Page 46 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

My heart bangs as I watch my precious air escape.Stay calm, Zoe.Holding my breath, I take the regulator out and try smacking it, then attempt to purge the second stage, but nothing happens. I’ve had training for this, but all of a sudden my mind goes blank. I haven’t practiced breathing from the free flow for a long time. You’re supposed to tilt your head to the right, where your regulator hose is, take your mouthpiece’s left side off, and press the purge button, using your tongue as a splash guard. But I’m afraid of inhaling water, my fingers fumble, and I drop the regulator twice.

Giving up, I unhook my octopus—my alternate air source—place it in my mouth, and try to inhale, but it’s hard to breathe through it, and when I check my gauge I see it’s registering a drop in pressure. Holy fuck. I’m nearly out of air.

Joel is a couple of feet away from me, looking down at the wreck as he brushes carefully at something. I gesture wildly, struggling to inhale, panic knifing through me. Joel looks at me, and I slice my hand across my throat. My heart bangs on my ribs as he immediately closes the distance between us.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I’m thirty meters below the surface and I have no air. I’ve never really considered the dangers of diving before—all the safety measures have seemed like elaborate pointless rituals—but it hits me that I could easily drown if I don’t do something right now. But what? Every sane thought flees my mind as terror mixes with hysteria. Normally I can hold my breath for a couple of minutes, but I wasn’t able to fill my lungs first.

But even as panic engulfs me, Joel takes his own regulator out of his mouth and holds it out to me. I grab it and insert it into my mouth, and my chest heaves as I inhale, relief washing over me at the realization that I can breathe again. I take severaldeep breaths, watching as he plucks his octopus from where it’s fastened to his suit and puts it in his mouth, so we’re now sharing his air tank. He does it unhurriedly, cool and composed. How is he so calm?

He investigates my regulator and tries to purge it, then checks my gauge. When he obviously realizes my tank is empty, he gives me a thumbs up, indicating that we should surface.

I nod and fumble at my buoyancy control device, wanting to inflate it, because all I can think about is getting to the surface as quickly as I can, but Joel catches me and pulls me close to him. Of course, I’d forgotten that we’re joined by the pipe that connects our regulators. He puts an arm around my waist, taps his first and second fingers on my mask, then turns his hand and taps his own.Look at me, he’s saying.Eyes on me.

His blue eyes look almost black down here, in the murky semi-darkness, but I keep my gaze fixed on his as he inflates his BCD a little. Slowly, we begin rising to the surface.

As I start breathing normally, my brain begins to work again. We can’t swim too fast. We need to decompress naturally as we rise. He lifts his spare hand and makes the okay sign.You’re okay, he’s saying.You’re going to be okay.

Despite the fact that he obviously realizes I’m confused and scared, he maintains our steady ascent, no faster than ten meters per minute. Then, when we get to five meters below the surface, he holds up his hand, indicating for us to do our safety stop.

I don’t want to; I want to get to the surface, rip out my mouthpiece, and breathe the cool, fresh air. I take off my dive cap, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. My hair floats around my head, but it doesn’t help; the water pressure still encloses me, like a parent holding her child too tightly.

But Joel continues to hold me while he checks his gauge and dive computer, and he gives me the okay sign again.We have enough air, he’s saying—we can wait.

Again, he makes the sign to look at him. He pushes off his own dive cap, the longer strands of hair on the top of his head lifting in the water. When I meet his eyes, he winks at me.

The safety stop is five minutes max. I can do this. I don’t want to be ill because I’ve surfaced too quickly. I need to trust him. He knows what he’s doing.

I think about the fact that he holds all those freediving records. He held his breath underwater for over nine minutes. When I asked him how he could possibly do that, he said mostly it’s about mindfulness and staying relaxed. Obviously there’s a lot more to it than that, but now I understand what he was saying. Panic sends every logical thought out of your head, and it makes you do stupid things. I just need to keep calm.

It’s much lighter here, the sea around us a light blue-gray. Joel’s eyes look blue now. He’s still staring into mine, his arm tight around my waist. As I blink and try to slow my breathing, to keep calm, he lifts his other hand and slides his fingers into the hair floating around my head. I watch his eyes crease at the corners—he’s smiling. His gaze leaves mine briefly to look at my hair as he touches it. I close my eyes, concentrating on the feeling of his fingers against my scalp. He cups my face, then brushes my ear with his thumb. It’s such a tender touch, and I open my eyes again and look back into his.

We stay there like that, chest to chest, while we breathe the same air and look into each other’s eyes. I called him Kiwa, guardian of the ocean, and it reminds me of the way Maori exchange the sacred Ha—the breath, the essence of life—when they perform a traditional greeting orhongi, pressing their noses together.

Right now, Joel and I are connecting in the most sacred and divine way possible, sharing the Ha, which suddenly feels closer than kissing, closer even than sex. I think of how he didn’t even try to give me his alternate air source. He immediatelytook out his own regulator and gave it straight to me, without thinking, without a second’s pause. It’s not romantic to say that he saved my life. That act is going to join us irrevocably. It’s not about being in his debt or anything like that. If it wasn’t for his cool, calm thinking, I’d be dead right now.

He glances at his dive computer, then gives me a thumbs up and we kick our legs. Our fins propel us to the surface, into the rain, and into the cool, fresh air.

Chapter Eleven

Joel

My heart is racing, but I make sure not to show it as I help Zoe remove her scuba gear. Emma and Clive are already on board, and all four of them come over as they see her white face.

“What happened?” Manu asks, popping an umbrella over us. It’s pouring hard now, and we’re both shivering.

“Her regulator started free flowing,” I reply. “I’m guessing it iced up. It’s pretty cold down there.”

“Jesus.” He takes her gear from me, and he and Hori start investigating the regulator and tank.

Emma puts her arm around Zoe and squeezes her. “It’s all right, love,” she soothes, “you’re okay. Well done on staying calm and getting to the surface.”

Zoe glances at me. She’s trembling, although whether it’s from cold or fear, I’m not sure. Probably both. This kind of error can happen even to experienced divers, and suddenly realizing you’re out of air is enough to make anyone panic.

Emma glances at me, then back at Zoe. “Come on, let’s get you both changed, and we’ll start heading back. This weather’s in for the day.”

Emma helps Zoe out of her wetsuit while I get out of mine. Clive holds an umbrella over me and attempts to shield me as I change, but it’s not easy in the pouring rain, and I’m past caring who sees me—I just want to make sure Zoe’s all right. I yank off my rash vest, strip off my dive shorts, towel myself as dry as I can, then tug on a dry pair of swim shorts and pull a hoodie—my second, as Zoe stole my first—over my head. Taking the umbrella from Clive, I go back over to Zoe and Emma.

Zoe’s just pulling my hoodie over a dry T-shirt. Emma wraps a blanket around her, then takes a cup of hot coffee fromHori and passes it to Zoe as she sinks onto the bench at the back of the boat.

---