Alexander Belyaev - The Amphibian

“So far I’ve had no chance to test that. You’re not exactly fond of me and I’d not be surprised if you didn’t keep your word. But you’re fond of Gutierrez and you’d do anything she asked you. Right? So I spoke to her and she was quick to see the point. Of course she wants me to let you go. That’s why she wrote the note and gave it to me, wishing to help you on the road to freedom. Is everything clear to you now?”

What Zurita had told Ichthyander seemed to him not only possible but virtually bearing the stamp of truth. The condition about the gold on the Mafalda being worth his pearls had escaped him.

Now to compare their worths, calculated Zurita, hell have to bring-and I’ll insist on it-his pile on board my ship. Then I’ll have the Mafalda gold, the pile and Ichthyander himself all in my hands.

But Ichthyander had no way of knowing what was passing in Zurita’s mind. Zurita’s seeming frankness had won him over and Ichthyander, after a minute’s thought, agreed.

Zurita heaved a sigh of relief.

He won’t cheat me, he thought.

“Let’s go, quick! “

They both hurried up on deck and Ichthyander jumped straight overboard.

The crew, seeing Ichthyander jump overboard unchained, immediately realized he had gone for the Mafalda riches. The idea that Zurita was going to grab it all for himself goaded them into action.

Just as the sailors attacked Zurita, Ichthyander reached the upper deck of the wrecked ship.

Through a huge hatch and down a companion ladder that looked like the staircase of a big building, Ichthyander glided into a spacious alleyway. There it was dark. The only spots of faint light were some open doors along it.

Ichthyander swam through one of these doors and found himself in a lounge. The big port-holes illumined dimly the huge hall, which could accommodate a few hundred people at a time. Ichthyander perched on the sumptuous centre chandelier and had a good look round. It was an eerie sight. All round him against the ceiling swayed chairs and small tables. A grand piano, its lid raised, stood on the small stage, cut into the expanse of soft-carpeted floor. Along one of the walls wainscotted in mahogany that was already warped in places, tubbed palms stretched in a row.

Ichthyander pushed off the chandelier and swam towards the palms. Suddenly he stopped dead: a man was swimming towards him, stopping short as Ichthyander did. A mirror, guessed the amphibian. The huge wall-to-wall mirror duplicated the hall in its dim reflection.

There were no treasures to be found here. Ichthyander swam out into the alleyway, went a deck lower and found himself in a hall, as well-appointed and big as the one above, apparently the restaurant. Scattered on the bar counters and near them were wine bottles, tins, cartons. Most bottles had the corks pushed in by the pressure of the water while some of the tins were almost flattened. Places were laid on the tables but most of the cutlery lay pell-mell on the floor.

Ichthyander headed for the cabins.

Swimming in and out he visited cabins that looked the last word in American comfort. They were all empty. Only in one cabin on the third deck he saw a swollen body, gently rocking near the ceiling.

The passengers must have had time to cast off in boats, he thought.

But down in Third Class, a terrible sight awaited him. The place was cluttered up with bodies of children and adults, men and women, white, Chinese, Blacks, Indians.

Obviously the ship’s crew had rushed to the rescue of the First-Class passengers, leaving the rest to fend for themselves. In the resulting stampede, people had pressed round the few exits, crushing each other to death, blocking the way up and to life for others. The doors of some of the cabins were blocked by corpses so that Ichthyander could not manage a look inside.

The water, coming through the open portholes into the long alleyway, gently rocked the bloated corpses. Ichthyander felt frightened and hurried out away from this underwater graveyard.

Surely Gutierrez didn’t know where she was sending me, thought Ichthyander. Surely she couldn’t possibly want me to pick the dead men’s pockets and rifle their trunks. Of course not. That meant he had again fallen into a trap of Zurita’s. So he resolved to come up and demand that Gutierrez come on deck and confirm her request.

Quick as a fish the young man went up through deck after deck until he was dear of the ship’s hull.

He surfaced and swam towards the Jellyfish.

“Ahoy, Zurita,” he called. “Gutierrez! “

There was no reply. The silent Jellyfish rocked on the waves.

Where have they all gone to? thought the amphibian. What’s Zurita up to now? Cautiously, Ichthyander swam towards the schooner and scrambled aboard.

“Hey, Gutierrez! “ he called again.

“Here we are,” he heard Zurita’s voice that barely reached him from offshore. Ichthyander looked round and saw Zurita, peeping from behind some bushes on the shore.

“Gutierrez’s taken ill. Swim over here, Ichthyander! “ he shouted. She was ill and he would see her. Ichthyander jumped overboard and swam quickly shorewards.

Ichthyander was already clear of the water when he heard Gutierrez’s muffled cry:

“He’s lying! Run, Ichthyander! “

The amphibian turned, dived and swam away underwater. When he had put quite a distance between himself and the shore he broke water and looked back. He could just make out something white fluttering on the shore.

Perhaps it was Gutierrez bidding him farewell. Would he ever see her again?

Quickly Ichthyander swam for the open sea, deserted but for a small vessel, low on the water, heading due south. She churned water open with her sharp bows, leaving behind a foamy wake.

Humans are best left to themselves, thought Ichthyander, and diving steeply, was lost in the sea.

Ever since that unsuccessful trip on the submarine Baltasar had been in the blackest of moods.

“Damn the Whites! “ he was saying grumpily one afternoon, sitting all by himself in the shop. “They took our lands from us and made us their slaves. They maim our children and steal our daughters. They want to kill us off, down to the last babe-in-arms.”

“Hullo, brother”, he heard Cristo’s voice. “I’ve brought news. Big news. Ichthyander’s found.”

“What?! “ “Baltasar sprang up from his seat. “Well, go on, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’ll go on if you don’t chip in — if you do I’ll forget something. He’s come back. I was right that time: he was on that wreck.”

“Where’s he now? At Salvator’s?”

“Yes.”

“Ill go to Salvator and demand my son back.”

“He won’t agree,” Cristo said. “And he forbids Ichthyander to swim out into the ocean. Sometimes I let him go though-”

“He will! I’ll kill him if he won’t! Let’s go, straightway.”

Cristo waved his hands in alarm.

“Wait till tomorrow at least. I’d a hell of a job, I can tell you, getting permission to look up my granddaughter. He’s turned so suspicious. He sure sees right into your heart with them eyes of his. Put it off till tomorrow, I say.”

“All right. Let it be tomorrow. Today I’ll go to the gulf. Perhaps I’ll be able to see my son, even if only from afar.”

All that afternoon and night Baltasar spent on a cliff over the gulf, peering into the waves. The sea was rough. The cold southerner blew in fierce gusts, carrying foam off wavetops and spraying the cliff with it. Surf pounded the shore. In and out of the racing clouds, the moon threw a fitful light on the waves. Try as he would Baltasar could spot nothing in the seething ocean. Dawn came and found him squatting stock-still on the cliff-top. Th” ocean was less sombre now but as empty as before.