The Sunken Ship

"Here we are, in the waters off the coast of Hawaii, watching my uncle enter that sunken ship. It is a giant brown ship balancing precariously on a ledge. Behind me, my mother is seething."

"Sharks swim in the not-too-far distance, looming grey shapes that terrify me," said Lindy. "Down below, my son Ansel and I can see red sea anemones, but in all this silt, all this murky green water, I don't want to swim into that falling ship. I hate my brother, the furniture maker, for going in there, and thus pressuring us to follow him."

"All the while knowing my mother does not want me to go near that ship, which is falling, I approach it," said Ansel, "I let my flippers flap. Enclosed in my scuba mask, I breathe in. I cannot hear anything except my own breathing. Silver bubbles rise in front of my face like medallions. A perfectly blue angelfish swims past, then an orange fish striped with white. I can see the salt in this part of the ocean the way an astronaut must see the stars as she swims through those daunting white bodies of light.

"Inside the ship, there is a vast room that must have been a dining room. Grey-green stalactites hang from the ceiling. Is this how things look when they have been resting at the bottom of the ocean for a hundred years? Do all things submerged eventually accrue grey-green slime? I see a chair," said Ansel, "I see a chandelier. Behind me, my mother enters."

"Goose poop is what this room reminds me of," said Lindy, "it looks as though this entire room, with its tables, its clocks, has been rained on by goose poop. My son lifts the cushion of a submerged chair. At fifteen years old, he has finished one year of high school. He has moved from his room upstairs to a room in the basement, where a faux tiger-skin rug spreads across his floor. I cook fish sticks for him often, which he loves. Why is he here, taunting me, disseminating these bits of mold as a torn pillow disseminates feathers?"

"I see the mold float in the air like spores," said Ansel, "all the while knowing my mother is watching me. Let her watch, I say. I love my mother but I love to torment her, just as she has long tormented me. When I was much younger than I am now, she took me to a Mexican restaurant with her boyfriend, the man she broke up with my father for. We drank iceless water out of red wax cups. A mariachi band played nearby. My mother slipped one of her shoes off and slid her naked foot in between the legs of the man she was dating. I pretended not to notice. I ate my chips and salsa as she massaged his privates. I torment her, now, as she has long tormented me."

"Look at him, dropping the cushion, swimming like a seal toward the door of this room. It is hot in this mask—I wish I could scream. My son swims through the door and I, older and less in shape, am left to follow him, sluggishly. I kick my flippers. Toward the door I go."

"This was probably once a library," said Ansel. "These shelves are rotten. In the back of my mind wondering where my uncle is, it occurs to me I want my mother to be safe. I don't want her to get hurt down here, swimming from room to room. Still keeping my distance from her, because I have always been stubborn, I remember how she once said abugadabugadah to me when she was saying goodnight. That word was nonsense, but that night, in my bedroom with the train wallpaper, I didn't have bad dreams. Since I was a boy, I have been haunted by nightmares. Anteaters chase me through thick jungles. Superstitiously, I began saying that word to myself every night before trying to fall asleep."

"My nephew and my sister cannot see me right now...