Two
Underwater, Nemo felt the river current around him like a thick wind. His feet sank into the bottom, meeting smooth rocks, slick mud, and loose sand. The shimmering surface high above him filtered the sunlight as if it came through stained glass.
Each breath required all the strength of his diaphragm to fill his lungs. He had to exhale as well, pushing the used air back through the exhaust valve. Though the wine-sour helmet became stifling, he continued through the murky Loire. Sweat ran like tears down his temples and cheeks. In front of him, he could discern shadowy, barnacle-encrusted pilings. River weeds curled like peacock feathers around boulders that floods had tossed downstream.
As he strode ahead, Nemo thought of Captain Cook journeying to uncharted islands, Lewis and Clark forging their way across North America, Willem Barents trapped all winter long in a wooden hut high in the Arctic.
And here he was, André Nemo, treading another new realm … a place where visitors to drowned Atlantis might have felt at home. He wished Verne could have joined him. It would have been simple enough to make two sets of the breathing apparatus, though he suspected his friend would find some excuse. Verne’s imagination had always been greater than his desire for true adventure.
Determined, Nemo pushed on and fought to take breaths as the hollow tube stretched farther from fresh air. The current turned colder and darker, but he pressed on. Overhead, the curved gray shapes of hulls were like the shadows of floating whales. Booming vibrations—the pounding sounds of heavy work above—echoed through the water.
He saw what must have been the underbelly of the Cynthia, flat-bottomed to increase the size of her hold. Nemo’s father claimed the vessel boasted a cargo capacity of 1500 tons. Her timbers were well caulked, the exterior waxed to deter barnacles and weeds. Above the waterline, the bow was rounded and the stern squared for added stability on the stormy Atlantic, but underneath, the bow had a sharp edge to cut through the water with great speed. By dropping two of the stones at his waist, Nemo could have floated up to the bottom keel—where only a few hull planks would separate him from his father at work.
It had become too difficult to breathe, though. Over the distance, the air line had begun to kink, and some of his seals had developed slow leaks. Droplets of water spat into his helmet with each heavy breath.
Before he could turn back toward shore, the stifling air in his helmet forced him to drop his belt stones. Nemo rose to the surface, fumbling to undo the seal at his neck. Steam fogged the window glass.
As his head and shoulders bobbed above the water, Nemo tore off the bladder helmet, drew in a huge gulp of air, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. Since he hadn’t used his knife to cut it off, he could use the apparatus again.
Today he had accomplished an amazing thing. He would return, of course. But he would have to make modifications, widen the breathing hole, do something to improve air circulation. The underwater world remained a grand mystery.…
He searched the shore and spotted Verne waving at him. Then he noticed the lovely Caroline Aronnax beside his red-headed friend. Grinning and feeling just a bit cocky, Nemo waved back.