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Showing posts from July, 2004

The Kiss

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  “Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that someone had caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep. When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before.” The Kiss By Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)
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a tale of two divers

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Elwyn Davies tells the story of the days he was stationed in North Africa during the Second World War. In the harbor were 187 sunken ships and it was the task of his men to send divers into these ships, to find the safes and blast them open to find documents that pertained to the enemy and his plans. In those days the divers wore the old-type diving suits, not like those used today. Every diver had a buddy and every buddy had a reserve buddy. Across the harbor at this station were chalk cliffs where caves and tunnels had been dug in. One such cave had three chambers: the innermost chamber housed the divers, the middle chamber held communications and in the outer chamber, the buddies stood waiting. When the diver went into the water his #1 buddy would sit on a three-legged stool by the water’s edge holding in his left hand held a pressure gauge. His right hand held the handle of a small, innocent-looking wheel. When immediately the helmet was fixed and the diver entered with water ...
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