Paul Zindel - Loch

“Not now,” Loch said, staring down into the pool. He saw his mask and air tank dead center on the bottom, and slipped on his fins again.

“You’re not going back in, are you?”

SPLASH .

“You’re crazy,” Zaidee called after him.

Loch retrieved his mask on the first dive. Next, he brought up the air tank. He knew he’d probably never see the weight belt again, but that didn’t matter. Quickly, he got the scuba gear back on and dropped back into the pool, this time leaving a gurgling stream of air bubbles behind him. Across from the deep, gravelly center was the wall of boiling chaos where the waterfall crashed into the pool. On both sides were thick clusters of lush water plants and floating lilies with enormous stems and roots reaching down like tentacles to anchor among the rocks.

Loch settled on the bottom. Slowly, he moved on toward the underwater garden. He veered away from the bedlam of the falls, sliding into the light and shadows of the eerie waterscape.

It was here that he first heard the music. At least, that’s what it sounded like to him-a single muted instrument being played, a kind of otherworldly singing. It was faint and plaintive, like strains from a distant cello.

Suddenly, there was a fast, quick movement in the thick of the water plants, and Loch knew he was not alone at the bottom of the pool. He swam closer, very slowly, but his mask began to fog. He would have to fix it immediately. He stopped, braced his feet on the bottom stones, and pushed for the surface. His head popped out of the water next to the slab of granite.

“You see anything?” Zaidee asked, busy eating her sandwich and playing Crashers.

Loch pulled his mask off. “I’m not sure.” There was no point in telling Zaidee anything until he had checked it out.

“You know, the screen’s even worse now,” Zaidee complained. “The squiggly line’s going ballistic. You want half a roast-beef sandwich?”

“No thanks.” Loch spit into his mask again and smudged the saliva around on the plastic with his fingers.

“Hey.” Zaidee gagged. “I’m eating!”

Loch put the mask back on, kicked his legs high into the air, and dove back to the bottom of the pool.

Again he heard the faint, curious music. He knew it wasn’t caused by any water in his ears, and he certainly hadn’t been down long or deep enough to have delirium levels of nitrogen in his blood. Once more he approached the water plants. This time he glimpsed the dark blur rushing behind a rock, a creature about the size of a seal. He knew even seals bite if their territory is invaded, so he used his fins to glide slowly up and over the top of the rock. The cello sound changed suddenly into an ominous hum.

When he looked down, all he could think was, Oh my God.

Directly beneath him was the black, bony, plated back of what had to be a very young plesiosaur. Adrenaline shot into Loch’s blood. The long neck of the creature lifted, then twisted so its head could turn and look up at him. Loch stared into the face of the creature, a miniature of the ghastly, terrifying Rogue.

Hummmmm …

The hum became more of a growl. He realized the creature’s mouth could open at any moment, and the little beast might lunge for his throat. Loch let his legs settle slowly, until his fins lay on the top of the rock. The creature’s eyes stayed riveted on him, but its frightening humming dropped a pitch, becoming softer and less threatening. Loch saw bruises on the creature’s ribbed fins and body. He knew it had to have been cornered with its mother at the nets, then washed through the cavern and over the falls. Now it was trapped in the pool, hurt and dazed. Loch had seen the same sad look in the eyes of a coyote he once saw limping out of a canyon after a fire. The flames had burned the coyote’s back, compromising its wild instincts.

The humming stopped.

Loch moved and settled slowly to one side of the rock. Now the creature was in front of him.

“Okay, fellah … it’s okay.” Loch spoke softly through the mouthpiece. He knew to minimize the stream of bubbles from his air tank and let his words reverberate deeply from his chest, a type of intoning his father had taught him when they had hand-fed groupers and sea turtles off tropical reefs.

The creature raised its bumpy snout.

“Good boy … uh, good little boy,” Loch repeated as he reached out his right hand just a few inches, as he would to pet a strange dog. “Nice little plesiosaur …”

Suddenly the hoods above the creature’s eyes lifted, revealing the full size of its enormous eyes. It reared up, drew its head back, then shot it forward, brandishing a massive mouth of jagged teeth. Like a demonic swan, it lunged its snout again and again at Loch, never touching him, but causing him to fall over backward. Loch froze with the creature on top of him, its teeth whirling just above his face. Loch’s heart beat crazily, until the lunges stopped. Finally the creature closed its mouth, slowly retreating from Loch’s head. Lock took a deep breath.

It doesn’t want to hurt me, Loch told himself, astounded.

Inch by inch, Loch eased himself away from the creature and righted himself. It began to make a new sound. At first it was a type of clicking, as if it were sending out a kind of sonar to examine Loch. But the clicking sounds changed into the eerily beautiful music again.

“You make music when you feel safe,” Loch said to the creature. “Music when you trust someone …”

Loch didn’t know the words to express the thrill of being in the presence of the creature, but he knew he was witnessing something rare and precious and inexplicable.

Loch pushed against the bottom and swam slowly upward. He surfaced near Zaidee and spit out his mouthpiece.

“Give me a sandwich!” he gasped, deciding not to tell her yet about the creature.

“Say please,” Zaidee insisted.

“Please.”

“Roast beef or ham?” she asked, offering both.

He grabbed the roast-beef sandwich, bit down on the mouthpiece, and quickly dove back beneath the surface.

“Hey!” Zaidee yelled, watching the sandwich go under.

Loch reached bottom. The creature hadn’t moved. Again it started its music. Slowly, he held out the disintegrating sandwich, letting the bread and meat float down in front of the creature. Quickly, its head reared back, then snapped forward, over and over again until every speck of the sandwich was devoured.

“Good boy … you’re a little hungry … good fellah.” Loch knew there had to be small fish in the pool-shoreline crappies and sunfish from the lake that had gotten caught up in the underwater current the same way he had-but hardly enough for a growing young plesiosaur. Loch attempted to imitate the sounds, the pitch, and the rhythm, of the creature’s music. Eventually, he inched his hand out toward its head. The creature allowed him to slide his fingers gently over the knobby plating on the skull.

“You need a name,” Loch told the creature, as he continued to pet its head. He thought about calling it Dan or Steve, but a human name didn’t seem to fit. He remembered they had named its mother Beast. “Son of Beast” also didn’t sound right.

Loch stopped petting the creature for a moment and moved his hands to adjust his mask. The creature seemed disappointed. It lifted its head until Loch’s hand was touching it. Again Loch petted it, then tried moving his hand away. Once more the creature slid its head under Loch’s hand.

Loch laughed. “You want more.”

Finally Loch tried moving away a few feet. The creature moved with him. “You’re smart,” Loch told the creature. “And you probably want another sandwich. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Loch started to swim, reaching his cupped hands out, pulling at the water. When Loch looked back, he saw the creature swimming after him, its fins thrusting it forward smoothly, powerfully.