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发信人: by (春天的小懒虫), 信区: SFworld
标  题: 2010 (32)
发信站: 哈工大紫丁香 (Wed Oct  6 15:06:46 1999), 转信

                          32
                   Crystal Spring

The Indians, and the Cajun settlers who had moved here
from Louisiana, said that Crystal Spring was bottomless.
That, of course, was nonsense, and surely even they could
not believe it. One had only to put on a face mask and swim
out a few strokes - and there, clearly visible, was the little
cave from which the incredibly pure water flowed with the
slender green weeds undulating around it. And peering up
through them, the eyes of the Monster.
  Two dark circles, side by side - even though they never
moved, what else could they be? That lurking presence gave
an added excitement to every swim; one day the Monster
would come rushing up from its lair, scattering the fish in its
hunt for larger prey. Never would Bobby or David admit
that nothing more dangerous than an abandoned, and
doubtless stolen, bicycle lay half buried among the water
weeds, a hundred metres down.
  That depth was hard to believe, even after line and sinker
had established it beyond argument. Bobby, the older and
better diver, had been perhaps a tenth of the way down, and
had reported that the bottom looked just as far away as
ever.
  But now the Crystal Spring was about to reveal its sec-
rets : perhaps the legend of the Confederate treasure was
True, despite the scorn of all the local historians. At the very
Least, they might endear themselves to the chief of police -
always excellent policy - by recovering a few handguns
deposited after recent crimes.
  The little air compressor that Bobby had found in the
garage junk heap was now chugging healthily away, after
their initial problems of starting it. Every few seconds it
would cough and emit a cloud of blue smoke, but it showed
no sign of stopping. `And even if it does,' said Bobby, 'so
what? IF the girls in the Underwater Theatre can swim up
from fifty metres without  their air hoses, so can we. It's
perfectly safe.'
  In that case, thought Dave fleetingly, why didn't we tell
Ma what we were doing, and why did we wait until Dad
had gone back to the Cape for the next shuttle launch? But
he did not have any real qualms: Bobby always knew best.
It must be wonderful to be seventeen, and to know every-
thing. Though he wished he wouldn't spend quite so much
time now with that stupid Betty Schultz. True, she was
very pretty - but, dammit, she was a girl! It was only with
the greatest difficulty that they had been able to get rid of
her this morning.
  Dave was used to being a guinea pig; that was what
younger brothers were for. He adjusted his face mask, put
on his flippers, and slid into the crystalline water.
  Bobby handed him the air hose with the old scuba
mouthpiece they had taped to it. Dave took a breath, and
grimaced.
  `It tastes horrible.'
  `You'll get used to it. In you go - no deeper than that
ledge. That's where I'll start adjusting the pressure valve so
we don't waste too much air. Come up when I tug the
hose.'
  Dave slid gently beneath the surface, and into wonder-
land. It was a peaceful, monochrome world, so different
from the coral reefs of the Keys. There were none of the
garish colours of the marine environment, where life -
animal and vegetable - flaunted itself with all the hues of the
rainbow. Here were only delicate shades of blue and green,
and fish that looked like fish, not like butterflies
  He flippered slowly down, dragging the hose behind
him, pausing to drink from its stream of bubbles whenever
he felt the need. The sensation of freedom was so wonderful
that he almost forgot the horrible oily taste in his mouth.
When he reached the ledge - actually an ancient, water-
logged tree trunk, so overgrown with weeds that it was
unrecognizable - he sat down and looked around him.
  He could see right across the spring, to the green slopes at
the far side of the flooded crater, at least a hundred metres
away. There were not many fish around, but a small school
went twinkling past like a shower of silver coins in the
sunlight streaming down from above.
  There was also an old friend stationed, as usual, at the gap
where the waters of the spring began their journey to the
sea. A small alligator (`but large enough,' Bobby had once
said cheerfully. `He's bigger than I am.') was hanging verti-
cally, without visible means of support, only his nose above
the surface. They had never bothered him, and he had never
bothered them.
  The air hose gave an impatient tug. Dave was happy to
go; he had not realized how cold it could get at that hitherto
unattainable depth - and he was also feeling distinctly sick.
But the hot sunlight soon revived his spirits.
  'No problems,' said Bobby expansively `Just keep un-
screwing the valve so the pressure gauge doesn't drop
below the red line.'
  `How deep are you going?'
  `All the way. if I feel like it.'
  Dave did not take that seriously; they both knew about
rapture of the depths and nitrogen narcosis. And in any case,
the old garden hose was only thirty metres long. That
would be plenty for this first experiment.
  As he had done so many times before, he watched with
envious admiration as his beloved elder brother accepted a
new challenge. Swimming as effortlessly as the fish around
him, Bobby glided downward into that blue, mysterious
universe. He turned once and pointed vigorously to the air
hose, making it unmistakably clear that he needed an in-
creased air flow.
  Despite the splitting headache that had suddenly come
upon him, Dave remembered his duty. He hurried back to
the ancient compressor, and opened the control valve to its
deadly maximum - fifty parts per million of carbon monox-
ide.
  The last he saw of Bobby was that confidently descend-
ing, sunlight-dappled figure passing forever beyond his
reach. The wax statue in the funeral parlour was a total
stranger, who had nothing to do with Robert Bowman.

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:-) Helix@163.NET                                                    85958F57
:-( Helix@KALI.COM.CN                                                208CE12C
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