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reminded me an awful lot of the way Paul's blood spurted into the air as the sharks tore him limb from
limb.
Understandably, it was difficult to stay in the water with those kind of thoughts, but I made myself do
it. I was relieved that there weren't any Haitians dancing and chanting on the broken deck, but not
relieved enough to feel at ease in the murky red waters.
Even though the ship was ancient and demolished, it was clear that the vessel had been immaculately
detailed by its crew. Intricate voodoo symbols had been chiseled into the wood-curlicues, concentric
circles, and slanting lines. They might have been good luck curses or declarations of war. Since I
wasn't that familiar with Paul's religion, I could only speculate.
The thought of all this blood in the water awakening some ancient god didn't make me feel any better
as I swam through the wreckage. At any minute I expected to see an open mouth filled with fangs
rushing out at me. But the waters were devoid of life. There weren't even any fish swimming nearby.
I took that as a bad sign.
I had just entered the captain's quarters when I realized that this must have been a sort of makeshift
temple as well. This was very likely the place where Black Ngembe had conjured up the old gods.
This was also the approximate spot on the surface where Paul had met his fate, shouting Haitian curses
as he was devoured. I expected to see Damballah at any moment.
Yet, it wasn't a serpent that made me race for the surface. Rather, it was a black-skinned man with red
eyes staring back at me from the wreckage. I could be mistaken about the identity of the man but I
don't think so. Paul's journal was accompanied by various sketches of Black Ngembe. The man was
black as a cast-iron skillet and had rows upon rows of gold hoops running the length of his ears all the
way up into the cartilage. This was the same man I saw floating in the waters near the Damballah
wreckage.
***
Day 41:
I know I should head back for the mainland, but I can't bring myself to leave all that gold down there
for the fish. They don't need it.
So far I've brought up six sacks of assorted riches with no further sign of Black Ngembe. I could live
comfortably off of what I've salvaged, but I'm not satisfied with that. I want more. I m pretty sure that
what I saw was just a picture conjured up by my imagination and the environment. After all, I was
about a hundred feet down in water that looks like blood.
***
Night of Day 41:
I really don t even know why I m writing this as it will probably never see the light of day, but I know
I m in trouble now. The water around my boat is alive with sea snakes and blood. I know that
Damballah is getting ready for me.
***
Day 42:
The halo of blood around my ship is getting smaller. That is not to say that it s going away. It s
simply enclosing on my boat like two sides of a vice.
There's something else too. The waters are full of dead sharks.
***
Five Minutes Later:
Not sure how long I ll be able to write. Something's going on down there in the red waters. I can see
Paul with the rest of the Damballah's crew. There is a wound from a harpoon in his chest, but
otherwise he seems to be fine. I keep forgetting that he should have an oxygen tank or something with
him to help him breathe. Only he isn't breathing anymore. He's dead.
I think I understand why all of those sharks are dead now. Something they ate just didn't agree with
them.
The blood is closing in on me now. I know that the red-tinted waters are just a precursor of what's to
come. Although it defies all logic, Black Ngembe and his crew are chanting and performing rituals
down there on the broken deck of the Damballah. Paul, the sacrifice that I unwittingly offered, has
joined the shouting too. I keep waiting to see Damballah emerge from the ocean floor.
So far as the records indicated, Black Ngembe never ceased to appease Damballah with blood, and for
that, he was rewarded and continues to reap. It would seem that Paul was the one who awakened the
beast, and now, I will be the offering to satiate the mighty loa.
The subaquatic primal drumbeats grow louder as the water around me is satiated with red. I know that
sharks are the least of my worries.
And I'm right when I see Damballah rising up from the ship's wreckage like a bleak soul from a broken
body. It's every bit the Leviathan that's described in the book of Revelations.
The Haitian sailors spasm on the battered deck in what might be construed as religious fervor. Paul is
there among them, looking up at me. The harpoon wound in his chest is still fresh. Blood, the
lifeblood of Damballah, seeps out in stark red droplets. Paul is the reason for the resurrection of both
the sailors and their god. I will be the reason they stay alive.
It's puzzled me until now why Damballah allowed Black Ngembe and his crew to die given their
dedication to the rituals. But I think I understand a little better now that I see the sores that plague the
skin of the Haitians. As they rise up to me, their lips peeled back like rabid dogs, I can see the black
gums and the loose teeth that are tell-tale signs of scurvy. Damballah must have realized that the crew
would probably all die sooner or later anyway. Death, in that case, would be better. Or at least death at
the hands of Damballah. Paul's blood reanimated the zombie. And now they will live forever.
It seems that Damballah truly did take care of his followers.
Damballah is lingering around the ship, but the pirates will be at the surface soon. I shudder to think [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]