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Show demonstrate their preparation for escaping from a crippled sub. Along the way were oxygen tanks if a sailor panicked and needed air. After all, they were not fish. Real submariners, though, made it the first time, in one breath, shooting through fathoms of water to a second surface, having left the initial one behind. The gasp of air, securing their dolphins, the triumph of discipline over nature, over the body, the tower was a symbol of strength and hardship and sacrifice. I knew the risks those in the military undertook. And I sang for them every Sunday because I also knew that the real ocean was so much deeper than that tower. We were headed in when the marlin struck. The captain had pulled in all lines but one. The strike was solid and the reel whizzed as more and more line was released. After he cut the engine, the captain ran to the back of the boat, yelling and screaming about the great sporting fish. It was my mom's turn in line, but she stayed in the fighting chair only minutes. My dad edged closer and closer until he somehow was in the chair and my mom was standing off to the side with me. The marlin was a giant. For what seemed like hours but was really minutes, my dad reeled and released, listening for cues from the captain who was pacing the length of the deck. As my dad threw his body back and forth in the fighting chair, my brothers hooted and hollered, laughing at the possibility of this great fish. On deck there was much confusion, our six bodies no longer seemed to fit on the boat. Yells from the captain collided with the shrieking gulls, tearing the air in two. Beneath the commotion, steady like the breath or 175 |
