The Wreck Diver · Chapter 12
The opera of refusal
He came from money, but everything he’d said and done pointed to the fact that he’d gone away from all that. He said ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Like he just walked away and never came back. That sounded close. Some scandal, or maybe he rebelled. Something like that. I was curious about him.
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We spent our fifth dive putting in the stainless reference pins, drilling them directly into stable bedrock near the wreck. James worked faster than Arnac did, but we still accomplished our objectives for the dive. This would add a new task to the next one: James would take measurements between these fixed points and the key structural features. If the distance changes even millimeters over weeks, we’d know something was shifting. No one would risk going inside it if unstable sections were at risk of collapse, and no one understood structural shift data like James. He would insist on months of repeated measurements before large removals. I continued with the photos for 3D scanning, which was work you did slowly to advance rapidly. I had completed about thirty percent of the exterior. The inspection diver was reassuringly competent, but he’d started later than I. That added another fifteen percent to the tally.
Decompressions were getting better for me, not easier, but I noticed my body was starting to feel conditioned to the regularity of diving—I would never get used to it.
Aubert, who was not a diving specialist, seemed to want to control not just the French half of the team, but us as well. Ironically, it was underwater when we most felt his presence as the stand-in for Gaillard. Yet he conceded to all of James’s demands. When we got up to twenty meters James and I had a little more time to talk. His biggest concern was hull sag, especially if it proved to be consistent, even though minor. He spent the decompression stage explaining how to help him watch out for micro-rotation in the stern section. When it’s only millimeters, this sounds negligible, fractions of a degree, but he said it meant something was changing below the wreck. It could be internal deck collapse, or something in the substrate. Rotation meant that the weight could be transferring onto weakened frames. I asked him to explain it to me more fully later. Once again, this aspect of diving was not my area of expertise. I was an artifact specialist. James was adding years of his experience to my knowledge of diving.
When we got up to sixty meters he asked me how I was feeling, and I had to tell him I was more tired than the first dive of the week. He said that was normal, and that in a few weeks I would be more used to it, but that we would need to work out on off days. That would help, along with sleep. I had never slept much. Six hours was okay for me, and I rarely slept more than seven, so you can imagine my surprise when I would wake after ten. I woke up refreshed, at least. We were getting closer to the surface. At ten meters, James looked behind him and stopped to let me catch up. He extended his hand and I took it. I didn’t need a pull, but it was a nice gesture. He only let go when we were both breaking the surface. There would be a group meeting as soon as we had rested a bit.
Arnac and the others came up a few minutes later. As soon as we were somewhat settled and had done our HV tests, Aubert mentioned that he would not come down for the next two weeks, but the inspector would stay with us. No doubt he was his eyes and ears while Aubert analyzed his specimens. Then he upset James for the second time that month by saying he should move on from structural shift metrics. He said we already had enough evidence that a catastrophic collapse was unlikely. James said he was looking for trend stability, that our data was perishable, fragile. I agreed with him. Aubert said the summer window would close rapidly without giving Gaillard the results needed to convince the shareholders that we were the most efficient crew available. That was how he phrased it.
—Are you implying that we would be replaced? asked James.
By now, I understood his triggers. I shot him a glance. Careful.
Aubert didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled up his maps and made like his portion of the discussion was over. Arnac was already telling us about the agenda for the next dive. James sat through it and said nothing. The launch came for us, and we were back on dry land. We went straight to the hotel.
I took a shower and threw on comfort clothes. I was stretched out on the bed thinking about the next dive, when I heard a knock. I got up and answered the door. James’s hair was still wet, but he wore a fresh pale blue shirt over khaki shorts. Ready to go someplace.
—I was wondering if you were hungry yet.
—Where are you taking me?
—Too tired to go anywhere; just downstairs.
I let him in and opened the doors to the balcony. The railing was painted white and beyond it, there was a sprawling back yard, where a weeping willow hung down to the lawn. The raking sunlight turned the grass brilliant yellow green and illuminated the midges. Beyond that, lay a small pond with its fat brown ducks. The room was situated in the back of the house, so it was quiet. We sat on two folding chairs at a small table.
—It’s nice enough right here, I said.
Our movements were as heavy as if we were still underwater.
—What’s on your mind, James?
—Did you think I came here to whinge?
I laughed.
—I’m glad it’s about food. I am a bit hungry, but not as much as you’d think. Remember the first time you took me down?
—The banana shakes?
We both cracked up.
—God, I could feel my body absorbing the nutrients. Like those trees in India that don’t bother to make branches. The leaves pop right out of the trunks.
—That’s about how I feel right now, too.
—Then let’s go. I’ll work up more of an appetite on the way down.
The hotel café was full of people, but James had had the foresight to reserve us a table for seven-thirty every evening after the first dive, when we had to eat somewhere else, and it hadn’t been a good experience. The server came and picked up the flat river stone with the word Reservé etched on it in some kind of silver ink. She slipped it in her pocket and asked what we would drink, leaving us two menus. Now I was hungry.
—While I was working, I noticed something about you with the drill today. You did almost two pins for every one that Arnac did. I mean, at eighty meters? This is exhausting. How do you do it?
—How could you see me bent over the drill?
—I was taking pictures right by you at one point. I’m sure you didn’t notice me.
—It’s practice. No extra movements. You see, on the surface you use your back and arm muscles, your abs, but underwater because of the gravity difference, you can lean in with your whole body weight. You’re right, though. It is tiring. Good thing we have the scooter.
—And now one less diver to share it with.
—I’m just glad he’s gone—one less pressure to cope with.
—You’re comfortable with Arnac?
—So far, so good, yeah. You?
—He’s polite in a faintly dismissive way. Nothing I can’t handle.
—Not because you’re a woman, believe me. He acts like that with me, too. Civil, but not friendly.
—They’re strangers, James. You know we should invite them here, or go into Marseille with them.
—Here. Not in Marseille. I’m not sure our tastes coincide. Here’s more neutral.
He looked all around him.
—And anyway, what’s not to like?
—Yeah, why not. Hey, something I’ve been meaning to ask and always forget: Is Naxos a middle name or a double last name? You’re named after an island, one of my absolute favorites.
—My father was Swedish. My mother is French. I grew up in Normandy until I was nine. It’s a rare surname. It’s a variation of Nassos, which is her maiden name. I’m a quarter Greek.
—It suits you. Your father is deceased?
—Yeah, he died when I was sixteen.
—Oh. Sorry for your loss. That’s a tough age to lose your dad. I lost mine when I was twelve. My mother had already passed by then.
James shook his head.
—Rough.
—Eh, I survived.
He smiled gently.
—You so survived. Look at you.
The night breeze had cooled. I covered myself with the sheet.
—What will you do if we get fired? I asked.
—Don’t worry about that now. Besides, I doubt that will happen.
—Not worried, just curious.
—By the way, any word from Rob?
—Yes. He had two brilliant finds, and then he hit a brick wall.
I told him what Rob had uncovered about our pirate.
—My God, he’s the one who works fast. At this rate, we’ll know enough about the Marie-Caroline to influence how we approach the wreck. Good man! So what was the brick wall?
—The trail went cold. He’s in Madrid right now. Said he’d let me know when he found the next lead.
The food came not a moment too soon. Broiled sea bream for James and a steak for me. It suspended our conversation for a moment.
—It’s an absolute crime that we have to drink water with this, I said.
—At least it’s Vichy.
We toasted anyway. Somehow the carbonation forgave the gaffe.
A few hours later we stumbled back to my room, not surprised that the food had made us drowsy. We sat on the bed and I took off my sandals while talking about the island of Naxos, Calypso, The Odyssey, Ithaca, the photographers Costas Balafas and Giorgos Tantsis, and the Black & White Awards for photography. By then, I had lit candles, because they were there, and because the room had only a single overhead light with a frosted glass shade. Its wattage hurt our eyes.
James was telling a series of anecdotes about his four cats growing up. He looked worn out.
—A cat person. I knew it.
I stretched my legs under the covers and closed my eyes.
—Ah, the cat stories are putting you to sleep.
—No more than mine about Naxos. In fact, I’m still really awake, just physically tired.
—Horrible, isn’t? James laughed.
There was a moment of silence, and that space announced the moment when he should have said he was leaving. I didn’t want him to, and it seemed he didn’t want to go either. I moved over and patted the mattress. He lay down next to me on his side.
—It’s funny. This room is only a little bigger than the cabin in the Jeanneau. I have this punch-drunk feeling that we’re still there, he said.
—You’re right. I feel it too, the rocking… And after all the twists and turns this summer, it feels like the only constant in a little corner of my mind.
It didn’t surprise me that we both missed the Jeanneau. My eyes burned, and I closed them.
—I think when we’re running and striving, when we take to the sea, we’re most alive, and the sea is alive in us. It’s nothing like the city. The pavement tells you nothing. Without people, the buildings are only beautiful. There’s too much distance there, a falseness. Everything is compromise. The city’s promises are too complicated and too conditional.
James kept shifting around, trying to get comfortable. I opened and closed my eyes again. I let his voice wash over me.
—But then there’s the sea... it wants what it wants and there’s no pretense. You don’t negotiate with it. Sea life is pure. The sea has simple intentions you can trust. I know who I am when I’m deep down, and I always have. Even as a kid. I almost wish I had not been born human. The animals are perfect and uncomplicated. I understand sea life. That’s why I do conservation work in the winter. It amazes me that they live on despite everything we do to them.
There was a pause, a long one. The sound of his breathing told me he’d fallen asleep. I opened my eyes one last time. The candles were just stubs now. James’s hair shone softly, backlit in the dim light. I turned over and fell asleep, too.
In the morning, he was no longer there. The slight indentation where the mattress had cradled him was still visible, and I rolled onto it.
❈
Chapter Thirteen drops May 27
The Wreck Diver, which I began to write in February and finished at the end of March 2026, will run until July 8.