Horse Under Water

28 The boat gets one

I equalized again for the last time, before my air began to starve, and left the tap open. I would have no further warnings of air shortage, but now I would need both hands. At that moment both the lamps went out, and a second or so later the cables came thudding around me. It meant there was no decision to make. I lifted Giorgio’s face and stuck the mouthpiece back into his mouth; he was unconscious, and it fell back on to his chest. I grabbed his armpit and gave a tentative shove off the sea bed with my foot. I pulled the ring on his harness to release the lead ballast and did the same with my own. Our heads broke through the ocean top. Wind ripped into my face like a blunt razor-blade. The splash of the waves broke the silence, and the cold biting into my head and shoulders made me suddenly aware of how frozen my body was in spite of the heavy woollen undersuit. I felt for the book and pushed it tighter under the straps. There was no sign of the boat. Whatever had caused them to jettison the lamps was serious and dangerous; but I had the log book.

Runnels of dirty white spume slipped down the waves, their black bulk leaned over us before butting us high on to their peaks. I turned Giorgio on his back and struck out towards the almost invisible shore-line. The sky was clear and star-filled. The Plough gave me more reliable bearings than did a glimpse of the coast from the crest of an occasional high wave. ‘Atropos,’ Giorgio suddenly shouted, and struck me a hard blow on the side of the neck with the edge of his palm. A wave, stronger than previous ones, shattered itself upon us and Giorgio wrenched himself free. He swam strongly southward for five or six strokes; then suddenly weakened and, as I grabbed for him, sank without any attempt to save himself. I got him about six feet under, and as we came up together it was hard to say who was nearer drowning. We spluttered and spat and finally I had him in tow again. Twice more he beat me about the head and shouted ‘Atropos, Atropos,’ and a gabble of Italian that I couldn’t even begin to translate. His attacks on me had done wonders for his breathing. Had he not been taking in such a lot of sea water through his open mouth his breathing would probably have become normal, but the loss of blood was making him weaker with every yard we travelled.

The tips of the waves were trepanned by the sharp wind and suffused about our heads with a constant hiss. We had been in the Atlantic for perhaps one and a half hours. Every part of me ached. For the first time I began to doubt if we could reach the shore-line. I stopped swimming, and, holding Giorgio tightly, tried to see the boat. The waves flung us up and down like a trampoline. I shouted to Giorgio. He turned his brown face towards me. His eyes were wide open and his mouth moved. ‘Atropos,’ he said weakly, ‘why is she putting the stars out?’