A Dolphins Dream (4 page)

Compton’s preoccupation prevented him from catching early sight of the dolphin, but when he finally saw it, he felt strangely attracted and was overtaken with a desire that was unfamiliar in its fervor. In his excitement, he released the anchor line to swim down for a closer look. In that moment, he realized his mistake, but rather than try and reclaim his hold on the line, he elected to power down to the dolphin with forceful kicks. The kicks, as mighty as they were, could not overcome the buoyancy of his BC and he began to rise. Seized by frustration and fueled by a resolute longing of unknown origins, he ripped at the BC, attempting to discharge the air by way of disembowelment, frantically pulling on the connector hose as he continued to rise to the surface. Finally, he managed to separate the connector hose from the BC and in a mini-explosion of air, the BC filled itself with water and aborted his ascent. Gleefully liberated, he immediately began to sink towards the near motionless dolphin below. Swimming furiously down and over the edge of the drop-off, he did not veer from the dolphin. It was deeper than it appeared and as he began to close the distance, the dolphin appeared to slip away as if it were a mirage. Then, as if called, the dolphin turned and swam off into the cobalt abyss, disappearing altogether. Out in this deep water with no bottom as a point of reference, Compton had no sense of his depth or if he was suspended or, in fact, sinking. He instinctively began to kick and look around. Far above, the other divers winked in silhouette at the edge of the wall. Slowly, in a semi-trance state, he realized that he had been sinking all the while and began to kick in earnest. Despite hard thrusts from his fins he continued to sink and panic began to ooze its way into his body. Though he felt restriction in his breath and his legs flailed against the thick atmosphere of water, he had the presence of mind to check his computer, discovering himself to be down over a hundred and sixty feet and still falling. Recognizing the severity of his predicament, he began a last ditch kick that did nothing but consume what little was left of his energy. The deep breaths of panic and exertion placed a demand on his regulator that it was unable to meet. Short of air, a building constriction in his chest released him from what was left of his senses and placed him in full panic. He knew he was going to die here, and as that thought took firm and undeniable root, John Scott was at his side, attempting to inflate the wreck of the ation and tching the last of a few trapped bubbles coursing their way past a gaping hole in its bladder. Scott pulled the quick release harness and handed over his spare regulator to Compton, who exchanged it for his own as Scott pulled the over-weighted scuba rig off Compton and let it fall away. Now they were rising with Scott’s hand under Compton’s arm, lifting him slowly to the surface. In the safety of Scott’s hands, his breath came under control and he was able to relax into the ascent. They rose to the edge of the wall where the other divers awaited, no doubt perplexed by the events that had unfolded before them. Compton saw them not as divers but as diners seated around tonight’s dinner table.                

 Scott assisted Compton aboard the boat and tore off his mask, his face swollen and veined with anger. “What the hell happened down there?”

Compton’s first impulse was to run, to hide, to fabricate a story, “equipment failure’ would have done nicely, would have satisfied all inquires. All evidence to the contrary was lying down in several hundred feet of water, and even if it was retrieved, nothing could be proved. These options ran through Compton’s mind in a millisecond and he saw them as a witness, detached and separate from their source. “I screwed up,” he said, removing his facemask. “My BC wasn’t working properly and I shouldn’t have made the jump. I tried to fix it, and things got out of hand.” He heard himself say the words as if it were someone else. There was a release in the truth, a lack of burden that seemed to free him from his terrible act. He sat on the bench and looked down at the floor.  “I panicked.”

Scott, taken aback by the directness of the admission, let his breath go in an audible sigh and shook his head. “Well, that was a close one. We were pretty deep.” Then, in a whisper to himself, “Close to one eighty. I can’t make another dive today. Emily will do the guide by herself, she’ll be fine.” Then back to Compton. “You feel okay? Any sickness or dizziness?”

“No,” said Compton, running his hand through his hair, subconsciously monitoring his vital signs, “I’m okay, I feel fine. Thanks, John. I owe you one.”

Scott was taking off his gear, his anger falling away with each article. “You don’t owe me anything, all in a day’s work.” He paused and watched Compton as he put his head in his hands and stared at the floor. “You never dove the Andrea Doria did you?”

Compton did not look up from the floor, could not meet the eyes of his savior, and slowly shook his head.    

  Later, when the other divers began to trickle back on board, the boat was an odd mix of joyous tourists back from the wonders of the deep and a dark foreboding that cast a pall that was all but suffocating.

Billy was the first to come over to Compton. “Man, I saw it all. I was looking up and saw the BC go, just exploded in your face. ”

Compton nodded, couldn’t bring himself to a full confession. He knew that if he said nothing, made no explanations, people have a tendency to fill in the blanks.

“I guess you wanted to take a closer look at the dolphin. Emily says they are rare out here.”

“You saw it, you saw the dolphin, too?” Compton’s voice was animated and Billy took a step back unsure of its purpose.

“Well, yeah we all saw it. It was pretty deep though. I figured you knew what you were doing.”

Compton hadn’t really been sure about the dolphin. The whole episode had been dreamlike. He smiled without realizing it. “Yeah,” was all he said. This explanation seemed to satisfy Billy and he returned to his seat to further explain the real truth of the event to his wife who waited anxiously for news from the source.

Ian and Jason were sympathetic and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder and inquired as to his wellbeing. Compton nodded and said he was okay, all the while looking at Bernard who sat acrs from him, sucking on a bottle of water. His small eyes tracked the group, taking it all in, like some trial lawyer who was patiently waiting for the proper moment to reveal the true culprit and have the whole case thrown out of court. Humiliation lingered in the waiting and there was nothing Compton could do to forestall it. He sat in the knowledge that he would not lie and suffer any further degradations. Particularly in light of the fact that Scott was within hearing distance and he would not compromise the truth of his confession for Bernard or anyone else, no matter what prevailed.

Bernard waited until the boat had slowed as it neared the dock, then stood and strolled casually over to Compton, who hadn’t moved from his place. Looking down at him in the pathetic way of an adult about to reprimand a child, he took a pull on his water. “Looks like you had a little trouble back there, Mike.”

Compton looked up at him, annoyed, but said nothing. No sense in prolonging the punishment.

All on the boat had stopped talking and were fixed on the moment, not unlike the silence that precedes the dropping of the cyanide in an execution. In a voice filled with mock sympathy, Bernard crooned, “Well, the simple approach to diving seems to have its drawbacks.” He then leaned down and came close to Compton’s ear. “I’ll bet you’re not even an architect. I’m not going to waste my time on you.” He turned, took another hit of water and strolled back to his seat.          

Compton kept to himself throughout the remainder of the afternoon and did not attend dinner. As the sun was setting he gazed out of the window, looking down at the pale water, its surface like marble slate, looking at the sea, looking for a dolphin, looking at himself. I’m on a bad roll, he thought. Too many things have turned sour these last few years. What the hell is going on? Really what is going on? That thing today, if I hadn’t lied it wouldn’t have been so bad. Hell, it wouldn’t have been bad at all really. Jesus, in a way I orchestrated the whole thing. Why do I do that, why do I try to be something I’m not? 

The question fell to the core of him like an electric shock. It weakened him and he gripped the shutter for support. When was I last the true me, he silently wondered. When I was a kid I guess. That was pretty much right. I liked the world then because everything seemed, I don’t know, balanced, peaceful. Until my brothers started to show up. After each one came, Mom got a little crazier and then Andrew put her over the top. He realized for the first time that, as the oldest of four brothers, he had became mother to his brothers. Jesus, where was Dad? Yeah, it really went down hill from there. But not entirely. I had Elizabeth and she was cool, with the volleyball scholarship and Student Body president thing. Some of it was fun, like the volleyball. Well, really it was afterwards. The bar with the peanut shells on the floor and you bought a steak and a salad for five bucks and grilled it yourself, pitchers of beer with the guys. How did Donavon get all those girls? They would flock to him, even pretty ones. He was chubby and he stammered when he got excited. Go figure. Those days were maybe the best of my life. I loved those guys, Mike, Dennis, Bob, and I didn’t even know it. Love is such a killer, each time it takes another piece of your heart. Who sang that song? I want to say Bette Midler, but that can’t be right. Heather looked like Bette, a little bit, same kind of pouty mouth. She was loud like Bette. I never should have married her, what was I thinking? I should never have gotten married at all, to anyone. Janice was okay. At least she didn’t try to kill me. Well, near the end, taking that money and all. But Denise was just plain evil. Jesus, full of sex, but man she never owned a kind thought. Which is okay, you just don’t want any kids with an evil person. Bradley, what did I do to you? What did I do to me? The pain of thinking about his only son short-crcuited his ruminations and froze his mind in anguish.

When the circuit breaker of random thoughts broke him loose again, he could not remember why he was going over his past or what he was searching for. It was important, that much he remembered, but it was lost in the jumbled wiring of roof brain chatter. What was important, of primary concern, was leaving the resort as soon as possible. In light of today’s disaster, he had not the resolve to spend another night here and face these people from across the table. He was through fabricating stories, but he would have to begin elsewhere, at some other resort. It was no longer possible to be here, having laid out a groundwork of deceit that could not be overcome in a lifetime of truth telling.

He ventured out of his bure and hoped he would not encounter anyone, making his way to the office of John Scott. He knocked on the open door and Scott turned from his desk, motioning him to take a seat. “How are you feeling?” he said with the detached concern of a doctor inquiring as to the health of his patient.

“I’m fine. Again, I appreciate your help today. Thanks.”

“No worries, mate.”

“Listen, I’m thinking of moving on, but I’ve got no regulator or BC. Got any ideas?”

Scott shook his head. “I’ve got a couple of back ups but can’t let you take them with you. Stick around. There’s plenty of diving to do. You’ll be all right. You can buddy up with me.”

“Thanks, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m taking the next flight out. I’ll head for New Zealand, spend a little time there before moving on to Australia.”

Scott removed his glasses, setting them on the desk and rubbed his eyes. “I understand how you feel but I’m afraid I have some rather bad news. The coup has flared up and Sambuka has restricted all domestic flights until further notice. I shouldn’t think it will last more than a week or so. There are a number of resorts on this island, and those people need to get home.”

Compton sat forward in his chair, his hands reaching out beseechingly, his face screwed down in disbelief. “What am I supposed to do until then?”        

“Well, that’s pretty much up to you. If you don’t want to do any diving, there’s the island to explore, and…”

Compton cut him off. “Can I rent a car?”

“No, not really, but there are cabs about.”

Compton shook his head as if to awaken from this new dream that was quickly becoming a less than desired reality. “I have to get out of here. If you can think of anything, any interesting place would do. I’m limited in funds, though. A big resort would be taxing.” He was beginning to ramble in his dread. “Are there any inexpensive places around?”

Scott’s hands padded the air in the manner of parents who are quietly trying to calm a traumatized child. “Let me check around, put the word out. We’ll turn something up.”

Compton regained his lost poise and sat back in his chair. “I’d appreciate it.” He paused. “I imagine the coup has made things difficult for you, as well.”

“You have no idea. Those boys in Suva have mucked up the works. They want a goddamn republic and have broken away from the Commonwealth, or the Commonwealth has broken away from them, I’m not sure which. Sambuka’s taken over the country and he doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“How did Sambuka justify the coup, anyway?”

“Fear. Fear of losing Fijian lands. Somebody pointed out that the Indians were enough of a majority to take over the legislature. The Fijians were afraid that once in power, the Indians would take over the tribal lands. Rubbish. It was a power play by Sambuka. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to find out that he is doing somebody else’s dirty work.”

“Who would that be?”

“We heard rumors that the Chinese were behind it, then the Americans. There was another story that a Fiji woman started it, thee of some history professor, for God’s sake. We all want what’s good for Fiji, but I’m not sure this is it. Allison and I have put in twenty-three years to get this operation off the ground…” His voice trailed off in dismay.

Compton stood to leave and as he did, Esther, the Fijian cook gently knocked and Scott motioned her into the room to pick up his after dinner tea. He introduced her to Compton in a formal manner and then continued explaining the circumstances of his dilemma. But Compton was distracted by the presence of the Fijian. Esther was not a particularly attractive woman. Her age could have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty–five. Compton had not really paid attention to her before and would have been hard pressed to recognize her on the street. Now he studied her closely. She had a round face and intelligent eyes and wore her hair in a tight Afro style common to the Fijian women he had seen. Powerful arms, folded across her stout mid-section, gave the impression of a well-dug post. She listened without comment until Scott had finished and then silently picked up the teacup, shaking her head before turning for the door.