The Dive Boat – Part 2: Night Dive

On her last night, Hassan took her on a night dive.

The boat rocked at anchor, a small bright island of light in the dark. The sea was black glass. Stars blazed overhead, a dense river of them. Alicia stood on the platform in her wetsuit, torch in hand, her heart thumping, and found she wasn't afraid.

"Ready?" said Hassan.

"Ready."

They sank together into the dark. Their torch beams cut thin yellow cones through the water. The reef looked different at night: sleeping fish wedged into coral, a parrotfish in a mucus cocoon, a ray gliding by like a ghost. When Hassan signalled, they switched off their torches.

The darkness was total. Then, as her eyes adjusted, every movement of her hand sparked a swirl of tiny blue light. Plankton. She waved her arm, and a galaxy followed it. She laughed into her regulator, and bubbles streamed upward like falling stars.

Hassan's hand found hers in the dark. They hung together, weightless, in a cloud of cold blue fire.

Afterwards, on the deck, they sat wrapped in towels with mugs of sweet tea, hair dripping. The stars shone down. A warm wind carried the smell of salt and distant land.

"Can I ask you something?" said Alicia.

"Yes."

"I fly home tomorrow."

"I know."

"May I kiss you before I do?"

"Yes," said Hassan. "And if you say stop, you must come back and dive the manta channel."

"That's not a punishment."

"No."

She kissed him, salt and tea-sweet, a damp hand on his cheek. He kissed her back with slow, steady warmth, his arm curving round her shoulders. The boat rocked softly. Phosphorescence glowed in the wake.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Alicia. "Very green."

She came back in February, with a dive log, a decade of savings and a plan. The manta channel was extraordinary. So was the man.

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