Big Maria (12 page)

Bernardo didn’t bother to let him finish. He picked up Harry, held him over his head like a barbell, and threw him off the boat.

F
ive minutes later, Harry was back on the boat silently drying his cast. Gooey plaster stuck to the towel. He was lucky he hadn’t sunk to the bottom. Harry stared death at Bernardo. The big Indian stared back, daring Harry to speak.

Frank put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t mind the mutiny. You’re in charge. What’s the plan? We’ve got to have options.”

“There is no plan. That’s it. We come back next month when I get the money together again. When my leg is better or we find someone with diving experience. What else can I do? Get some real divers, instead of these…”

Bernardo’s look stopped Harry in midsentence.

Harry laughed. “Do you want to fish? We got the boat. We got fish poles. Let’s catch some fish.”

“I read something about the tilapia being good,” Frank added.

“We have no bait,” Ramón said.

Harry turned to him, fuming. “The big Indian is right. We don’t have any bait. We didn’t bring bait. Just another screw-up, brought to you by Harry Shitburger. So we’re out of luck on that front, too. Can’t even fish. Anyone want to go for a swim? Those of us that know how, that is. Me? I already had a dip, but anybody else?”

“I’ll dive.”

Everyone turned to Ricky, who picked up a wet suit and held it against his body.

“What?” Harry said. “What did you say?”

“I’ll do the dive. I got my legs and one strong arm. It’s not like there’s ocean currents. Been diving before, too. One time
when Flavia and me drove down to Cabo. Been a while, but don’t remember it being that hard. I can do it. What have we got to lose?”

Everyone turned back to Harry.

“I love you, kid,” Harry said as he stood up and crushed Ricky in a big hug. He turned to the Indians. “Are you two going to sit there or help Ricky with the gear?”

The Indians remained motionless, giving Harry a hard stare.

Frank spoke up. “Okay, boys, you proved your point. Besides, you big baloneys love the Go Go Gophers. Seen a collection in your DVDs.”

“Whoopee doopee! We have fun,” Bernardo said deadpan. He stood and Ramón followed, picking up the scuba gear.

Ricky pulled Frank aside. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Course.”

“Hold onto this.” Ricky handed Frank the small piece of cloth, Rosie’s
manta
. “I don’t want it to get wet.”

“It’ll be waiting for you. And Ricky?”

“Yeah?”

“I knew you had it in you.”

“I ain’t doing this for me.”

“Exactly.” Frank gave him a slap on the back.

H
arry wasn’t lying. He hadn’t skimped on the gear. The full-face mask with the advanced wireless system would allow him to communicate with Ricky underwater. The guy had told Harry it was a twin-hose, open-circuit system with a demand regulator, but that meant nothing to him. He had a GPS unit that would allow him to track Ricky and coordinate his position with the calculations on his maps, both modern and old. He should be able to guide him directly to the most probable locations. Walk the kid right down Main Street.

Ricky felt like a superhero in all the gear. Like a GI Joe action figure. The big one, not the lamer, smaller one. He had the
costume and all the hard-to-find accessories. For the first time in a long time, he was glad to be alive. He didn’t need a drink. The prep for the dive was rush enough. He couldn’t wait to get in the water. Scared and excited.

“Check. Check. One, two.”

“Can hear you loud and clear, Harry. Like we’re in the same room.”

“Let’s do this. Any questions about the gear, the plan, anything?”

Harry had his maps out on top of a beer cooler with the GPS tracker and some mapping equipment at the ready. He marked a small dot on the map to designate their current location and had a pen at the ready to track Ricky’s movement.

“I’m good.”

Ricky walked to the back of the boat. The equipment felt heavy and cumbersome and the flippers were awkward, but he knew in the water it would be different. He checked the pressure gauge. Ricky turned on the headlamp and the flashlight he had tied to his dead arm. He hoped that in the water what little movement his left arm had could be put to use.

Then, as he had seen in countless movies, which was his primary reference regarding diving, he let himself fall backward off the edge.

I
t wasn’t like Cabo. No pretty multicolored fish squirting through the neon reef. No sea turtles swimming along the sea floor. No bikinied wife kicking her flippers ahead of him. No nothing.

Ricky couldn’t see squat.

Squinting into the brown water, he was stuck inside a dirt-filled snow globe. His visibility wasn’t even five feet. And as soon as he moved in the silty water, the debris he kicked up reduced it to two or three.

“How’s it going down there, Ricky?” Harry’s voice echoed loud, like it was inside his brain.

“Feels okay, Harry. Still got some ’drenaline, but I’m breathing easy. Water feels good, warmish. Can’t see anything though. Super cloudy.”

“It might be clearer deeper. Get used to being in the water, then head down slowly.”

“This mask is awesome. Like a science fiction. Way better than having that thing in your mouth.”

“That’s what she said. Over and out.”

Ricky let the weight belt do its job and descended slowly. His sense of direction was challenged with no landmarks to guide him, but knowing where down was helped. It was strangely peaceful apart from his breathing and the noises of the apparatus. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. He could get used to that kind of quiet.

Ricky felt like he sank forever, not able to gauge his speed. He checked the depth, and he had only gone twenty feet. He must have been going slower than he thought or maybe at an angle. As
he dropped, the visibility increased, but there was still nothing but silt to look at.

“You’re veering west a little,” Harry said inside his head. “Try to drop straight down.”

“Doing my best.”

He adjusted a shoulder strap that was digging into his shoulder. Looking down, he finally saw the lake floor.

“I’m at the bottom,” Ricky said.

He reached down, cupped some of the sand, and let it slide through his fingers. It felt cold in his bare hand. A small cloud rose from the floor.

Ricky looked at his wrist compass. “Show me the way.”

“Head due east. Maybe thirty yards. That’ll put you back below us. You didn’t drift that far. Keep your eyes open. See if you see anything towny. Signs. Hell, any wood or brick. Building foundations. Anything with an edge. I don’t know what’s left or even how close my calculations got us. Look for any kind of marker.”

“Roger. Over and out.” Ricky was having fun. Considering the last few months, that was monumental.

The lake floor offered nothing for the thirty yards he traveled. He kept it slow, scanning ahead and feeling his way along the surface. Just more sand. He hadn’t even seen a single fish. When he finally caught some movement, it was in the form of something scuttling past in his peripheral vision. A fish, a crawdad, didn’t matter. Unless it talked and gave directions, it wasn’t going to help him find what he was looking for.

“Anything?” Harry asked.

“Nothing.”

“Stay east. Dig a little if you have to. Who knows what happens to buildings after they’ve been underwater for seventy years?”

Ricky continued forward, scanning the ground below him. He dug in the sand, but it clouded his vision, so he stopped. That’s when he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye. Bright green in a sea of cloudy grayish.

“I see something.”

“What?”

“Looks like glass. Hold on.”

Ricky reached for the green sticking out of the sand. He brushed the sand away.

“It’s a bottle.”

“Could be you’re near one of the saloons. Good sign. Means you’re in town.”

Ricky pulled it out of the sand and turned it in his hand, revealing a Heineken label. Ricky let the bottle drop. It landed with no sound.

“Just some boater’s trash. Heineken bottle.”

“Out-of-towners. Only a city jerk would drink not-Mex imported and chuck their garbage over the side. Some people got no respect.”

As Ricky looked up, something hit his head on the left side. Or more accurately, he hit his head on something. It twisted the mask on his face, a little water leaking in.

“Ow!” Ricky shouted.

“What? What’s happening? Ricky, are you okay?” Harry’s voice crackled, no longer as clear as before.

“Yeah,” Ricky answered. He fixed the mask, and when he was confident that it wasn’t leaking, he looked forward.

He had swum right into a building. Or what was left of one. It wasn’t much, but it was a short stack of bricks. Enough to represent the corner of a structure.

“I found a building, I think.”

“He found a building,” Harry said. “I told you, Frank. Give me a second, Ricky. I got to see where you’re at.”

Ricky ran his finger along the mortar lines of the wall. He swam slowly along what would have been the outside. Reaching a gap which he assumed used to be a doorway, Ricky pretended to knock, then swam into the roofless and almost wall-less structure.

“Maybe the general store. Maybe the claims office. Could have been both. But I’d be guessing. Either way, you’re at the west end of town,” Harry said.

Ricky brushed his hand on the sandy bottom. Under the sand, he found wood. His fingernail easily dug into it like it was liquid. Small pieces of sawdust floated away. Running his hand through the sand, he found the head of a rusted pickaxe, the handle no longer intact.

“I found a pick. Just the top.”

“Okay. I got three possibles for Constance’s house. There weren’t many private residences, so I’ve narrowed it pretty good. Head to the northeast. I’ll tell you when you get closer.”

“Rodger Dodger, Mr. Rogers.”

“I think the oxygen is going to your head,” Harry said, but he laughed with him.

Ricky held onto the head of the pickaxe, glanced at his compass, and exited the building. He didn’t bother to use the doorway, but swam over what was left of the short wall.

“If my maps are worth a darn, you should be heading straight into town.”

But Ricky barely heard him and didn’t need the newsflash. He was stopped and staring in awe at the town church looming in front of him.

Though he could only see the building’s façade in the haze of the water, the church appeared to be almost completely intact. It was a small building with no roof, but the steeple appeared undamaged and there was a wooden cross nailed above the front door. It was the most magnificent sight Ricky had ever seen.

“Ricky? You there?” Harry’s voice crackled.

“I’ve got to check this out.”

“What? Do you see something?”

“What day is it? Is today Sunday?”

“What’re you doing? What’s going on? Remember, you only have so much air. Fewer trips, the better. Ricky?”

Ricky hit the button on the side of his mask and turned off the communication device. The murky silence made his heart skip.

Ricky swam to the church. He pulled at the doors, but they wouldn’t budge. A foot of sand blocked them at the base. He brushed the sand away with his hand, shoveling handfuls until the door was clear. He pulled it open and entered into the darkness of the abandoned temple.

R
icky swept the flashlight through the building. Everything was still. The pews, the altar, even one of the leaded-glass windows remained unbroken. There was a spot for a crucifix on the wall behind the altar, but it appeared to have been saved from the flood. In the foggy darkness, the building looked museum-pristine. Ricky half expected to see a congregation face-forward listening to some hellfire and screaming hallelujah.

Ricky crossed himself and awkwardly genuflected before he swam slowly down the middle aisle. It felt funny in the full scuba gear, but this was still a church. It occurred to him that he hadn’t prayed since the bus accident.

A bloated book rested on one of the pews, the front board and page edges fish-chewed. Ricky set down the pickaxe and picked up the book. He had assumed it was a Bible, but the faded gilt lettering revealed it to be an old hymnal. The pages floated open, music staves and notes flipping past. The pages stopped where the binding was cracked in the center of the spine. The title of the hymn was “City of Gold.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ricky said.

He looked to the front of the church. For a second he thought he heard an organ. The faint sound of singing children. He ran the light over the corners of the building. But the silent music played only in his head.

Ricky made an effort to sit down, but the cylinder on his back didn’t allow it. He returned to the aisle, his flippered feet spread apart for balance. He dropped some weight from his belt until
his feet lifted from the floor. He floated upward. For a moment he forgot he was in the water and felt like he was being lifted to heaven.

He scanned the words of the hymn. He looked to his left and right, suddenly self-conscious. Then in the quiet of the underwater chapel, he sang, his voice just above a whisper.

There’s a city that looks o’er the valley of death,
And the glories can never be told;
There the sun never sets, and the leaves never fade,
In that beautiful city of gold.

There the King, our Redeemer, the Lord Whom we love,
All the faithful with rapture behold;
There the righteous forever shall shine as the stars,
In that beautiful city of gold.

Every soul we have led to the foot of the cross,
Every lamb we have brought to the fold,
Shall be kept as bright jewels our crown to adorn,
In that beautiful city of gold.

At the end of the song, Ricky reread the lyrics. He closed the book, set it on the pew next to him, and patted the cover softly. He looked straight up into the murk above the roofless church.

“I hear you.”

Ricky bowed his head and silently prayed. And for the first time in a long time, he knew that God was listening.