The five mm of the neopren skin protects me from the cold
wind that howls on the rowboat. We have just arrived: the S. Irene island,
an old roman farmfish near Vibo Valentia. I’m in the water in a moment, I
dive following the rope that leads me to the bottom. I’m alone, I
known it’s wrong, it’s not safe. The little oxigen beads
that I have provoked frantically disappear revealing the stones. I can feel
the heavy hand of the pressure, then in front of me the ruins of ancient
walls, holes in the rocks digged by man. I look around, my stare following
the beads that rise to the surface lighted by the sun: they are as changing
pearls in dimensions and brightness. Then I stare at the bottom, I belive I
can fly without falling if I want to: I’m the master of my movements, I have
only one limit: my air reserve. Here are the rock walls, on it life forms
that I cannot distinguish yet, I come near slowly descending. The smooth
heads of the white little spirographs fluttered everywhere on the wall. I
dive planing as a bird: yes, I’m right, there are a lot, maybe hundreds, of
q-tips that are inserted into the scars of the rocks laughing at me waving
on the current. I swallow bitterly and feel a shiver, I control the heart
pulsations: a little increased but I continue to descend looking for
something better. My stare is attracted to the big isididae that wave like
elephant ears tightned the walls, I go near. Huge, grey, bright sacks of
garbage attached to the mast seem like ghosts fluttering bend at the sunken
electric poles. The disgust overhelms me, this place is not as I remeber it.
I check the oxygen, I still have half my reserve of air, I descend again,
until now I have seen nothing of beauty, I have waiting a long time for this
dive, and I don’t want it to end in this sad way. I swim over a circle of
rock, the water is so clear but cold here. That’s ok, but there are no a
fishes. A sudden movement catched my eye, a few meters under of me. I
descend again to the hole in the wall. A dark thing. A body.
Something strange moves inside of the rocks. The light of
the torch doesn’t succed in letting me understand, but after a while I can
see: a muren. My heart starts to pound. The long fish is coming near.
I retreat looking back at her. It’s a nightmare! It is
not a muren, but a …token of a tire that follows the current, and swims
waving smoothly from the hole in which it was inserted. Sadly I follow its
trail to the dark bottom.
Pain!
Something has hit me!
My face!
The limited underwater sight as hidden me the jellyfish
until she touched me.
I swim to the left to avoid her. But it is too late. Its
tentacles cut me at the lip. I bleed. My heart begins to accelerate.
I was bleeding? A jellyfish that makes me bleed? Really? I turn slowly and I
see it. A white plastic plate, broken and ripped is
flowing slowly near to my nose. The sea seems cold and hard. My pulsations
increase, but I’m afraid, I feel the rage rising inside me. I try to calm
myself, I want to arrive at the bottom, the light is diminishing but there
are only few meters left. I descend fast as a rock. The GAV will help me
emerging back. I aim the cone of the light to the bottom. The light breaks
the shadows and finally I can see it! An octopus! Its eyes stare at me in a
sad way. Its tentacles are trying to avoid the forks and the plastic knives.
The ray of light hits a white zone. A spectral sheet of plastic bottles,
cans, and shopping bags waving obscenely on the sand. This is the
real ground. I can see some vegetation, I stare better in
that direction: no they are what remains of a scooter. I land on the moving
surface and begin to free the octopus, which once free runs toward the
surface of the water.
Ah! something has hit me on the right knee.
I try to illuminate. Something rusty has landed on my
leg. That’s enough!
I use the GAV and slowly i begin to emerge, leaving that
horror behind me. I’m almost out of air but it is all ok. I’m sad, very sad.
Maybe scared. Scared of what I have seen. And sad because I have to tell my
son, who is waiting for me on the beach, what I have seen. When I finally
reach the sea surface I see a white sheet. There is a pillow too!
I awake!
A nightmare.
I must understand! In St. Irene island doesn’t have a 60
meters bottom.
The lump in my throat vanishes: luckly I don’t have to
tell my son about this last outrage perpetrated against the sea.
