Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [75]
Slowly Tyndall began trudging along the sea bed, his lead boots kicking up clouds of sand. Initially the transparent walls of water around him were disorienting. He looked down at the sea floor. It was grubby-hued sand littered with rocks, weed and small outcrops of corallite—the decaying skeletons of coral formations. He was glad there wasn’t the ‘grass’ that divers talked of—the lush, bright green weed that sometimes obscured the bottom and hid treacherous holes, shell and dangerous marine life.
As he became accustomed to the floor he started to pick out the shell, generally bunched together, greyish-brown, some covered with weed and coralline. Looking more closely, Tyndall could see the giveaway small ridge line in the sand where concealed shells had ‘breathed’. He bent down and began picking up shells and placing them in the woven baskets strung on the extra line.
Above the surface Taki followed Tyndall’s groping movements as the line played through his fingers. Ahmed kept the Bulan head reaching, ensuring it was close up to the wind, moving stern-first with the tide, its direction guided by the rudder and a small jib to stop her drifting away with the current too quickly and dragging Tyndall with her.
Niah moved to the side, looking down to where the air-hose and lifeline disappeared into the tranquil sea. She glanced at Ahmed and found him watching her intently. If the crew had not been present she suspected he would have spoken to her about joining Tyndall in his bed. She saw a warning in his dark eyes and knew immediately mat should she ever do anything to hurt or upset Tyndall, she would have to answer to Ahmed. But she did not cower under his intense gaze. Instead she felt a rising knowledge of the power she had over Tyndall. She reciprocated Ahmed’s challenging stare and then suddenly, laughing, she ripped the sarong from her body, and dressed in only a brief strip of cloth that wrapped around her buttocks, she pulled herself up onto the gunwale, and dived smoothly into the sea.
Tyndall was four to five fathoms below and he caught his breath at the shadow and movement at the edge of his peripheral vision, fearing a shark. But as he turned his head he saw, like a sea siren or mer-maid, the near-naked shape of Niah, as she glided towards him, kicking her legs, her hair streaming behind her. He could see the laughter in her eyes and he reached out a clumsy gloved hand towards her bare breasts. She blew him a kiss and grasping the shell bag slid it up the manila rope line as she kicked towards the surface.
Two of the crew eagerly helped her back on board, lifting the half-filled bag onto the deck as they eyed the glistening figure of Niah.
‘Is that all he has? Send the basket back down,’ said Ahmed, ignoring Niah.
Yoshi made no comment, remembering the first time he went into the world below and how sometimes, now, he regarded it as his real world. No one knew he sang and hummed as he worked, the pleasing sound reverberating in the metal helmet as he sang the folk songs of his childhood which his mother had taught him. It was a world that was familiar, and while he was ever alert to danger, he felt at peace in the