“I was going to show them to you.”
He unfolded one of the drawings, flattened it with his hand. “What does this mean, do you think?”
“I wish I could tell you.”
“These spirals, this tern, they don’t mean anything?”
“I’m sure it means something—”
“But you don’t know what it is. Okay, fine.” He shoved the drawings in my direction. Jabbed his finger at them. Lowered his voice to a growl. “From now on you tell me every goddamned thing about this girl. Every word you’ve translated. Everything she does. You show me every drawing, got it? When she draws it. You tell me what you think it means, every guess, no matter how crazy you think it sounds.”
“Sure.” I reached out to gather the drawings. He grabbed my wrist, yanked me in tight, my face kissing close. “No more games, understand?”
We locked eyes in the airless room. My wrist felt like a twig in his grip.
“Bahl,” came Sigrid’s soft voice. I jerked my arm free.
She stood at the door, bundled head to toe in her ersatz polar gear. How long had she been standing there?
“You ready?” I said, injecting levity into my voice.
Unsmiling, she looked from me to Wyatt, then back to me, before nodding her head. Wrist aching, I signed us out on the register, Wyatt’s eyes burning holes into me until I hauled the door shut behind us.
fifteen
Watching Raj prepare to dive was like witnessing a holy ritual. With solemn quiet, by the unearthly blue light of the Dome, he unhooked the red-and-black dry suit that hung from the ceiling, its alien-like red gloves dangling from the sleeves. He sat on a folding chair, flopping the suit out in front of him. Starting with the legs, he worked the rubber fabric over two layers of long underwear. Nora helped him with each step, double-checking every snap and hook until finally assisting him with the long zipper that crossed his chest from hip to shoulder. The gaping blue hole where he would soon disappear leered up at us like a deathly eye; it seemed the way to every subconscious horror, the place where nightmares lived and multiplied, laughing among themselves in icy delight, yet that’s where he was headed, with intent, reverence, and apparent interest. I couldn’t have admired him more.
Though clearly he and Nora had memorized each step, Nora consulted the illustrated, bulleted list. She whispered her way through every zip and valve, each adjustment and setting. Raj may as well have been on his way to the moon.
Bug-eyed, Sigrid sat next to me on a bench watching the transformation. Suited up for the most part, Raj paused in his preparation and excused himself, crossing to a corner of the Dome where a towel-sized, colorful mat had been laid out. Facing away from us, he got down on his knees and prayed quietly to himself, occasionally resting his forehead on its vibrant weave. Nora laid out the rest of the gear on a rubber mat: air tank, weight belt, fins, goggles, headgear, short-handled knife, flashlight.
Satisfied with her work, she lifted a kettle off a Coleman stove and poured water into a couple of cups. “Want some cocoa?” She glanced over at Sigrid, who nodded with her whole body.
Sigrid chugged the chocolate, handing Nora back the cup as if fully expecting a refill. Nora laughed and gave her one.
Raj finished his prayers and poured himself some cocoa, his face distorted by the tight rubber headpiece.
Sigrid wiped her mouth, said, “Seal Man.” No smile or laughter this time. More like awe.
Raj squeaked on his swimming fins and slapped the few steps to the edge of the hole, where he sat on a metal stool. Nora circled him, adjusting his headgear before heaving the tank from the ice floor and hooking it over his shoulders.
Sigrid jumped from her seat, caught my elbow, and led me over to one of the remaining two dry suits suspended from hooks attached to the ceiling supports. She took my hand and placed it on one of the sleeves.
“You want me to dive?” I laughed.
Nora smiled. “That spare suit would fit you perfectly.”
“No,” I said to Sigrid. I pointed to Raj. “Seal Man. Not Seal Bahl.”
She shook her head and reached into one of her mittens, unfolding a scrap of paper; she had torn the snake image from one of her drawings. She squirreled it into my hand and closed my fingers around it.
“No, I could never—”
She squeezed my fingers tight around the crumpled paper, said, “Taimagiakaman.”
I knew this word… I gasped and got down to my knees to be at her eye level.
“Sigrid.” My hand trembled as I drew back wisps of hair from her face. “Listen to me. Say that word again, please, Sigrid.”