368 I N A G U A 



ceiling where the surf was breaking. There the water was be- 

 ing churned into livid mercury. Great windrows of melted 

 platinum and frosty aluminum swirled into one another, mark- 

 ing the positions of large bubbles or fine atomized froth. It was 

 a scene in monotone. Silvers, grays and liquid blacks were the 

 pigments. Lustrous near the surface, they became more and 

 more vague and indeterminate as they faded toward the depths 

 until at forty feet there was nothing tangible, nor even sug- 

 gested. 



The coral forest with its upper branches wreathed in ani- 

 mated silver held the center of attraction. During the day the 

 glory of upside down surf, brilliant as it was with all the hues 

 of the spectrum, was dulled and overwhelmed by the color of 

 the reef beneath. In the moonlight the reverse was true. Then 

 all the fury, the power and the turmoil of breaking water were 

 expressed in one medium— cold icy light. Boiling, surging, 

 frothing and tearing into a thousand fragments the breakers 

 spread out as a great gleaming line reaching across the zenith. 

 But again, as in the daytime, the silence was overwhelming. 

 More than the sight of rushing, glowing bubbles this created a 

 sense of awe. It seemed impossible that there should be so much 

 violence and no sound. But then, when I looked downwards, 

 away from the turmoil and the froth, down toward the un- 

 fathomable depths, I knew this was as it should be. Forever 

 drowned, forever separated from the upper air, this world had 

 no place for sound. No place for sound and only a little for 

 light. A few yards away, a few feet down the slope both light 

 and sound were vanquished; down below was only still empty 

 darkness. A chill sensation crept over my flesh. Shuddering a 

 little, I tore my eyes from the depths and concentrated on the 

 coral. 



As in the daytime, and unlike my first nocturnal dive, hun- 

 dreds of fish were moving about the branches. But they were 



