“Swim beside me,” he urged, giving her a warm glance. “You don’t need to follow me. You’re a seasoned diver.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, eagerness, and joy. It made him feel good. If only he could atone for how he’d inadvertently hurt her in Bagram.
The seawater became a darker green as they waded out into it. Above, gulls were circling and calling to one another. To Dan, it was as if all of nature was holding its breath, the quiet in the area invigorating. They were the only ones around for as far as he could see in either direction. As he got waist deep, he glanced over at Sloan who was putting the mouthpiece in place after turning on the oxygen from the tank. Her goggles were already on. She was ready to go. He gave her a boyish grin and pulled the mouthpiece in between his lips, turned on the oxygen, and pulled on his goggles. The splash next to him was Sloan diving into the water, the wavelets spreading out until she dove beneath the surface, her long legs with those long fins powering her forward with ease. She was his water baby. Warmth cascaded through his chest as he followed suit, the water closing in around him. The glass in the goggles was specially made, and he could see clearly, holding the spear gun in his right arm as he kicked powerfully, catching up to her. They swam about six feet apart.
Dan led her with a gesture to her left, and he could see the white coral ahead. She threw him a thumbs up as they swam closer, the colorful, pancake-shaped fish moving in and around the large towers. He knew she loved investigating such reefs because of all the fish, the color of the coral, and other animals that made this their home. Up ahead, he saw a reef shark swimming, about ten feet in length, trolling lazily parallel to them, sniffing the water for a scent that would turn him into the predator he was. Sharks were always to be respected, but Dan had never had a problem with this variety. Hammerheads sometimes wandered in and were a curious lot in comparison.
The bubbles released, dancing through the water and popping to the surface about twenty feet above them. This was what Dan referred to as a shallow reef area. The elevation was between five feet below the surface of the white sand to forty feet. It wasn’t a hard dive in that sense. He looked down, checking his instruments to make sure everything was functioning as it should. Glancing toward Sloan, he saw her make the same check. One would tell her how much oxygen was left in the tank, which was very important. Another gave her the depth of what she was swimming at. She was in top athletic shape and sliced through the green crystal depths as if she lived here and was not just a stranger visiting this colorful alien world. An odd ache centered in his chest and for a moment, Dan felt such serrating grief, that he didn’t know how to deal with it. He shifted the spear to his left hand, moved to the right, and saw her turn to look at him, a question in her eyes over what he was doing. Dan slid his hand along her cheek, giving her a look he hoped she could interpret. Her eyes widened in shock and something else in them. Something he dared not hope for but was there. Allowing his gloved hand to fall away from her cheek, Dan gestured for her to follow him to a huge, brown coral colony. There were beautiful, rainbow-colored parrotfish that lived in and around it. He turned, treading water, and pointed to the waterproof camera he had attached to his belt. That was a silent signal for Sloan to get ready to photograph. He saw her bob her head, pulling the camera up and preparing it.
As he approached the brown coral, there were fans of dark pink, bright red and green attached to the limestone. Yellow butterflyfish with vertical orange stripes across their bodies were everywhere, a blaze of color. He moved away and in front of her, pointing down toward the formation ten feet below them. He smiled when he saw the first parrotfish bumping along the surface of the coral, its beak-like mouth eating the algae from it. It was as if the parrotfish knew she was coming, and suddenly, treading water within six feet of the first one, about a dozen others swam languidly from behind another huge, cake-like brown coral. He watched her, joy cascading through him as the parrotfish seemed to realize Sloan was in love with them and not a threat. Two of the larger parrotfish came over, swimming up to the camera, and around her hair, floating behind her. They were as curious about her as she was about them.
Dan turned, treading water again, looking around. To his delight, he saw a brown and white hawksbill sea turtle swimming nearby. He caught Sloan’s attention, pointing that direction. She quickly flittered away, heading toward the turtle. They were shy, beautiful creatures, with curious dark eyes. It slowed down as it approached Sloan, its flippers white with large brown spots all over them. She moved aside, not wanting to bar the turtle’s path. She reached out, barely touching the turtle’s crescent-shaped flipper. The turtle stopped swimming and turned toward her with its black, intelligent eyes, their heads no more than three feet apart. Sloan reached out again very slowly and began to scratch the turtle’s head. If Dan could have laughed, he would have. Turtles loved to have their head scratched, and this one was no different. It floated a little closer to Sloan, eyes half closed with pleasure as it moved her gloved fingers to all the itchy parts of its skin that it couldn’t reach. Dan pulled out his camera, taking photos, branding this moment in his heart, as well.
The hawksbill was an endangered species, and here along the Sudanese coast, it was hunted even though it was illegal. It was the colorful shell that was in high demand because it could have white with brown, yellow or orange spots across it. This one had a reddish sienna color to its spots, making it look beautiful as the sunlight shimmered down through the water, embracing all the colors. Dan estimated this was probably a female and weighed at the top of the hawksbill chart—around a hundred and fifty pounds. She was a big, mature hawksbill and seemed unafraid of Sloan. Dan took more pictures. He thought it was a rare gift to see such a turtle this close to the Sudan shore. Men came out here hunting them at night, especially when going up on shore to lay their clutch of eggs in the sand. They killed them, separated the beautiful shell from the dead turtle, taking it like a trophy.
He’d already seen reports in the Khartoum newspaper, pleading with the poachers to not kill these innocent and beautiful creatures. But these men were poor, had no education, and no other trade or skills, except to kill slow-moving sea life, like the turtles, who used these sands to lay the next generation of eggs.
All too soon, they would have to leave. They had forty minutes of air in total. He gave Sloan a sign, pointing to her oxygen instrument. She nodded, lifted her hand and gently slid it over the hawksbill’s head. The turtle’s eyes opened, and she continued to hang there in the water, hoping she would scratch her some more. Dan chuckled to himself. Soon, Sloan joined him, and they slowly swam back to the area where they had originally started. One time, Sloan looked over her shoulder, and the hawksbill was following them like a dog would its master. He could feel the joy around her as she shook her head.
CHAPTER 8