I had not seen him extract his flask, but he now took two deep, shuddering swallows.
I sighed involuntarily, and then sighed again. I seemed to have been breathing rather inadequately during the end of his account.
'Ordinary thanks don't seem quite appropriate here,' I finally said. 'Though I do thank you. Instead I am going to make two guesses. The second is that you might prefer to sit quietly here alone, enjoying the evening, and defer the mild entertainment I was about to offer you to some other time. I'd be glad to be proved wrong…?'
'No. You're very perceptive, I welcome the diverse-the deferred offer.' His tongue stumbled a bit now, more from fatigue than anything he'd drunk. 'But what was your first guess?'
I rose and slowly paced a few meters to and fro, remembering to pick up my absurd snorkel bag. Then I turned and gazed out to the sea.
'I can't put it into words. It has something to do with the idea that the sea is still, well, strong. Perhaps it can take revenge? No, that's too simple. I don't know. I have only a feeling that our ordinary ideas of what may be coming on us may be-oh-not deep, or broad enough. I put this poorly. But perhaps the sea, or nature, will not die passively at our hands… perhaps death itself may turn or return in horrible life upon us, besides the more mechanical dooms…'
'Our thoughts are not so far apart,' the tall Belizan said. 'I welcome them to my night's agenda.'
'To which I now leave you, unless you've changed your mind?'
He shook his head. I hoisted his bag to the seat beside him. 'Don't forget this. I almost left mine.'
'Thanks. And don't you forget about dogs and mothers,' he grinned faintly.
'Goodnight.'
My footsteps echoed on the now deserted muelle left him sitting there, I was quite sure he was no longer smiling.
Nor was I.
