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are some shelves of general fiction and light stun over there." She indicated
a rack beside the front window. "Then there are those banks of cassettes to
your right, mostly undersea noises, fish sounds and such, for part of a
continuing study we do for the National Science Foundation, and the last
bank is music, for our own enjoyment. Everything is catalogued here." She
rose and slapped a file unit, indicated an index key taped to its side. "If
you want to take something out and nobody's around, I would appreciate it
if you would record its number, your name, and the date in this book." She
glanced at a ledger on the comer of her desk. "And if you want to keep
anything longer than a week, please mention it to me. There is also a tool
chest in the bottom drawer, in case you ever need a pair of pliers.
Remember to put them back. That covers everything I can think of," she
said. "Any questions?"
"Doing much painting these days?" I asked.
"Oh," she said, reseating herself, "you saw my skyline. I'm afraid next door
is the only museum I'll ever get into. I've pretty much quit. I know I'm not
that good."
"I rather liked it."
She twisted her mouth.
"When I'm older and wiser and somewhere else, maybe I'll try again. I've
done everything I care to with water and shorelines."
I smiled because I couldn't think of anything else to say, and she did the
same. Then we left, and Barthelme gave me the rest of the morning off to
get settled in my cottage, which had been Michael Thomley's quarters. I
went and did that.
After lunch, I went to work with Deems and Carter in the equipment shed.
As a result, we finished early. Since it was still too soon to think of dinner,
they offered to take me for a swim, to see the sunken ship.
It was about a quarter mile to the south, outside the "wall," perhaps
twenty fathoms down, what was left of it, and eerie, as such things always
are, in the wavering beams we extended. A broken mast, a snapped
bowsprit, a section of deck planking and smashed gunwale visible above
the mud, an agitated horde of little fish we had disturbed at whatever they
were about within and near the hulk, a partial curtain of weeds drawn and
redrawn by the currents, and that was all that remained of someone's
hopes for a successful voyage, some shipbuilders' labors, and possibly a
number of people whose last impressions were of storm or sword, and then
the gray, blue, green, sudden springs uncoiling, cold.
Or maybe they made it over to Andros and dinner, as we did later. We ate
in a red-and-white-checked-tablecloth sort of place near to the shore,
where just about everything man-made clung, the interior of Andros being
packed with mangrove swamps, mahogany and pine forests, doves, ducks,
quail, pigeons, and chickcharnies. The food was good; I was hungry.
We sat for a time afterward, smoking and talking. I still had not met Paul
Vallons, but I was scheduled to work with him the following day. I asked
Deems what he was like.
"Big fellow," he said, "around your size, only he's good-looking. Kind of
reserved. Fine diver. He and Mike used to take off every weekend, go
belling around the Caribbean. Had a girl on every island, I'll bet."
"How's he taking things?"
"Pretty well, I guess. Like I said, he's kind of reserved, doesn't show his
feelings much. He and Mike had been friends for years."
"What do you think got Mike?"
Carter broke in then.
"One of those damned dolphins," he said. "We should never have started
fooling with them. One of them came up under me once, damn near
ruptured me."
"They're playful," Deems said. "It didn't mean any harm."
"I think it did ... And that slick skin of theirs reminds me of a wet balloon.
Sickening!"
"You're prejudiced. They're friendly as puppies. It probably goes back to
some sexual hangup."
"Crap!" Carter said. "They ... "
Since I had gotten it started, I felt obligated to change the subject. So I
asked whether it was true that Martha Millay lived nearby.
"Yes," Deems said, taking hold of the opportunity. "She has a place about
four miles down the coast from here. Very neat, I understand, though I've
only seen it from the water. Her own little port. She has a hydrofoil, a
sailboat, a good-sized cabin cruiser, and a couple little power launches.
Lives alone in a long, low building right smack on the water. Not even a
road out that way."
"I've admired her work for a long while. I'd like to meet her sometime."
He shook his head.
"I'll bet you never do. She doesn't like people. Doesn't have a listed
phone."
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