Remember. Please, I only ask for this.
Let me remember.
Blue. Above her, the long night rolls forth, a deep, tempest blue. In a pool of moonlight, smooth and soft as silk, she stands, perched upon the edge of a shoddy wooden dock, her face tilted to the cool twilight winds. Along the surface, a school of tiny silver fish dart back and forth among the sand, shimmering softly in the dusk—she watches them, entranced. Beneath her, the ocean writhes, restless. Some lengths away, a tall wave grows, rushing towards her in a swirl of movement. On impact, the dock heaves forward, and she quickly loses her balance as her world is knocked off-kilter.
No, that’s not right. She’s not on a dock. The ground is unsteady, it rocks her to and fro. Now I see it.
It’s a boat. A lonely boat, lost in deep waters, and a lonely captain, dead to the world. Shadows spill across her face as she looks to the sky. It is a clear night, and the moon looks down upon her warmly. He is her only companion out here, the man in the moon. Only he can see her, the last treasure hunter, slave to the sea.
She is a pearl diver. At her side lies her spoils, pure as the stars above her. I count seven pearls—so does she. She knows seven is many, but to have ten, to have twenty? The diver runs her hand through the pearls, if only to remind herself why she is here. She will not turn back now. She must be strong, not for herself, but for her love, who sits patiently onshore, far, far away from here. But look closer. See the shake in her hands, the dim in her eyes, the quiver on her breath.
The diver is dying.
But it is too late now. She is too numb, too close to go back. So with every dive, she pushes her pain away. Forgive me, she tells her pleading body, as she plunges into the cold. Forgive me, she begs her slowing heart, as she thrashes her arms against the current. It will all be worth it in the end. She is a magnificent swimmer, a creature of the sea in her own right. But with each new treasure she finds, her greed grows ever stronger. The diver swims with hunger, diving deeper with each new pearl she acquires. She should know better. The ocean only gives what is due, nothing more. Yet she continues to sail through the night, gliding through water like a shooting star.
She now has ten pearls, and she holds them in her hands, entranced. The ocean has been generous with her, and she knows it.
Go back, I whisper. Go back to your family, you have enough. Turn the boat around, and you’ll live a long and happy life. Just turn the boat around.
Her eyes flicker—I know she’s heard me. Relief washes over me. I wait for her to change course, her hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. But as she looks down at the pearls once more, reflected bright in her eyes, my heart sinks like a stone. In a sudden flash of movement, she stalls the boat, hurling the anchor over her shoulder and watching it plummet into darkness. No! No, don’t, I plead, but she doesn’t listen. Tying a slim cord to her ankle, she loosens the slack and throws it overboard. Then, she begins to breathe quickly and sharply, a technique meant to inhale as much oxygen as possible before a dive. There is no point, I know how this ends. Nothing can save her if she goes. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know that if she dives now, she will never dive again.
The diver stands on the edge of the boat, heart in her throat, its tight rhythm echoing dully in her head. She looks down, peering into the waters below. Then she leans forward, inhales sharply, and dives down into the black, hungry sea.
Time seems to stop beneath the surface. All I can hear is her heart, beating in time with my own. Like a siren, she swims forth, descending into another world. But she is not a siren—she is human, and don’t forget it. Go safely, I murmur, follow the tide. Her head pounds dangerously, but she keeps swimming, diving ever deeper into the unknown. The pressure is too strong, I warn, but again, no response. She counts in her head to track her position. By her estimate, the ground should be coming up by now. But as she reaches her hand forward, she finds nothing. She kicks forward again, stretching her arm out in desperation, praying for something, anything, but there is only darkness. She cannot see the other end. Panicked, she flips around and swims the way she came, her breath spent and body screaming for air. Alarm grips her like a vice, and she kicks with all her night, violently clawing for the surface. She sees the moon. She’s almost there. She thinks she can make it. She can make it!
There is a feeling. When your heart is beating in your ears and you’ve reached a wall in your breath. Your limbs go limp and your lungs heave, your stomach is wrung and suddenly you know: You are going to die. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. I know that feeling
Terror grips her face. She freezes, floating alone in the water like an astronaut in space. Her arms are limp, bent in strange angles. Her mouth parts in a gasp as her fingers brush the surface ever so slightly, sending the smallest of ripples dancing across the water above her. The light slips behind her eyes as they roll back, and she sinks, down, down, down.
Take it from me, please. My memory is yours.