A House at the Bottom of a Lake

14

Alone underwater. Alone in the house.

Breathing.

Two minutes in, James felt his pulse quickening and thought he better get up to the surface before it was too late. But he was wearing the helmet and he didn’t need to go up like he’d had to two days ago. He could spend more than an hour down here if he wanted to.

The breathing tube led out the front door and up to the canoe. There it was connected to a compressor that Amelia watched when she wasn’t staring into the water, staring at the roof of the house.

James was no longer thinking about speedboats and screaming girls in bikinis. Amelia had to be impressed by all this.

You’re in a house underwater and all you can think about is Amelia.

It was true and so he laughed and the laughter splattered against the glass dome protecting him.

He stood in the foyer, shining the flashlight down the hall where Amelia had looked at herself in the mirror. He could see the glass of it, hanging on the left wall. And beyond it, a much larger room, the dimensions of which he could only begin to ascertain.

As he stepped toward it, the breathing tube snagged on the half front door and the tug was as slight as a tap on the shoulder.

The suit was bulky and the gloves made ape hands of his fingers and he couldn’t turn as quickly as he wanted to. He felt too slow and too blocky. With his free hand he gave the hose a twirl, sent a ripple through it, hoping it would come loose from whatever snag was stopping him from going farther into the house.

It worked.

Free, he looked into the mirror as he passed it, smiling behind the glass helmet.

It was the visage, James thought, of young love.

He saw a room ahead, piecemeal, made up of the brief patches of light he afforded it. It was a dining room. The table and chairs told him that. But nothing told him how the table and chairs remained fixed as they were to the floor.

Nor did anything explain the rug beneath the legs of the chairs. Or the hundreds of trinkets that lined the shelves of a glass cabinet against the right wall.

No hows, James thought. No whys.

It was impossible not to feel like he’d broken into this home. If not for the darkness, the distortion, and the cold, James would have counted himself lucky for not having run into whoever owned it.

He moon-stepped toward the dining room and got snagged again.

“Dammit.”

He turned and sent another ripple through the tube. It traveled the length of the hose, slow motion, vanishing through the dark rectangle of the half front door into the muddy front yard beyond.

Then, the ripple came back.

Toward him.

As if James were outside the house and the hose were here, snagged where he stood.

James trained the flashlight on the front door, tracing the rectangular door frame. Mud motes and minnows passed through his light, then vanished fast into the darkness.

He waited for a second tug from outside of the house. Another ripple.

You’re breathing too hard, man.

But that wasn’t possible. Unless someone sent it his way.

He thought of Amelia up top.

Had she sent him the wave in the breathing tube? She must have. But was she trying to tell him something?

Someone’s up there, he thought. Someone telling her to get her boyfriend out of the water and get home. NOW.

James lumbered back to the front door. Peering over the threshold, he saw that the tube was indeed snagged on one of the porch handrails.

He took the hose between a gloved finger and thumb.

Did you just call yourself her boyfriend?

The hose came loose from the handrail and James easily coiled the slack. He reentered the house.

He wanted to go deeper this time. Deeper into the house. Deeper into the lake.

Deeper in love.

Is this love? Is that happening?

He got to the dining room quickly, more agile than he was moments ago. And despite the darkness ahead, the darkness everywhere, he felt safe.

Alive.

He floated to the dining room table.

The flashlight showed him a tablecloth, serving dishes, folded napkins, and eight high-backed chairs. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, swaying gently with the unseen waves alive here at the bottom of the lake.

There were paintings on the walls. Landscapes that seemed to undulate, as if something lived beneath the yellow grass.

How?

Unlit candles. Sconces. Utensils. All of it sedentary on the table. On shelves. On plates.

How?

A solid wood buffet. A tray upon it. Not floating. Not moving at all.

HOW?

“No hows,” James said into the helmet. “No whys.”

Amelia was far above him. Watching the compressor.

James went deeper.

The hose followed smoothly. The hose did not get snagged.

And James went deeper into the house.