The boy cleared his lungs and dived. He went down a little bit faster this time, because he knew he would not have the air for a chase at such a depth. He did not swim rashly though, using all of his power. He knew of the effort required to reach the surface again, and he used his strength accordingly.

  When the pain came into his ears he cleared it by swallowing. He went down vertically into the silent blue world, and as he approached nearer and nearer to the beautiful fish he hoped fervently that nothing would attract its attention within the next few seconds and cause it to swim off.

  He was lining up the speargun when the fish waggled its fins and swam clear of the spreading-coral. He expected it to turn back again, but it did not. He changed direction slightly and spurted after it, and there was a hot emptiness at the bottom of his belly. The distance between them increased slowly. His chest began to hurt. He was about to start up when the fish veered suddenly in the still blue silence of the water and came back towards him.

  He swung the gun a little and squeezed the trigger. The water flurried, and through the swirl he saw the harpoon strike. The fish darted away with the barbed head of the harpoon sticking out on the other side of its round belly.

  The boy floated himself into an upright position. He straightened his legs cautiously, and when he felt a coral branch beneath his feet he stretched upwards and pushed off. The coral snapped beneath his thrusting weight. It broke silently. The boy kicked out for the surface, the hard skin on the soles of his feet tingling with the retained impression of abrasive roughness.

  The struggling of the harpooned fish communicated itself to him over the almost invisible length of nylon line. He felt the speargun jerking in his hand, and each time it did his fingers tightened protectively round the pistol grip.

  He surfaced, took a few gasping breaths and then plunged his head under the water again. He knew the fish was still on the end of his harpoon, because he could feel the heaviness of it. He wanted to see it though, with his eyes, so that he could be certain.

  He saw the fine fat fish, swimming weakly now, killing itself as it swam round dragging the weight of the harpoon with it. He started grinning, thinking about the stupid fish, and then, just as he began to haul the line in, the grin froze on his face.

  In the blue haze sixty feet away he saw the hammerhead. It was coming straight up towards the harpooned fish, and it came from the deep water on the other side of the reef. The big shark closed the distance rapidly, and its dorsal fin stuck straight up in the water.

  Fear gripped the boy. As the shark came in closer he measured its length with his eye, and the cold around his heart bit a little deeper. It was all of nine feet long, but it was not its size alone which was so terrifying. What chilled him was the impression of dormant power and indestructibility that the sleek gray body conveyed as he followed its remorseless and unhurried approach.

  If only I had a knife, he thought, but at the back of his mind he knew that even a knife would be of little use against such a fish. Their skins were unbelievably rough and thick, and he had seen a smaller shark than this one with an axe buried deep in its evil brain, thrashing and snapping as it bit and flailed and splintered the planking of a big canot.

  He remembered the harpoon he had been hauling in, and which he had forgotten about when he first saw the shark. He knew it was not much, but it would be better than a pair of empty hands. The minute he started hauling in the line the shark accelerated towards the fish on the end of the harpoon. The lazy rhythm of its waving tail did not change, but he knew without a doubt that it was moving faster. He wondered fearfully how fast it could move in the water if it thrashed out the way that dying shark had done in the boat.

  With a last furious heave on the line he got the harpoon into his hands. The hammerhead came on unhesitantly. He snatched a quick breath and dived to confront it. He was not brave: he did it without thinking, because he could think of nothing else to do.

  The shark closed to within six feet of him and then veered off suddenly as he went down to meet it. It began to circle him in the water. He turned with it, so that he could keep it in sight. He saw the strange-looking eyes on either side of the grotesque hammer. They focused on him, one at a time, cold and strange and like something made from stone.

  He began to feel dizzy as he turned endlessly round and round and round to keep the circling shark in sight. That wasn’t too bad, but his chest began to feel as if it were going to explode. He thrashed out suddenly for the surface four feet above him and snatched a breath of air.

  He dived instantly after that, choking on the water he had swallowed. It was not a second too soon. The shark was already closing in on him. It veered off the moment he faced it, and it began to circle him once more.

  A minute later he ran out of air. He went up for a breath, and his stomach turned over as he lost sight of the shark. In that instant his terror was so great that he thought he felt a compression wave in the water and he imagined the shark arrowing in towards his naked belly.

  He dived again. For a second he did not see the shark. He spun round wildly, half hoping that it had gone. But it hadn’t gone, and his heart lurched violently as he saw it coming up through the water towards him. He drew his legs up into his body protectively, and then in a moment of sudden fury, without thinking of what he was doing or of the possible consequences, he lunged out at the shark with the harpoon, thrashing angrily after it. As he floundered awkwardly he realized it had been a futile and very foolish gesture. To his astonishment the shark darted away. It began, its circling once again, but farther out than it had been before.

  He felt a moment of unspeakable relief, and then he felt a little flutter of hope within his breast. He began to wonder if the shark might not also be afraid of him. He did not really believe it, but the possibility sent his hopes soaring. If he could keep it at bay by poking it with the harpoon and frightening it off, he might just be able to work his way back to the safety of the pirogue. It never occurred to him to get rid of the porgy on the harpoon which had attracted the shark in the first place.

  He went up again and gulped another mouthful of air. Already he was beginning to feel tired. He did not think he would be able to go on much longer, not like this, snatching a little air and then having to hold it till his lungs were almost bursting. He dived quickly, and the momentary elation he had felt drained away.

  The shark was again closing on him rapidly. He felt a sudden spurt of rage at its treacherous behavior. He stabbed out at it with the
harpoon. The shark veered off instantly. It began to circle him again, but not as far out as it had been before.

  The boy stayed down till his breath ran out. When he could hold it no longer he struck out for the surface. He took two quick breaths and then slipped under the water again.

  The shark had closed the distance between them. It was right on him. He struck out at it desperately. The harpoon point glanced off its blunt head, and it shot off six feet and then began its endless circling once again.

  The boy knew then that it was afraid of him, but he knew also that it was a thing which did not matter at all. The shark was tireless, and it could go on forever, and soon he would be too tired to move and frighten it away. He realized then with a numbing certainty that it was hopeless.

  He felt the beat of his frantic heart begin to slow, and as he turned slowly in the water to keep the shark in sight he felt a spell of terrible dizziness. He began to think that he was going to lose his balance and fall, and he wondered if the shark was waiting for that. It was funny to think of falling when he was already under the water. It was a foolish thing to imagine, but any second now he knew it was going to happen just the same. He spread his arms wide in the water to steady himself as the silent green world round him began to spin wildly.

  I have done this before, he thought, and he remembered turning round and round as a child till he had lost all equilibrium, and then laughing and screaming as the spinning world far below him came closer and closer till finally it came up close enough to knock the breath out of him, and then he knew it was he who had fallen as he lay giggling and gasping on the grass, waiting drunkenly for the earth and sky to separate.