Ghost Writer(63)

“Don't take it so seriously. It's just hormones. You're at that time of life when your body is trying to get you to produce a few more children while you still can. Couple that with the heightened sense of danger you've experienced, it's a wonder you haven't jumped one of them by now, or vice versa. After all, men are even greater slaves to their hormones and you seem to trigger the instinct to protect. I noticed it with Franchot.”

Oh brother, I thought. Just what I needed. Now that she was on a roll, Dora would be hard to stop. I knew my libido was in overdrive, I even guessed the reason. I didn't need to discuss it.

“You need a safe romantic fling to keep you busy. I'm not sure Campbell would go for it and I'm pretty sure Gravell isn't safe.”

She tilted her head to one side and eyed me appraisingly.

“How about Franchot? He strikes me as a perennial bachelor and I'll bet he's a considerate lover. He looks the type. If I was wired that way, I’d take him.”

At that point I beat a hasty retreat.

Mercuros claimed me for the afternoon. He wanted me learn about the émil Gagnan facilities and equipment, since I already had gear on board. I would be wearing the thermal gear already fitted to me with a wetsuit instead of the bright orange flotation wear.

Alex, as he insisted I call him, stripped down well. He was a nice looking man in uniform, but in a skin tight suit, he was hot. Why hadn’t I noticed earlier? Because my libido hadn’t kicked into overdrive. I reigned in my hormones and concentrated on applying everything I had learned so far to the pre-dive maintenance checks, refilling tanks and gearing up for the dive.

Strictly speaking, my practice dives should have been in a pool, or at the very least a sheltered area. On the other hand, I doubt any diving student was as well backed-up as me.

One of the Nottawasaga boats, crewed by a couple of shepherd-hook-wielding sailors, was a few metres off the émil Gagnan’s diving platform. Welland, Cross, and a couple of our divers were in the water before me, and Alex was right behind me. Franchot and Mike were on the platform, which was equipped with rescue gear, and I noted that I had audiences on the èmil Gagnan, Nottawasaga, and Scranton.

I was less afraid of the dive as I was of doing something embarrassing.

The part I had the least trouble with was breathing naturally in the mask. It was something that gave a lot of students problems, and I anticipated feeling anxious because, like Reuben, I associate masks with medical procedures. I had seen my mother with nasal cannulas, masks, bipap, and intubated. Those memories intruded when I practised breathing with the scuba mask out of the water. In the water, I remembered the fresh-tasting air that filled my lungs and cleared my head after escaping the fetid galley.

Below the surface, it was a whole other world. I thought about space and how astronauts used diving experience for training. Despite the heavy gear, I felt almost weightless. The view wasn't great, but the sensation was amazing.

Although we were hooked up for radio transmission, Alex wanted us to use hand signals only just for practice. Responding to his signals, I went up, down, and side to side. I tried to find the right stroke to glide through the water efficiently. I checked his gauge and, using hand signals, told him his levels. Then he did the same. I then signalled back a confirmation query, because he just told me that I had a lot less air than I should. He corrected himself, letting me know he just wanted to make sure I was paying attention.

All too soon, he signalled me that it was time to go up.

That's when I embarrassed myself. I was fine getting into the water, but getting out I didn't have the upper body strength to get myself back onto the platform.

I had to climb something that looked more like an upside-down antenna than a ladder. The vertical support was in the middle with rungs going out either side. Like an iceberg, most of it was under water. Theoretically, it should have been easy to climb and it was until I broke the surface.

With great effort, I tried to haul myself up. The tank pulled me backwards and my limbs felt like sandbags, heavy and clumsy. I lost my grip, flailed gracelessly and fell. My flipper caught in a rung, and I hung upside down, hitting Alex as I dropped. Welland had to help me get free, then I had to try again.

The second time around, Mike and Franchot grabbed my arms and while Alex pushed up from behind, his hand on my bottom. I flopped on the deck like an overturned turtle for a few seconds, until Franchot helped me up. Alex managed to climb aboard without assistance.

“You okay?” I asked. I had fallen on him, after all.

“I’m fine. You did great. I should have warned you about the feeling of dead weight when you got out. My bad.”

For someone who had only spoken Greek accented French for most the voyage, his English was excellent and idiomatic.

“You should be finished your classroom work tomorrow morning. We can do another practice dive tomorrow afternoon.”

He waved me in the direction of the divers' ready room.

“Let's go. Class isn't over yet.”

We had to strip down the gear and stow it for next time. By then, I was getting a bit chilled. Alex, wearing boxer briefs and a singlet, seemed impervious to the cool air.

“We should celebrate your first dive. I can't take you to a bar for a beer, so how about the wardroom for a coffee?”

“Sounds good to me. First I want a hot shower and to get some warm clothes. Then maybe you can explain why you were pretending to not speak English before. Are all the divers bilingual?”