The Nautical Chart Part 4

"I think,'' said Coy, "that I'm going to go ahead with it."

The waiter nodded slowly, but said nothing. Coy left two coins on the counter, pocketed the other, and left.

4.

Lat.i.tude and Longitude.

"... but then I wonder what Lat.i.tude or Longitude I've got to?" (Alice had not the slightest idea what Lat.i.tude was, or Longitude either, but she thought they were nice grand words to say.) LEWIS CARROLL CARROLL, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Zas was stretched out on the floor, tail wagging, his head on Coy's shoe. A ray of sunlight was falling obliquely through the window, making the Labrador's gold hair gleam, as well as the compa.s.s, the parallel rulers, and the protractor on the table, purchased that morning at the Robinson bookstore. The rulers and protractor were Blundell Harling, and the compa.s.s a W & HC of bra.s.s and stainless steel, a model Coy had expressly asked for. There were also two soft-lead pencils, a gum eraser, a graph-paper notebook, the latest edition of the book of lighthouses, and the number 2 chart put out by the Naval Hydro-graphic Inst.i.tute, corresponding to the Spanish Mediterranean coastline. Tanger Soto had paid for everything with her credit card, and now it was all on the table in the sitting room of the apartment on Paseo Infanta Isabel. Urrutia's was stretched out on the floor, tail wagging, his head on Coy's shoe. A ray of sunlight was falling obliquely through the window, making the Labrador's gold hair gleam, as well as the compa.s.s, the parallel rulers, and the protractor on the table, purchased that morning at the Robinson bookstore. The rulers and protractor were Blundell Harling, and the compa.s.s a W & HC of bra.s.s and stainless steel, a model Coy had expressly asked for. There were also two soft-lead pencils, a gum eraser, a graph-paper notebook, the latest edition of the book of lighthouses, and the number 2 chart put out by the Naval Hydro-graphic Inst.i.tute, corresponding to the Spanish Mediterranean coastline. Tanger Soto had paid for everything with her credit card, and now it was all on the table in the sitting room of the apartment on Paseo Infanta Isabel. Urrutia's Atlas Atlas was also there, opened to chart number 12, and Coy was running his fingertips across the slightly textured surface of the thick, white paper, perfectly preserved after two hundred and fifty years of wars, catastrophes, fires, and shipwrecks. was also there, opened to chart number 12, and Coy was running his fingertips across the slightly textured surface of the thick, white paper, perfectly preserved after two hundred and fifty years of wars, catastrophes, fires, and shipwrecks. From Monte Cope to the Herradora or Horadada tower. From Monte Cope to the Herradora or Horadada tower. The survey embraced sixty miles of coast: on the horizontal, east to Cabo de Palos, and from there, on the vertical, north, like two sides of a rectangle, including the salt.w.a.ter lake of the Mar Menor, separated from the Mediterranean by the narrow sand spit of La Manga. Except for the error he had noted the first time he saw the chart-Palos was a couple of minutes to the south of its true lat.i.tude-the plotting of the coast was meticulous for its epoch. The wide, sandy bay of Mazarr6n west of Cabo Tinoso, the rocky coast and cove of Portus to the east, the port of Cartagena with the menacing little cross that marked the shoal of the island of Es...o...b..eras in the inlet, then more rocks to Palos point and the sinister Hormigas islands and their only shelter, the bay of Portman, which the chart showed still free of the mud from the mines that clogged it years later. The engraving was of an extraordinary quality, with light dots and fine lines to mark the various geographical features. And like the rest of the ill.u.s.trations in the atlas, it had a beautiful inset in the upper left corner: "Presented to our Sovereign King by his Excellency Sr. D. Zen6n de Somodevilla, Marques de la Ensenada, and executed by Captain Don Ignacio Urrutia Salcedo." Besides the date-"the year 1751"-the inset also had the notation, "The numbers for the soundings are Brazas of two Spanish The survey embraced sixty miles of coast: on the horizontal, east to Cabo de Palos, and from there, on the vertical, north, like two sides of a rectangle, including the salt.w.a.ter lake of the Mar Menor, separated from the Mediterranean by the narrow sand spit of La Manga. Except for the error he had noted the first time he saw the chart-Palos was a couple of minutes to the south of its true lat.i.tude-the plotting of the coast was meticulous for its epoch. The wide, sandy bay of Mazarr6n west of Cabo Tinoso, the rocky coast and cove of Portus to the east, the port of Cartagena with the menacing little cross that marked the shoal of the island of Es...o...b..eras in the inlet, then more rocks to Palos point and the sinister Hormigas islands and their only shelter, the bay of Portman, which the chart showed still free of the mud from the mines that clogged it years later. The engraving was of an extraordinary quality, with light dots and fine lines to mark the various geographical features. And like the rest of the ill.u.s.trations in the atlas, it had a beautiful inset in the upper left corner: "Presented to our Sovereign King by his Excellency Sr. D. Zen6n de Somodevilla, Marques de la Ensenada, and executed by Captain Don Ignacio Urrutia Salcedo." Besides the date-"the year 1751"-the inset also had the notation, "The numbers for the soundings are Brazas of two Spanish varas." varas." Coy's finger paused at that line, and he looked questioningly at Tanger. Coy's finger paused at that line, and he looked questioningly at Tanger.

'A Spanish vara," vara," she said, "was made up of three of the so-called Burgos feet. That was eighty-three and a half centimeters. Half of what you sailors call fathoms. Six feet made one Spanish she said, "was made up of three of the so-called Burgos feet. That was eighty-three and a half centimeters. Half of what you sailors call fathoms. Six feet made one Spanish braza." braza."

"One meter sixty-seven centimeters." "That's correct."

Coy nodded, turning back to the chart to study the small numbers that marked the elevation of sandbanks in the vicinity of anchorages, capes, and reefs. Soundings were electronic now, and in a half second they provided the exact relief of the bottom of the sea. In the mid-eighteenth century, however, that data could be obtained only through the laborious task of sounding by hand, with a long cord ending in a lead weight. If the depths marked on the Urrutia chart were in fathoms, he would have to transpose each of these measurements into feet, to make them conform to contemporary Spanish charts. Every two units on Urrutia's chart would therefore convert into approximately eleven feet.

Two empty coffee cups sat at one side of the table, beside the pencils and gum eraser. There was also a clean ashtray and English cigarettes. Music was coming from the tape player-something old and very pleasant, perhaps French or Italian, a melody that made Coy think of gardens with geometrically trimmed hedges, stone fountains, and palaces at the end of straight allees. He studied her face as she bent over the chart. It went with her, he thought. That music was as appropriate as the casual khaki shirt she was wearing open over a white T-shirt, a man's shirt, military, with large pockets. Informal clothes looked as good on her as more formal ones, the jeans with slight wrinkles at the groin and knee, the bare ankles-also covered with freckles, he had discovered with stupefied delight-and tennis shoes.

Focusing again on the chart, Coy studied the scales of lat.i.tude and longitude. Ever since the Phoenicians began to cross the Mediterranean, all nautical science had been directed toward making it easier for the sailor to identify his position. Once his position was established, it became possible to know what course to follow and what its dangers were. The charts and atlases were more than mere guides, they were manuals for applying astronomic, geographic, and chronometric calculations, which allowed the sailor, either directly or by reckoning, to ascertain his location on the meridians-lat.i.tude north or south in relation to the equator- and on the parallels-longitude east or west in relation to the corresponding meridian. Lat.i.tude and longitude helped the seaman situate himself on a hydrographic chart, using the scales in the margins. On modern charts these scales are detailed in degrees, minutes, and tenths, of which each minute is equal to a conventional nautical mile of 6,076 feet. Position on the parallels was established by using the scale that appeared on the upper and lower borders of each chart, and the position on the meridians through those on the left and right. Then with the aid of a compa.s.s and parallel rulers you extended the lines of each position and the ship would be at their intersection-if the calculations had been correctly done. The matter was complicated by additional factors such as magnetic declination, ocean currents, and other elements that required complementary calculations. There also was a great difference between navigating when using the flat charts of the ancients, on which meridians and parallels measured the same on paper, and the nautical charts that were more representative of the true shape of the earth, with distances between meridians shortening as you approached the poles. From Ptolemy to Mercator, the transition had been long and complex, and hydrographic surveys did not begin to reach perfection until the end of the eighteenth century and the application of the marine chronometer for determining longitude. As for lat.i.tude, that had been established since ancient times through observation and astronomic declination- the forestaff the octant, the modem s.e.xtant.

"What was the Dei Gloria's Dei Gloria's position when she went down?" position when she went down?"

"Four degrees and fifty-one minutes east longitude... The lat.i.tude was thirty-seven degrees and thirty-two minutes north."

She had answered without stumbling. Coy nodded and bent over to establish those coordinates on the chart spread out on the table. As he felt Coy move, Zas lifted his head, then again rested it on Coy's shoe.

"They must have established their position by taking bearings on the land," said Coy. "That's most likely if they were sailing within sight of the coast. I can't imagine them shooting the sun with an octant in the midst of being chased down. The question is whether they set their location by reckoning. That's always relative. You calculate speed, direction, drift, and miles sailed. Errors can be very great. In the era of sail, they called a location obtained by reckoning the 'point of fantasy.'"

She looked at him. Serious, reflective. Attentive to every word.

"Have you sailed much?"

"Yes. Especially when I was young. For one year I was a student aboard the Estrella del Sur, Estrella del Sur, a fore-topsail schooner turned into a a fore-topsail schooner turned into a training ship. I also spent a lot of time on the Carpanta, Carpanta, a friend's sailboat__ And I read books, of course. Novels. History." a friend's sailboat__ And I read books, of course. Novels. History."

'Always about the sea?"

'Always."

'And dry land?"

"I preferred to have land twenty miles behind me."

Tanger nodded, as if those words confirmed something.

"The battle was after dawn," she said finally. "They had light."

"Then it's most likely they took land references. Bearings. All they would have to do is cross two to find their position. I suppose you know how that's done."

"More or less." She smiled uncertainly. "Though I've never seen a real sailor do it."

Coy picked up the protractor, a clear plastic circle that had 360 degrees of circ.u.mference numbered in tens around the edge of the arc. That allowed direction to be calculated with precision by transferring indications on the ship's magnetic needle to the paper of a nautical chart.

"It's easy. You look for a cape or something you can identify." He placed the gum eraser on the chart, representing an imaginary ship, and moved the protractor toward the nearest coast. "Then you correlate it with your onboard compa.s.s, the needle, and you get, for example, 45 N. So you go to the chart and draw a line from that point in the opposite direction, to 2250. You see? Then you take another reference, one separated by a clear angle from the first: another cape, a mountain, whatever. If that gives you, for example, 3150, you drawyour line on the chart toward 1350. Your ship is where the lines cross. If the land references are clear, the method is reliable. And if you complete it with a third bearing, better still."

Tanger's lips had tightened with concentration. She was staring at the eraser as if it were actually a ship sailing along the coast printed on the paper. Coy picked up a pencil and followed the drawing on the chart.

"This coast has shoals and sandy beaches," he explained, "but most of all areas of craggy slopes with tall rocks. There are lots of references for visual charting. I imagine the navigator of the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria could have done it easily. Maybe he did it during the night, if there was a moon and he could make out the coast_____ Although that's more difficult. In those days they didn't have the lighthouses we have now. A tower with a beacon at most. But I doubt there was anything there." could have done it easily. Maybe he did it during the night, if there was a moon and he could make out the coast_____ Although that's more difficult. In those days they didn't have the lighthouses we have now. A tower with a beacon at most. But I doubt there was anything there."

I'm sure there wasn't, he said to himself, looking at the chart. I'm sure that on that night of the third and early morning of the fourth of February, 1767, 1767, there wasn't any light or other helpful reference, nothing except maybe the line of the coast standing out in the moonlight, off the port side. He could imagine the scene: full sail aloft, the ship running at her best speed, the wind whistling in the rigging and the deck of the brigantine heeling to starboard, the sound of the water close to the rail, and to windward, glints of moonbeams on a choppy sea. A reliable man at the wheel, and on deck a lookout, tense and alert, staring back into the darkness. Not a single light on board, and the captain standing on the p.o.o.p, his worried face turned up toward the ghostly pyramid of sail, listening to the creaking and wondering whether the yards and rigging damaged by the storm would hold out. Silent, so that none of the men who are counting on him will sense his uneasiness, but mentally calculating distance, course, set, and drift, with the anguish of someone who knows that the wrong decision will carry the ship and her crew to disaster. He clearly does not know his exact position, and this increases his apprehension. Coy imagines him casting glances toward the black line of the coast two or three miles distant, close but out of reach, as dangerous in the dark as the enemy's guns behind him; his crew too was looking into the night, where, sometimes invisible, sometimes hazily glimpsed as a vague shadow slicing through the waves, the xebec corsair was giving chase. And again the captain glances toward the coast, at the night ahead and the sea at the stern, and then again overhead, alert to the creak of the rigging or groan of the topmasts that freezes the heart of the men bunched windward of the shrouds, black, silent silhouettes in the darkness. Men who, like the captain himself-all except one-will be dead at this time tomorrow. "How does it look?" there wasn't any light or other helpful reference, nothing except maybe the line of the coast standing out in the moonlight, off the port side. He could imagine the scene: full sail aloft, the ship running at her best speed, the wind whistling in the rigging and the deck of the brigantine heeling to starboard, the sound of the water close to the rail, and to windward, glints of moonbeams on a choppy sea. A reliable man at the wheel, and on deck a lookout, tense and alert, staring back into the darkness. Not a single light on board, and the captain standing on the p.o.o.p, his worried face turned up toward the ghostly pyramid of sail, listening to the creaking and wondering whether the yards and rigging damaged by the storm would hold out. Silent, so that none of the men who are counting on him will sense his uneasiness, but mentally calculating distance, course, set, and drift, with the anguish of someone who knows that the wrong decision will carry the ship and her crew to disaster. He clearly does not know his exact position, and this increases his apprehension. Coy imagines him casting glances toward the black line of the coast two or three miles distant, close but out of reach, as dangerous in the dark as the enemy's guns behind him; his crew too was looking into the night, where, sometimes invisible, sometimes hazily glimpsed as a vague shadow slicing through the waves, the xebec corsair was giving chase. And again the captain glances toward the coast, at the night ahead and the sea at the stern, and then again overhead, alert to the creak of the rigging or groan of the topmasts that freezes the heart of the men bunched windward of the shrouds, black, silent silhouettes in the darkness. Men who, like the captain himself-all except one-will be dead at this time tomorrow. "How does it look?"

Coy blinked, as if he had just returned from the deck of the brigantine. Tanger was observing him closely, awaiting a reply. It was obvious that she had gone over everything forward and backward, but she wanted to hear it from his mouth. He shrugged.

"Our first problem is that the crew of the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria set their position on this chart, not on a modern one. And we have to chart ours on modern ones, even though we use this one as a point of departure. What we need to do is calculate the differences between Urrutia's chart and contemporary ones. Measure the exact degrees, and all that. We already know that Cabo de Palos is a couple of minutes too far south on the Urrutia." He indicated the spot with the pencil. 'As you can see, this line of coast from Cabo de Agua was drawn as if it were nearly horizontal, when in fact it rises a little obliquely to the northeast. Look where La Hormiga bay is on the Urrutia, and where it is on the modern chart." set their position on this chart, not on a modern one. And we have to chart ours on modern ones, even though we use this one as a point of departure. What we need to do is calculate the differences between Urrutia's chart and contemporary ones. Measure the exact degrees, and all that. We already know that Cabo de Palos is a couple of minutes too far south on the Urrutia." He indicated the spot with the pencil. 'As you can see, this line of coast from Cabo de Agua was drawn as if it were nearly horizontal, when in fact it rises a little obliquely to the northeast. Look where La Hormiga bay is on the Urrutia, and where it is on the modern chart."

He took the compa.s.s, measured the distance from Cape Palos to the nearest parallel, and then placed the compa.s.s on the vertical scale at the left of the chart to get the number in miles. Tanger followed his every move, her hand motionless on the table, very close to Coy's arm.

"Let's calculate exactly...." Coy noted the figures in pencil on a page of the notebook. "You see? We convert Urrutia's 3735'.

Yes. 3738' true lat.i.tude. In fact, 3737' and thirty or forty seconds, which, expressed in figures on a modern nautical chart, where seconds are represented as decimal fractions added to the minutes, gives us 3737.5'. Which makes a two-and-a-half-mile error here at the tip of Cabo de Palos. Maybe even a mile at Cabo Tinoso. That difference is essential when we're dealing with a wreck... With a sunken ship. That could place it near the coast, at sixty or seventy feet, where it would be easy to reach, or it could be too far, with soundings that keep going up past three hundred, five hundred feet, or more, making it impossible to dive, or even locate it." He paused, turning to her. Still bent over the chart, she was studying the numbers of the soundings marked on the chart. It was obvious that she knew all that very well. Maybe she needs someone to confirm it aloud, Coy thought. Maybe she wants someone to tell her that it's possible. The question remains: why me?

"Do you think you could dive to one hundred sixty-five feet?" she asked.

"I suppose so. I've gone a little deeper than two hundred, although the safe limit is one hundred thirty. But I was twenty years younger then___ The problem is that at that depth you have very little time below, at least with normal compressed-air equipment. You don't dive?"

"No. It terrifies me. And yet..."

Coy continued to fit pieces together. Sailor. Diver. Knowledge of navigation under sail. It was dear, he told himself, that she didn't have him here because she was fascinated by his conversation. So don't get any ideas, kid. She's not interested in your pretty face. Supposing your face had ever been pretty.

"How far down do you think you could go?" Tanger wanted to know.

"You're going to let me go down alone, without watching what I do"

"I have faith in you."

"That's what bothers me. That you have too much faith in me."

When he said that, she finally turned toward him. d.a.m.n, he thought. You would guess she spends her nights planning every gesture. His eyes were on the silver chain that disappeared into the neck of the white T-shirt, headed in the direction of suggestive curves molded beneath the open shirt. Not without effort, he repressed the impulse to pull out the chain and look at it.

"Unless you use special equipment, the deepest a diver can go without problems is two hundred sixty feet," he explained. 'And that's very deep. Besides, if you're working you get tired and use up more air, and that complicates things. You have to use mixtures and detailed decompression tables."

"It isn't very deep. At least that's what I believe."

"You've already calculated it?"

"Within a range of possibilities."

"But you seem very sure."

Coy smiled. Only half a smile, but she didn't seem to like it.

"If I were very sure I wouldn't need you."

He leaned back in his chair. The movement disturbed Zas, who got up and gave him a couple of affectionate licks on the arm.

"In that case," he hazarded, "I may be able to go down. This matter of positions is always relative, though, even using modern charts and GPS. It isn't easy to locate a ship, or what remains of one. Much less a ship that sank two and a half centuries ago. It depends on the nature of the bottom and many other things. The wood will have rotted to h.e.l.l, and the whole wreck may be covered with mud. And then there are the currents, poor visibility...."

Tanger had picked up the cigarettes, but all she did was turn the box over and over. She contemplated Hero's picture.

"Do you have much experience as a diver?"

"I have some. I took a course at the naval diving center, and a couple of summers I worked cleaning ships' hulls with a wire brush, blind to anything farther away than my nose. During vacations, I also dived for Roman amphoras with Pedro el Piloto."

'And who is Pedro el Piloto?"

"The owner of the Carpanta. Carpanta. A friend." A friend."

"That's prohibited now."

"Having friends?"

"Bringing up amphoras."

She had set the cigarettes down and was watching Coy. He thought he saw a spark of interest in her eyes.

"I knew that at the time," he admitted, "but the secrecy made it exciting. Besides, in a port where you're known, none of the guardias guardias check your seabag when you come back from a dive. You say Hi, he says Hi, you smile, and that's it. Those days, just off Cartagena, the coast was a huge field of archaeological artifacts. I was especially looking for necks of amphoras, which are very beautiful, and other vessels. I used a Ping-Pong paddle to fan away the sand that covered them. And I found dozens." check your seabag when you come back from a dive. You say Hi, he says Hi, you smile, and that's it. Those days, just off Cartagena, the coast was a huge field of archaeological artifacts. I was especially looking for necks of amphoras, which are very beautiful, and other vessels. I used a Ping-Pong paddle to fan away the sand that covered them. And I found dozens."

"What did you do with them?"

"Gave them to my girlfriends."

That wasn't true, at least not completely. Once back on land, with the amphoras discreetly spirited past the police, El Piloto and Coy had sold them to tourists and antiquarians, splitting the proceeds. As for the girlfriends, Tanger didn't ask whether there had been a lot or a few. In truth, Coy remembered only one with special affection from those days. Her name was Eve, and she was North American, the daughter of a technician at the Es...o...b..eras refinery. A healthy, blonde, tan girl with very white teem and the shoulders of a windsurfer, with whom he spent a summer while he was still an apprentice. She laughed happily at the least thing, had beautiful hips, and was pa.s.sive and tender when they made love in hidden coves tucked among steep black rocks, with the sea licking their legs and their skin coated with brine and sand. For a while, Coy carried the taste of her flesh and her s.e.x on his fingers and lips. For a few years he had also kept a photograph of Eve by the sea, with bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, wet hair, and her head tilted back drinking from a wineskin that left dribbles like blood between her small, insolent, girlish b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Like any good young gringa, gringa, her historical memory, only two or three centuries old, made it difficult for her to accept that the clay fragment Coy had given her from a wreck, the neck and handles of an elegant oil amphora from the first century, had for two thousand years lain at the bottom of the sea on whose sh.o.r.e they made love that summer. her historical memory, only two or three centuries old, made it difficult for her to accept that the clay fragment Coy had given her from a wreck, the neck and handles of an elegant oil amphora from the first century, had for two thousand years lain at the bottom of the sea on whose sh.o.r.e they made love that summer.

"You know those waters well, then," said Tanger.

It wasn't a question but a reflection. She seemed satisfied, and he made a vague gesture toward the chart.

"In some places I do. Especially between Cabo Tinoso and Cabo de Palos. I even dived on a couple of shipwrecks_____ But I never heard of the Dei Gloria." Dei Gloria."

"No one has, for several reasons. First of all, there was some mystery on board, which was proved by the limited information they got from the ship's boy, along with his strange disappearance.

As well as the position he gave the authorities__ "

'a.s.suming it was authentic."

"Let's a.s.sume that, since we don't have anything else." 'And if it isn't?"

Tanger raised her eyebrows and lay back in her chair with a sigh.

"Then you and I will have wasted our time."

Suddenly she seemed exhausted, as if Coy's appraisal had made her consider the possibility of failure. She was leaning back, frowning at the chart for only a moment. Then she set a firm hand on the table, stuck out her chin, and said there were other reasons no one had searched for the ship. The position the ship's boy gave was in an area difficult to get to in 1767. Later, technical developments made that kind of dive easy, but the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was already buried in files and dust, and no one remembered her. was already buried in files and dust, and no one remembered her.

"Until you came along," Coy pointed out.

"That's right. It could have been anyone, but it was me. I found the doc.u.ment and I got to work on it. What else was I going to do?" With her fingertips, she stroked, almost affectionately, the Hero on her cigarette box. "It was one of those things you dream about when you're a girl. The sea, a treasure..."

"You said there aren't any treasures to be found."

"That's true. There aren't. At least in silver ingots, doubloons, or pieces of eight. But the enchantment is still there- I'm going to show you something."

She seemed different, younger, as she got up and went to the bookshelf She moved with a vigor and decisiveness that set the tails of the open military shirt flying behind her. Her eyes were a deeper blue than ever and seemed to be smiling when she came back to the table carrying two of Tintin's adventure books in her hands: The Secret of the Unicorn The Secret of the Unicorn and and Red Rackham's Treasure. Red Rackham's Treasure.

"The other day you told me you aren't a Tintin fan. Is that right?"

Coy nodded in response to the strange question, and said, "Not at all, definitely not." His favorites had been Treasure Island, Jerry on the Island, Treasure Island, Jerry on the Island, and other books about the sea by Stevenson, Verne, Defoe, Marryat, and London, before he moved on lock, stock, and barrel to and other books about the sea by Stevenson, Verne, Defoe, Marryat, and London, before he moved on lock, stock, and barrel to Moby-d.i.c.k. Moby-d.i.c.k. Conrad came later, quite naturally, with Conrad came later, quite naturally, with Heart of Darkness Heart of Darkness and with time. and with time.

"Is it really true you read only books about the sea?"

"Yes."

"Honest?"

"Honest. I've read all of them. Or nearly all of them." "Which is your favorite?"

"I don't have a favorite. None is separate from the others. All books that involve the sea, from the Odyssey Odyssey to the latest novel by Patrick O'Brian, are interconnected, like a library." to the latest novel by Patrick O'Brian, are interconnected, like a library."

"Like Borges's library..."

She smiled and Coy shrugged, a simple gesture.

"I don't know. I never read anything by Borges. But it is true that the sea is like a library."

"Books describing things that happen on dry land are interesting too."

"If you say so___ "

At that, clutching the two books to her chest, she began to laugh. She seemed like a different woman, laughing openly, happily, and then she said, "Thundering typhoons!" She deepened her voice and spoke like a one-eyed, peg-leg pirate with a parrot on his shoulder. Then, as the sun turned the asymmetrical tips of her hair even brighter gold, she sat down next to Coy and again opened the brightly colored books and began to turn the pages. "The sea is here too," she said. "Look And adventure is still possible. You can get drunk a thousand times with Captain Haddock-Loch Lomond whiskey, in case you didn't know, holds no secrets for me. I also parachuted over a mysterious island with the green flag of the EFSR in my arms, crossed the border between Syldavia and Borduria more times than you can count, swore by the mustache of Kurvi Tasch, sailed on the Karaboudjan, Karaboudjan, the the Ramona, Ramona, the the Speedol Star, Speedol Star, the the Aurora, Aurora, and the and the Sinus Sinus-more ships than you, I'm sure. I searched for Red Rackhams treasure, westward, farther westward, and walked on the moon while Thompson and Thomson, with their green hair, performed as downs in the Hiparco Circus. And when I'm lonely, Coy, when I'm very, very, very lonely, then I light one of your friend Hero's cigarettes, make love with Sam Spade, and dream of Maltese falcons while through the smoke I summon my old friends Abdallah, Alcazar, Joryon Wagg, Chester, Zorrino, Skut, Oliveira de Figueira, and listen to the CD of the jewel song from Faust Faust on an old Bianca Castafiore recording." on an old Bianca Castafiore recording."

As she spoke she set the two books on the table. They were old editions, one with a blue binding and the other green. The frontispiece of the first showed Tintin, Snowy, and Captain Haddock in a plumed hat, and a galleon under full sail. In the second, Tintin and Snowy were skimming along the bottom of the sea in a submarine shaped like a shark.

"That's Professor Calculus's submarine," said Tanger. "When I was a girl, I saved my money from birthdays, saint's days, and Christmas gifts to buy these books, pinching pennies as hard as Scrooge himself. You know who Ebenezer Scrooge is?"

'A sailor?"