The Girl of the Sea of Cortez

Praise for
The Girl of the Sea of Cortez
from ocean experts who have been inspired by the life and work of Peter Benchley

“The Girl of the Sea of Cortez
is my favorite Peter Benchley novel. It’s a high-spirited adventure story that speaks to my personal love of the ocean and all its fascinating creatures. The story takes you under the sea to experience the spectacular, but it also shares the threats facing our seas. While this book was written thirty years ago, Peter was prescient about man’s complex relationship to the sea. This captivating story is even more relevant today than ever.”

—GREGORY S. STONE, PHD, executive vice president and chief scientist for oceans, Conservation International

“I had a once-in-a-lifetime experience filming in the Sea of Cortez with Peter Benchley. My extraordinary turn at nursing a giant manta ray’s wounds, and its tender response to my actions, had a profound impact on Peter and me.
The Girl of the Sea of Cortez
is a vivid tale of discovery that captures the beauty of the sea (and her creatures) and a passion to care for it. The story of Paloma’s wild ride on the manta reminds me anew of why my husband and I have committed our lives to producing underwater films and photography. It goes without saying that this Benchley novel has a special place in my heart.”

—MICHELE HALL, ocean filmmaker and photographer

“Readers not yet acquainted with Peter Benchley’s book
The Girl of the Sea of Cortez
will be rewarded with what I call ‘a good read,’ like all of his prolific page-turners. This exhilarating story was inspired by a real experience Benchley and I shared when we came upon a particularly large manta ray—more than twenty feet wide—while filming in the Sea of Cortez. I photographed that manta from every conceivable angle for the three amazing days that it permitted us such rare and splendid contact. The chance rapport with this gentle giant awakened in Peter a deep need to protect the sea’s great creatures. The author dedicated more than thirty years of his too-short life to ocean conservation.”

—STAN WATERMAN, pioneer underwater film producer and photographer

The Girl of the Sea of Cortez
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

2013 Ballantine Books eBook Edition

Copyright © 1982 by Winifred W. Benchley
Excerpt from
Shark Trouble
by Peter Benchley copyright © 2002 by
Winifred W. Benchley
Commentary on the bonus material copyright © 2013 by Winifred W. Benchley

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

PETER BENCHLEY is a registered trademark.

Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Doubleday Books, an imprint of The Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1982.

Title-page and chapter-opener illustrations by Wyland. Reprinted by permission.

“The Million Dollar Mantas” by Douglas Seifert (
Geographical
magazine, March 2013) is reprinted by permission of
Geographical
magazine.

eISBN: 978-0-345-54415-5

www.ballantinebooks.com

Cover design: Flamur Tonuzi
Cover image (manta): © Douglas David Seifert

v3.1

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

The Girl of the Sea of Cortez

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

BONUS CONTENT

Note from Wendy Benchley About the Writing of Peter Benchley’s Favorite Novel

Excerpt from Peter Benchley’s Book
Shark Trouble
Describing the
American Sportsman
Expedition in the Sea of Cortez and His Extraordinary Encounter with the Manta Ray

Photos by Underwater Cinematographer Howard Hull of Peter Benchley Riding the Manta Ray in the Sea of Cortez

Geographical
Magazine Article “The Million Dollar Mantas,” Written by Photojournalist Douglas David Seifert

Photos of Manta Rays in the Wild by Douglas David Seifert

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Other Books by This Author

About the Author

The Girl of the Sea of Cortez

T
he girl lay on the surface of the sea, looking into the water through a mask, and was afraid.

She was surprised to feel fear—a true, deep fear that bordered on panic—for not in years had anything in the sea frightened her.

But then, never in her life had she been actively, aggressively menaced by an animal. Creatures had snapped at her, and some had circled her, hungry and curious, but always a show of strength and confidence had sent them on their way in search of more appropriate prey.

But this animal did not seem to want to bite her, or eat her. It looked to her as if it wanted simply to hurt her, to stab her.

It had appeared with magical speed. One moment the girl was gazing into an empty blue haze; the next, she was staring
at a sharp and pointed bill of bone that quivered three feet from her chest. The bill swooped back to a broadened base, and ended in two clam-size black eyes as cold as night.

Unlike the other billfish, this one had no fin on its back. It had instead a dorsal sail covering most of its backbone, which could lie flat against the back and be almost invisible, or stand in proud display.

Or, when the fish was agitated, as now, the sail pulsed up and down, up and down, as the head of a serpent hypnotizes a rodent.

The fish’s tail was like a honed scythe. It twitched once, a shudder passed along the body, and the bill jerked quickly, startling the girl.

She did not know what to do, how to behave. Backing away was no answer: This was not territorial aggression, for this was not a territorial animal. It cruised the deep water of the open sea; it knew no home.

To move suddenly
at
it was no answer: The fish was supremely confident of its superiority over her—in speed and strength and agility—or it would not have approached her. She could not hope to shoo it away.

And to stay where she was seemed to be no answer: Apparently, she was somehow irritating the fish, for it shook its head, and its spear sliced the water and she felt its force against her chest.

Its long, slim pectoral fins dropped; its back hunched; its tail twitched. Its entire body was a cocked spring, ready, at the release of an inner trigger, to impale her on its bill.

Why?

It could not be pure malice, for her father had taught her that malice did not exist in animals. Animals could be hungry, angry, frightened, hurt, sick, defensive, protective, jealous,
careless, or playful—and in any of those states could become vicious or violent—but not malevolent.

What, then? What did it want?

Again the head shook, and the spear slit the water.

She wondered if she could make it to her boat before the fish attacked. She fluttered her fingers and toes, hoping to propel herself backward, inch by inch, closer to her boat.

But how far away was the boat?

She turned her head a half-turn, flicked her eyes over her shoulder, saw the boat, and turned immediately back to face the fish.

It was gone.

She had felt nothing, heard nothing, and now all she could see was the endless blue.

T
here was no electricity on the island, and kerosene lamps burned with a thick, greasy smoke that made some people sick, so the old man and the girl chose to sit in a room illuminated only by the light that leaked around the edges of the covered windows. The old man kept the room dark intentionally, had put cloths over the windows, because the slashing rays of the late-afternoon sun colored the room with contrasts so sharp that they pained his eyes and confused him. He had cataracts in both eyes, and sudden bursts of bright light felt like little explosions in his brain.

The old man’s name was Francisco, but everyone called him Viejo, Old Man, even the children who might have called him Grandfather or a pet name, because Viejo was an honor,
a title as significant as Excellency or General. To attain old age was a true achievement.

The girl’s name was Paloma—Dove—after the morning bird that cooed a prelude to the cock’s crow. She was sixteen.

“I don’t understand, Viejo,” she said. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”

“You had never met a bad animal before. Now you have. It had to happen, eventually.”

“Forgive me, but …” She hesitated. “Papa always told me there was no such thing as a bad animal.”

“Your father Jobim was a … a curious man.” Viejo sought gentle words to describe his son-in-law, rather than those that came quickly to mind. “Of course there are bad animals, just as there are bad people. I am only grateful that the sailfish you met today was not truly bad, or he would have run you through. That happens. Once, many years before you were born …”

To forestall the reminiscence, Paloma said, “I don’t see why God would create a bad animal. It doesn’t make sense.”

Viejo pressed his lips together, which Paloma recognized as a sign of pique. He was a fine storyteller, and it was one of the few pleasures that life still permitted him.