Philosofish
By Jack Parvid
Legs scissoring among spires of algae and mollusc-bedizened boulders, Sarah weaves, lithe and powerful, ahead of me. New to diving, I’m struggling to keep up—and now as her flippers vanish behind a rock, she leaves my only clue: a thread of silver bubbles.
On the streets of Athens I’m at ease with my phrasebook Greek; here in Crete, ten metres beneath the waves, where words can be uttered but not heard, I’m afraid of monsters—and not only here: I never swim anywhere without a qualm about what might lurk below. So deep beneath the waves, monstrous myself now, can I put my fears aside?
