Beneath The Waves

by Lucas Bineville

For the love of God, don’t ask me how I got here. I’ve been asking myself for the past hour. All night? Has it been a week here? Jesus, do you lose your sense of time when you don’t have a phone in your pocket to check. To think I laughed when the Algerian flexed his waterproof watch. The ocean. It’s always terrified me. Always filled my head with dread. Those vast swaths of empty darkness stretched across the abyss. My greatest and only fear before I realized how quickly death can swim up on you. What a moron I am, fearing the deep, trapping myself where else but the bottom of the ocean.

To be fair the surface can’t be that far away. But that’s part of the kicker. Doesn’t matter. Can’t see the surface from here. I’m worried I’ll never see it again. Just a matter of accepting this fate. Or picking which fate to go out on. Rescue though. Living a long fulfilling life. Hell, that wasn’t in the cards before I went on the Aramay.

It’s insane to think just a week ago I was writing my suicide note. Telling everyone it wasn’t their fault. Then redrafting it, blaming the world for making me feel so isolated. Ha! If I knew then what was in store for me. How deep the world really is. I’d just decided on no note all together, let the rotten world wonder for eight minutes before forgetting me, and then that damn text message popped up.

The name of my killer is Elijah DuPont. I knew him in college. Met the semester I took my science elective. Oceanography. Most students were bored out of their mind, you’d almost feel bad for the professor given he knew most of us weren’t going to remember a single piece of trivia from the course. Forgot the guy’s name. Kind of like how I wanted the world to forget me had I taken a swing in the attic. If only I got the chance. No. Just had to get the message from Elijah.

Oceanography taught me to truly fear the deep. People love Finding Nemo but it’s not all coral reef and Bikini Bottom down here. Did you know the majority of the ocean exists in total darkness? In space you’re guided by the stars. You’ve got nothing in the way of navigation down below. In space you can only wonder if there’s life out there. Down here in the dark you can’t see it but you know you’re not alone. Did we ever discover that…

I went into midterms with nightmares. Somehow the rich French student next to me adored the course so much he switched majors. Think he was a communication major before. Imagine what it takes to go from radio to Gyo. Forget switching majors. I should have switched schools. Switched names. Elijah remembered me and for that I’ve paid so terrible a price.

“I’m down for a swim. HBU??” The message came with an attachment. A sizable orange submarine in the harbor of Toulon. Elijah made some dumb joke about Paul McCarttney selling him the thing but he had to paint it from yellow to orange. I don’t remember. Can’t check my phone since that’s out in the water. Don’t think it was waterproof either. Will scientists of the future be able to uncover my life on that funny little device? See the photos of a man on vacation in Spain from another century. Read his final message to his parents, whining how he has a bad feeling, his ears won’t stop popping, and the food sucks. The messages never sent, mind you. Bad reception in the bowels of the ocean.

My sense of time is wrecked right now. Just like that damn submarine. Like I said, I think it was six days ago I was on the edge of taking my own life. But I thought, hey! Not every day a rich ancien régime playboy invites you aboard a multimillion euro party ship. I thought screw it. A call to adventure at my lowest point. People are always saying you need to put yourself out there. So I went ahead and put myself out there in the Atlantic. God. The ocean! I deserve this.

I thought I didn’t have anything to lose. For a man who wanted to die, I’m finding the prospect of death quite terrifying. My depression was rooted in loneliness. Often is, I imagine. It’s not a good feeling waiting for sleep alone at night. You think about how lonely you are. A kick to the head from Mr. Sandman like clockwork. Almost like drowning. The things you think alone in bed. People never shut up about putting yourself out there. You’ll meet a girl! It’ll come naturally!

What in the name of God Almighty is natural about any of this!? How desperate was I before! Oh, I’m not alone anymore, waiting for the sleep that won’t come. I’ve got a girl now. Only took surviving the sinking of a damn submarine. She’s looking at me now. Hasn’t blinked once since I’ve begun writing. My skin crawls. Can’t shake the shivers either. Those black eyes. She is an awful and wretched creature. Perhaps exactly what I feared out beyond the horizon of the unchanging water.

It’s strange to say but those eyes are just as beautiful as they are gut wrenching. I think back to times of emperors and men who claimed the status of gods. Surely they carried the presence of both terror and beauty. That’s what I see in those unblinking eyes. A time when fear and radiance were rolled up in the same package.

Losing focus. Losing my mind! It’s all I’ve got left. I need to explain what happened. Let her stare. Let her whisper. I’ll let you in on the secret of what happened to the Aramay, O scientist of the future.

Elijah DuPont acquired the Aramay, how I don’t know. Not McCarttney. I’m sure wikipedia already has a page on it by now. He wanted to explore the ocean and psychedelics at the same time. The Aramay was pretty damn big. Three floors (decks?). Have to wonder if it used to be military. It fit all his buddies from Toulouse. The Pink Whore as he called home. Elijah was pretty crass. There were some snobby Paris or Milan artists too. Big names I think, I don’t know, couldn’t understand them. The Algerian was multilingual. I spoke a lot with him. Just remembered he was telling me about his two year old daughter. Sad business.

I flew out to Gibraltar to meet up with the party. It’s funny. I was nervous about flying on the way over. You know, it really is the safest way to travel. Oh yeah, that’s right. There was this girl. Maria. South American, maybe Argentinian. She wanted to see the rock so he made that the meeting point. I think Elijah was sweet on her. I remember her being nice. Okay, whatever, I’ll admit it since I’ve got nothing holding me back. I thought she was pretty and I was a little sour seeing Elijah talking with her. I’ve got a girl that’s sweet on me now and I hate it.

We dined at the Rock on the Rock. Good enough food for me. The art snobs couldn’t shut up about how beneath them it was. I don’t speak French mind you but I know the tone of pretentious uppity jerks. After a night of drinking we gathered at the beach. My head was pounding as the early morning tourists swarmed in surprising numbers to get a look of the Aramay. A crowd of a hundred must have filmed our descent. Famous footage that’ll be. Meanwhile that sandy beach and the jagged, white rock overlooking it, behind the purple of the morning sky, is the last I suspect I’ll ever see of the landed world.

At the time I thought of this so-called adventure as an underwater cruise. An opportunity for the art snobs to arrive in New York City in the most obnoxious manner before bitching about the art there. I’ve never been to New York City. God, the places I’ll never visit, the things I’ll never try. All because the trip had to go and test the boundaries of mankind’s domain.

The first two nights were pleasant. Drinks and stories mostly. I actually didn’t mind the view from the dining hall. Such large and round windows into a turquoise world. Sea life brushing by. Sleeping my first time to the sound of whales. Honestly, the worst part was the food. Elijah lacked the foresight to hire a chef and nobody knew how to cook a proper meal. Inside one of Paris’ finest five star restaurants is a chef who doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Maria was quite the sailor as it turned out. It was a delight to hear of her sailing down the Paraná. The name of the river, as I understand it, comes from a native language. ‘Like the Ocean,’ as the translation goes. I disagree. A river isn’t at all like the ocean. So I was pleased for a time to hear of her family’s transport business.

Maria, I discovered also, was quite affluent thanks to this family business. Enough so I suspect she’ll have her own link on the Aramay’s wiki page. I must have the lowest net worth on that damned orange tin can. The poorest in luck too since I’m here and the rest had the good fortune of being fish food. I hate myself. There was a time in my jealous younger years when I would have wished this exact fate on my former compatriots of the Aramay. A time when I’d have cheered the tragic news no doubt dominating the networks until the next great tragedy affecting the elite. Scratch that. No one deserves this sort of end. I’m sorry, scientist of the future. I never said I was a good person.

There was plenty of time to snoop around after settling in. The halls might’ve been a bit cramped, utilizing much compartment space, but there were plenty of them to get lost in. While the others took to figuring out who had the spiked drinks in some ridiculous game far too close to the control deck, my curiosity took me elsewhere. I wanted to see just what kind of vessel it was that I swept myself up in. And so as the submarine sank lower and lower as I dreaded to think about, I likewise took to the stairs going down and down.

Given the sheer size of the Aramay I at first thought it might be a nuclear submarine. It is, of course, illegal for civilians to own such machines. Yet with enough money in your pocket and French in your blood I wondered if I might stumble upon a reactor. Though I am no engineer, I figured out the thing was powered by fuel cells. The bottom deck was lined up with the Aramay’s private arsenal of liquid oxygen tanks. Throw in a splash of hydrogen and I suddenly figured out where the fresh air was coming from. How thick were the walls though when I could hear the laughing upstairs? I remember chuckling at the idea of an underwater pitstop selling hydrogen tanks like propane. Sat alone for a while after that.

Come the third night at sea, I learned this was more than an extravagant outing. There was this cozy lounge I was prone to hoarding at the center of the vessel where there were no windows. I was reading, lost in pages, forgetting where I was. Around me on the curved walls was a small library. Books in French, English, Greek, Latin. None you would find at the airport bookstore either. Such gilded and fantastic covers, each of them. One must have been a month’s pay for me. I was reading a book on sirens from Greek mythology. Those wicked sea witches whose enchanting music lured sailors to their deaths about rocky, shallow shores. It would be accurate to say this entire voyage was one great lure by a siren’s call.

I recall the conversation when Elijah walked in, neon drink in hand. He was with the Algerian, said something in French, then turned to me and said, “Now that you can’t go back, how would you like to know why you’ve traveled five hundred meters beneath the surface of the Atlantic?” Not the best words to hear when you’re reading first hand accounts of ancient shipwrecks.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I thought going under the water would be a breath of fresh air.” The two at least had the good humor to laugh.

“Funny man, as I remembered.” Elijah made himself comfortable at the other side of the circular sofa. The Algerian didn’t budge a muscle. “Well read too. Enjoying the library? It’s our friend here’s collection.”

“Makes sense. You never were much for books. I helped you study for midterms. And cheat, as I remembered.”

Elijah filled the Aramay with laughter. His pink face was quite the clue to his inebriated state. I wonder now if that’s why he came to tell me what he told me next. “This is the reason I invited you,” he slurred. “I owe you a life debt.” A debt he was keen on reaping I now see. “Contrary to what you might believe, I’ve done some reading. Or rather I’ve had people read for me and summarize the important parts.”

“That is my role in this,” said the Algerian. “I’m a researcher, you see.”

“I’ve spent quite a bit of money on this expedition. Make no mistake. This is no vacation. It is an expedition. There is something beneath the waves this way we delve.”

At first I thought a joke was being played on me. “You waited until now to tell me?” I remember then suddenly thinking of a soldier heading for the shores of Normandy, asking again what it was they were doing.

Elijah poured back the last of his drink. Over half the glass. “I’ve only told you. Not even Maria knows yet. We sail over great and old legends, my friend. Lost relics. Treasure. You were good to me. I wanted you to have your share.”

“My share of what?” I asked.

“Here are the important parts,” the Algerian pulled an indiscreet looking book off one of the shelves.

The book might’ve been a treasure itself. The contents I began to pore over hardly spoke of any otherwise. It was a study on lost Greek texts. Particularly the stuff that went up in smoke at Alexandria. The chapters they wanted me to read were bookmarked. The pages far more worn than the rest of the book wrapped around it.

That night I combed over the account of the sumbarmine’s secret namesake. Aramay. A great serpent said to surround the known world. Back when the known world was a mishmash of upper Africa, a deformed Europe, and a shrunken Asia. I was surprised by the tale told of this black scaled leviathan. Surprised and, of course, nerve wracked. The monster checked off every fear I had of the ocean’s unknown corners. A colossal wyrm of darkness, able to gobble up any seafaring vessel. But I’d never heard of this Aramay otherwise. I considered it strange given I dormed with history nerds and know-it-all philosophy majors alike.

Interestingly, the nasty sea creature appeared in only one record. A comedy of all things. It began with a duel between two captains. Or rather the greatest game of chicken I’ve ever read. Upon knocking the rival captain’s wife into the water at the harbor, he is challenged to sail as far into the endless ocean as possible. The first captain to turn back would be the loser. Amazing how immature man has always been. Of course, presently there was nothing comical about my own situation.

“Stop huddling in your corner. Poor thing. You look like you’re freezing,” she is telling me. I ignore her but she’s still going on. “Come to the water. Please. Once you join me you won’t be so cold.” It’s true that I am freezing but I will not go into the water. Not now. Not ever again. Dear God who has abandoned me, I can’t believe my final swim was for Maria’s sake.

Elijah briefed everyone. He didn’t go into the Comedy of Aramay but he did let slip that we were situated over what was believed to be a sunken island and maybe a lost city while we’re at it. Sounds familiar but we’re not anywhere close to where anyone expected Atlantis to be. Screw it. Maybe this is Atlantis. How disappointing. I bet it is now. It’s like how you’d expect Machu Picchu to be this fabulous ancient ruin but it’s just rubble sitting on top of prime real estate.

He did not elicit confidence in taking to the water. It was explained nobody ever came across this relatively shallow grave site of an island because the waters above were unusually choppy. We’re apparently not too far away from the coast of Africa. He also explained many ships during the height of the slave trade were forced to make detours around this area. And the fact he wanted to dive down to the bottom. I’m as bad as him for following him out here. If I’d stayed behind my fate would have been much quicker.

Good Lord, it was so dim out the window. There was the faintest tease of the light’s penetration, making the waters above glimmer in a dark naval color. Everything below flirted with darkness more and more. That turquoise world I once saw through the glass was gone. Yet he assured me the pressure outside of the ship wasn’t anything the human body couldn’t handle. He wanted a vanguard of divers to join him as he went below. I’d have refused but Maria, brave soul that she was, eagerly wanted to join him.

In the book I was provided, the captains discover an island ‘outside of the world.’ A bit vague, sure, but it resided in what was known as ‘the stretch.’ That being the domain of Aramay the serpent. To escape this monster, they sail on the remaining ship (Aramay devours one of them), and trick the beast into tying itself in a knot around the island. The island sinks with the serpent and the captains set aside their differences. In essence, it was as if Elijah DuPont wanted to dive down to the bottom of Crystal Lake and shake hands with Jason Vorhees. And of course I was fine to join him, because Maria was also going.

Alone in one of the corridors, I spilled my worries to the girl. “I studied public speaking in school, you know,” I told her. “A tip was that if you’re nervous, it’s helpful to simply admit you're nervous. Helps the crowd relate to you.”

Maria flashed that wonderful smile of hers. “Are you nervous?” I answered with a grim nod. “I’ve got good news for you. The crowd tonight is fish. Don’t worry if you embarrass yourself. I believe they have a short attention span.”

I laughed. My last laugh, I suppose. I told her, “This is my first time scuba diving. Kind of hitting the ground running. Or the water splashing, I should say.”

“Oh, it’s such a fun experience. I’ve never been this far out from land but I’ve done it a lot back home.” Not only had done it before, she was a pro. “Come on. I’ll help you suit up and I’ll go over the basics.” Such is the power of women, I reflect. I feared nothing more than the ocean, it was absurd for me to be on a submarine of all cursed things. But because of Maria, it was more akin to walking through a meadow of flowers, her hand cupped in mine. I wonder if I would have gone back to the rock if she hadn’t been there to lure me like a siren.

I still remember her last words to me. “One last bit of advice underwater. Remember to breathe!”

It’s called out to me again. “Talk to me,” it’s asking. “I want to hear your voice. Come to me. We’ll be able to speak in the water.” I should get to her next. It is about the time she showed up.

A lockout chamber is a room on a submarine able to fill with water and match the pressure outside. A way for divers to exit the vessel while below the surface. My impression is that it would also make an excellent execution device for sadistic thalassophiles. But I stood there in it with my suit, next to Elijah and more importantly Maria. With them I was able to tolerate this death box.

Then I was out in the water. How to describe it? It’s the clarity you might feel when driving a car off a mountain. The moment midair where you must realize, this is really happening. Well, was it ever happening then. My senses finally caught up with me. There I was! A novice first timer, out in the water, so deep the light barely reached me.

Like a child learning to ride a bike, I acclimated somewhat. I was still but a child speeding down Lombard Street but it wasn’t like the brakes were cut. It wasn’t that bad. No, in fact, despite the unsettling nature of the darkness–triumphing over the thin light of the sun and limited reaches of the Aramay–it was humbling to be out here. At first.

The mysterious island of legend was in view. One shade of black against another shade. Truly, it was as if Gibraltar caught up with us. Splashing down into the water to see how we were doing. All islands are just mountains grown out from the bedrock of the ocean floor. That’s what it appeared to be and even now I’d say that’s what I was looking at. No ruins like Elijah hyped up. Just a rock God forsook from heaven.

I found some bravery and put distance between Elijah and Maria. Didn’t want to be the duckling following its mother. I was fairly comfortable once the Algerian joined us in his small craft. The Aramay was equipped with two small shuttles to pilot. It was the Algerian’s intention to inspect further down this sunken mountain while the diving party probed the peak. Meanwhile, I’m sure, the artists were engaged with an orgy I wasn’t invited to. Yet I was past the point of pleasure in my life.

“You’re running out of space,” she says. “When you’re done and you’ve nothing left to do, come join me. I’m patient but I’m getting bored now.” That giggle. Such a monster shouldn’t make a sweet melody like that. She has a point though. Not much space now.

I keep going back to this like it was a car accident. Like I can call Triple A and have them send a tow to the ocean floor. I remember that first moment I saw something out of the ordinary. That final moment in a memory where you lose all control, the wheels skid, the breaks don’t work, and the crash. You see it coming. It came in the form of a silver string. Here is what happened, O scientist of the future. I stake my soul that what I tell you is the truth.

I didn’t have long to study this strand, though I was mesmerized. It was a tendril, gently waving amid the bubbles rising from below. Ah! I should have thought more of the bubbles before. But I was distracted. Looking at this glittery underwater hair. There were others. One more out in the open, between the mountain and the Aramay. Elijah and Maria paired up to examine one and they made the mistake of touching it.

Oh the bubbles then. You wouldn’t think bubbles could fill a man with fear but here we are. Such a burst of them. And then came the namesake.

What else could it have been but Aramay of unremembered legend? I was spinning, clutching to the rocks by a great force. Little time to see. Didn’t see the head. But I saw a long and black tube appear from the dark depths. As if it was an extension of the depths itself. It carried away the submarine like a dog holding a stick. The Algerian, I wish I remembered his name, he was spinning too. While everyone else was whisked away, off to God only knows where, the smaller submersible crashed into a lower formation. He was gone. Like a fly sucked out a window going a hundred miles per hour.

Oh God! How do you put into words seeing something your brain knows it isn’t supposed to see? Maybe I read that book too soon and I forced myself to think it was a serpent. Didn’t see it that long before I became too overwhelmed. But what else could it be? A black arm slithering into the unknown, going on and on. Never saw a tail or a backend. Just the devil feeding a black wire into the dismal blue. And then there was Maria and the man who brought us back to this time where man was fearful and superstitious in the wild. How I realized then this world we were in wasn’t ours.

It wasn’t Aramay who took them. A school of…something. It is quite something to suddenly realize you’re gazing upon the largest lifeform you’ve ever beheld. But to see a swarm of, I don’t know, elongated lobsters which were all joined by a single silver thread? I watched them dance and I watched them sink. I’m a coward but what I was to do with the leviathan still strolling by? And that’s when, from the expanse, I spotted her.

Those silver strands. I think of how man has spent millenia fishing on lakes and rivers. What if fish could throw their own casts back? What a lure I came across then. White blotch on the horizon. Stunned as I was by everything thus far, some deep and primal part of my brain told me to run. How out of place I was for that.

There was a cave. The answer to my undoing. I swam into it, lost myself in the dark, heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode and I’d be enveloped in a red mist. What do you know? I find an opening and a lightsource above my head. I swim up and I find myself here. My grave.

This is not a good place to die. This cave is mostly round, as is the watery pool at its center. Very uncommon by God’s design. Perhaps the answer to this is the symbols on the walls. Greek, I want to say. Atlantean perhaps. Unnatural should be the answer. For they emit a dim glow that I curse. For this weak light shows me just enough of her.

“You’re looking at me,” she says. I unfortunately am. She’s testing me again. Let me tell you how it began with her.

I was out of my mind, failing to process everything before I settled down and tried to put it into these words. That’s when she popped out of the pool like that first message from Elijah. Gave me one last final fright. She is what sailors would call a mermaid. I assure you, they are not as you imagine. My tormentor is much like a shark. Pale, slimy skin. Almost rubbery in texture. Sharp teeth, gills along her sides which make me nauseous. And the eyes. The terrible, black eyes. Far too large. Portals to a world I don’t wish to see.

“Don’t be afraid,” was her first lie to me. I recall oddly not being very shocked that she was speaking to me. Let’s be fair, she had a tough act to follow. “You’re like me, aren’t you?” She said with a hand up in reference to mine.

“Please, stay back,” I cried.

“We understand each other,” she mused. “It must be since I was like you once. Lost. And you are very lost, aren’t you?”

Somehow I composed myself and asked, “Where am I? What is this place?”

“A place of passage. It has rejected many but it has saved others as well. I came here, like you, lost. But I’ve found my way.” There was sadness in her dark eyes then. “You are hurting. Yes, I could sense from out in the water. This place has called out to you. Your pain. You feel as if you are sunken and belong in a deep and crushing world.”

I reflect only now that she was correct. But I stand by what I said, “Enough! Don’t tell me how I feel! I want to get out of here.”

“Where would you go? If you take to the water as you are, the serpent will put an end to you. That or some other nasty creature hiding, waiting for someone who doesn’t belong here. But I can help you! I was not of this place once. Come to the water. I can make you like me. You can be of this place.”

So went her promise. That she could change my body, my very form. The shivers of the prospect have yet to leave me. I rejected her offer at once but she hasn’t left me in peace! On she goes, saying she understands my pain, my predicament. What would that mean to return to the water? To forsake land and home forever? To make the ocean my respite?

Never! It’s mad to believe she has such a power to forge flesh but then again what swam off with the orange Aramay? I don’t know what became of the art snobs. Maybe they critiqued the snake sailing off with them. Maybe that orange ship filled with blue water and drowned them all. You know, I just remembered! There was a fish tank on the submarine. Sturdy and built into the wall. Most of the fish will starve but I bet that suckerfish will last a while. Feeding off scum and algae. Him and I are in the same boat. The same sunken boat surrounded by poison.

I dream of a world with sparkling, shallow oceans filled with fresh water. Beautiful white sand below crystal blue. It’s hardly up to your knees but you could lie down in it and float from one continent to the next…

What else left is there to do now but force my attention away from the witch in the pool? I can think of other parts of the world. There’s people going to work in cities unaware of my plight. Probably bored with their lives. Someone must be going through hell elsewhere in the world too. Lost in a desert dreaming of water. Somewhere below, I bet the Algerian’s waterproof watch is still ticking.

She’s back insisting I’ve no choice. That it’s a matter of time before I give in. It’s the damnedest thing. You know I don’t feel thirsty? I haven’t slept either. It’s as if there is a magic to this place. I don’t want to die anymore. Maybe she could make me like her…

No. I refuse! Still she insists when I tell her no. Oh she’s saying she feels for me. Wants to help me. But I know that this is what the song of a siren sounds like! Not through music but through muses. I can sing too! While she says she won’t go far and that she’ll wait for me, well! I can scream! Scream for help until somebody comes along but there’s no way in hell I’m going in the water!

Out of room now. But I can scream. Scream all night. Got a lot of air in me.

Letter from Hakim Mansour

Dear Mom and Dad,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I am well and so is Uncle Karim. He has asked me to say hello on his behalf. We left the port in Morocco without incident and Uncle’s business continues to be prosperous. Some days there are so many passengers seeking passage down the coast I worry the boat will tip to one side and we’ll all spillover like one of father’s hauls in the market. So far there have not been any spills.

We arrived in Lagos the other day. It is the largest city I have ever seen! The buildings are like the broken pillars found at home only they dare to touch the heavens in size. That and they don’t appear to be crumbling anytime soon. It was a sight of wonder in the waterfront. It is like how Uncle describes the great city of Carthage. A beautiful lake inside the city on the shores of the ocean. I’ve attached a postcard of it but one day I hope you can see it with your own eyes.

Ever since I have set sail with Uncle I have realized there is so much wonder waiting to be found. It is as if the world has trouble containing it all. Truly, I feel as if I am the sailor Sinbad finding new adventures at every turn. I think I have fallen in love with the ocean like she were a woman. Next we are taking a smaller party to the island of St. Helena. I will be visiting Napoleon’s house next!

That reminds me. Do you remember the story of that French eccentric and his submarine that went missing years ago? Apparently Uncle knew the scientist as an old friend but he didn’t want to talk about the man much. Yet he had no issue taking us near the waters where the sub went mysteriously missing and telling us all a good ghost story.

Uncle told us that the DuPont man took so many friends with him out in the deep waters that we still don’t know exactly who they all were. But the souls lost in the depths are still out there and look for the light of the sun as a means to escape into the afterlife. Yet they delved too deep and now do not know how far they’ve gone or which way is up. On chilly nights, Uncle says you can still hear the screams of the lost crew.

I swear with all my love for you Mom and Dad, though it might have been Uncle spooking me, I heard muffled screams as I looked out on the water. But ghost stories are not enough to deter me. I think one day, after I work hard and raise enough money, I might like to come back to this spot with my own submarine. Who knows! Maybe I can find DuPont’s wreckage and put a few spirits to rest.

Time for me to go. Uncle needs me back on deck. It is true I am working hard already!

As the French say: Au revoir!

-Hakim