The Hospitable Sea

Thwoop! Argh!

It was not the sound of something breaking.

It was the sound of a parcel landing on someone's helmet.

Oof! says Rich, catching the parcel. That was a close one. Wouldn't want these bottles to get broken.

No, says Cristian. We wouldn't. But what's he doing up there? Can you see him?

Gaius looks up the twenty metre shaft at the bright circle of daylight, framing Arthur.

Give him a shout, says Cristian. We need the other box.

Arthur! shouts Gaius. Send the other box down!

They wait. Nothing happens.

Damn, says Rich. I'll have to go back up.

Annoying, says Cristian. We only have two hours to play with.

You and Gaius go ahead then, says Rich. I'll catch up.

He shimmies up the rope, the light on his helmet flitting across the walls around him, like an angry moth.

Gaius and Cristian make their way along the narrow passage until it opens out into a central cavern.

This is where the lake is, says Cristian. Watch your feet now.

Gaius directs the light from his helmet into the murky water, searching for a frothy bacterial mat.

Cristian taps him on the shoulder.

Mind if I leave you here a minute? I seem to have left the bottles back at the entrance.

Just the sort of thing I might do, says Gaius. Off you go then.

Don't fall in the water, says Cristian.

Gaius nods. His helmet light flashes round the cave.

The movement is disorientating. He decides to sit down.

......

Rich has already reached the surface, and located the box.

Arthur is sitting on it.

Could I trouble you to stand up, says Rich, and help me with that box.

Okay, says Arthur. You should have called up. I would have lowered it for you.

We did, says Rich. But you didn't hear us.

Arthur stands up, and Rich carries the box to the shaft entrance.

.......

Proust is on the beach, gazing at the Black Sea.

He wonders what Arthur is doing.

Probably sitting on a box at the top of a shaft, waiting for instructions. Perhaps he sucking a Camel Ball, if he has any left.

Proust hears the sound of feet crunching on the sand behind him.

A girl walks by, in a black polo cap.

She is talking loudly, on her iphone.

No! Not that Daniel! The other one!

She isn't looking where she is going. Oops! She trips on Proust's diving equipment.

Shit! says the girl. Sorry.

That's quite all right, says Proust. No harm done. But you ought to look where you're going.

You look like....that guy....that writer....says the girl.

Marcel Proust, says Proust.

Albertine, says the girl. Are you going diving?

Yes, shortly, says Proust. At the moment I'm just thinking about the Black Sea.

It's ninety percent anoxic, says Albertine. But who cares? And anyway, it's great for preserving shipwrecks. Did you know it was called the Hospitable Sea by the Graeco-Romans?

No I didn't says Proust. Why do you think that was?

Oh, I know why that was, says Albertine. It was euphemistic. It was actually the opposite, because it was hard to navigate, and because savage tribes lived all around it.

Proust by now is half in love with Albertine. Of course if she were a boy, it would be better.

........

And now something not very good is about to happen.

Not on the beach, but inland, at the top of the shaft leading down to the cave.

Rich, to save time, has dropped the box down the shaft.

An even worse thing is about to happen at the bottom.