Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [2]
Normally the diver would be staged, resting at intervals to allow his body to adjust and prevent the build up of nitrogen in the blood. But the tender could tell from the wild signals of the desperate diver that he was losing air. Although the risk of paralysis would be high, he decided to bring him straight up.
Shouts aboard the lugger alerted the crew, and the men on the hand pump worked feverishly trying to force air down the hose and past the gaping leak so some breath of life reached the diver’s helmet.
The diver felt the pressure mount. Burning pain seared through his joints as he swung like a puppet upwards through the water, his body compressed and squeezed as he was dragged too quickly towards life-giving air.
In his last moments of consciousness he hoped they could swiftly patch the air leak and drop him back to a depth where he could be suspended for several hours while his body readjusted.
There are some miraculous stories of survival and just as many of the horrific fates met by divers of the deep. It was either death in the sea, by currents, whirlpools or hidden craters that simply sucked a diver into oblivion, or by unfortunate encounters with devil rays, swordfish, sharks or whales. Above the water, beri beri, cyclones, shipwrecks and mutinous crews could kill just as quickly. A diver might survive, only to be sentenced to a life ashore as a blinded, twisted cripple. The streets of Broome were haunted by the relics of men who’d wished they’d died a diver instead of living as one of the ‘bad luck ones’.
They knew the dangers, but they took the risks.
The lugger lurched as all hands leaned over the side. The dripping diver was heaved on to the deck, his metal boots and helmet crashing on the planks.
The men shook their heads at the glimpse of the black skin through the glass. The helmet was unscrewed and the awful face greeted them … eyes bulging, one eyeball popped on to a cheek, blood pouring from ears, nose and mouth. Where some bodies have been squeezed up into the corselet and helmet and have to be cut free, this diver could have some life left yet. They reattached the helmet, bound the air hose and slid him back into the sea while there was still a chance of saving him.
The number two diver went with him and waited, floating in the eerie silence of the tomb-like sea. He adjusted the air pressure in the suit and helmet in the hope the blackness would fade to pink skin, that the damaged head might lift within its metal casing.
The two divers hovered, side by side, as an hour passed. Finally the number two diver signalled to ascend. He hoped should his time come beneath the sea, that his own death would be swift.
The body was hauled from the suit, and as the lugger left the fleet to return to Broome, the shell openers returned to their work on the deck.
The first shell opened from the dead diver’s basket showed a perfect roseate round. Its beauty would grace some privileged woman in a distant city, but it had come at a high price.
CHAPTER ONE
Sydney 1995
Lily sat on the floor of her mother’s bedroom, feeling like an invader. Drawers of underwear, personal papers, jewellery, and two hatboxes filled with travel souvenirs and memorabilia were scattered around her. Piles of clothes and shoes buried the bed. Her mother’s perfume, ‘Blue Grass’, hung in the air and Lily wished she could cry.
She had put off the sorting of her mother’s belongings for as long as possible. But now the apartment was on the market and several weeks had passed since the funeral, so she could delay no longer.
Lily noticed that dusk was settling in so she got up, switched on the light and went to pour herself a glass of wine.
How had it happened that she’d never been really close to her own mother and never noticed she had no family? She’d loved her mother, she was different to other mothers it seemed, and now Lily wished with all her heart she’d known her better. Truly known her—what important things had happened in her life that had hurt her, thrilled her. What