|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Fifteen hundred miles due south, Jerry Mars was dressed for Nature. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
His silver spandex swimsuit and matching top were slashed with blues and pinks that color-coordinated with his mask and fins. Reef perfect. A man alive in Nature had Nature alive in him, Jerry believed. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The beach was nearly empty. The only people within a hundred feet were the old man, his daughter and his granddaughter. Nobody was in the water. The morning rain had held back the crowd. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jerry yawned and made a wide stretch. The sun was back out and the bank of storm clouds was receding over the sea. Time to get wet. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He removed a tube of Number 30 sunscreen from his tote bag and slathered his arms and shoulders, face and legs. The Caribbean sun was deceptive, especially in the cool of the water. Handsome as it was, a tan wasn't worth the price of premature aging or risks of melahoma. Jerry was very particular about his health. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He picked up his snorkeling equipment and walked down the sand. The old gent with the white hair was on his knees making a sandcastle with the little girl. The mother was sitting in a short beach chair reading the New York Times. The man's back was reddish brown and beaded with perspiration. He looked ready for a dip. Fins and mask sat nearby. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jerry walked by the man, smearing spit on the glass face plate to prevent fogging. He slipped on his fins, adjusted the mask and snorkel, then dove into the blue-green surf. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In a matter of minutes he was out to the little island that put |
|
|
|
|
|