The Root of All Evil

Looking up from my black Moleskine notebook, I can't remember where I am. Not that anyone told me in the first place. For the last fifteen years, I've been in and out of various submarines studying and searching for remains of sunken vessels. The notebook is what keeps me in check. Days at a time with no sunlight can impair the mind, but the notebook steers me straight. I know what day it is, what month, what year, what time... all of the things that keep a person grounded. Heavens no, I'm not alone on this vessel. I just don't trust the people on board. We don't know each other and we don't want to.

In the world of treasure hunting, there's an unspoken tension among shipmates. In our case, if we find treasure, we may find trouble not far behind it. Paulette is the captain of the SS-23. She's the closest to trustworthy a person can get, considering she has no dog in this hunt. She rents her submarine out for various excursions along the European coast for an exorbitant fee.

Treasure hunters are greedy people. I've made sure to write that in my handy notebook in case I do lose my mind, and begin to succumb to my innate desire to socialize. No cost is too outrageous for the thrill of a big score.

Besides Paulette, there are three other privateers on deck. Lonnie and Linda, a brother-sister power duo of some sorts, and a septuagenarian named Li.

Lonnie and Linda were a couple of bored rich yuppies in it for the novelty. I figure at some point their love lives may have gone dim and need something to reignite the spark.

I never assume anything but the worst about a scavenger. Maybe that helps me keep my distance, or maybe it helps keep me safe.

Li is of Asian descent, and he hasn't said a word in the nine days we've been on the SS-23. I don't know what to make of him, I think he could be a genuine pirate.

Instead of fraternizing with my competition, I write in my notebook. Journal entries, dialogues from overheard conversations, among other things. I go through roughly one a month, always pocket-sized in case I'm on the move and need to keep a record. Unfortunately January is a month I may need two, because I'm running out of room in this one.

Yesterday morning we were moving so slow, I designed my own crossword puzzle. It took at least an hour to black out all of the squares and I was shocked that the ink didn't bleed through the paper.

The submarine stops moving and the lights come on. I slide out of my room and gaze at the hulk overshadowing our underwater craft.

If I'm not mistaken, it is right now close to three o'clock in the morning. My competition is still asleep. As quiet as I can, with maximum haste, change into my diving equipment to disembark the SS-23. The water is frigid and pervades my wetsuit.

In terms of size, I feel as if I'm in the center of Times Square as I approach the galleon. I'm dwarfed by the steel giant, mesmerized by its mystery. I hoist myself up and over the starboard railing and writhe around the deck. Coated in algae, barnacles, and a litany of aquatic parasites, I marvel at how death brings life. Life does not consider if something is dead in its decision to happen. Life is the most efficient and inclusive entity in existence. On the carcass of an ancient ship live one million organisms in cooperation with each other.

This is why I keep my notebook. If I don't write these things down, my fantasies will run rampant. So rampant, that I may become distracted. As I swim along the nooks and crannies of the ship, I find a passage to the captains' quarters. With my oxygen down to seventy-five percent capacity I know I must move fast.

The drama of ransacking is lost underwater. The pressure alone makes gesticulations of violent tearing and flailing seem like ballet. No objects fly across the room, they float with balloon-esque grace.

One object leaves my hand and floats across the room to the bed. I swim after it, and upon further examination I know what I've found. Spanish Gold.

It's no fortune, but it's a start. I stash what I can in my wetsuit and turn around to leave. A harpoon crashes through the closed door and pulls it from its hinges. Before anyone can enter the door I retreat up the passage I came.

Unsure of who that was or what had happened, I only had one thing in mind. "Survive." Leaving the brigantine behind, I jump aboard the SS-23 and try not to have a panic attack.

"Did you have a nice swim?" a smoky voice fills the room. Paulette is smiling

"Uh... Yeah. Did anyone else leave after me?" "No" she hesitates. I lock eyes with her, using a strong poker face and some sharp analysis, I know she's hiding something.

"I believe you. You probably won't believe what happened to me out there."

"Try me." she chuckles.

"I swam to that boat in front of us, and was having a look around. It's not every day you see something like that. Anyways, in the middle of my snooping, a harpoon came crashing the door of the room I was in."

Her eyes break contact with mine the instant I say harpoon. She doesn't reply to me either. "Was it you?" I ask. Her eyes snap back to mine with a stare of fear and fury.

"Was what me?" "The harpoon. In the room I was in. You're dry, so I don't imagine you followed me. If you're telling the truth that nobody was behind me, either there's a ghost on that boat, or you're fucking with me."

Her eyes sank, "no." she whispers.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you do it? You weren't even in there, you couldn't possibly know that I found treasure in there. You rent out your submarine to tourists, you can afford anything."

"I don't care about your $20,000 Spanish Gold."

"How do you know?"

"Well.."

We exchange looks. The look on her face can be translated to, "Look buddy, you don't have nothing on me, we don't know each other, and I don't owe you shit."

My look said, "Cut the bullshit and tell the truth."

She sits down beside me in an extinguished defeat. I'm not proud of this victory. "It was an accident" she croaked. Apparently she drove the submarine behind the ship while I was swimming away, shot a harpoon at the boat, and drove it back around just in time as I made my escape, just to fuck with me.

Why is the haunted pirate ship story more believable?

"So Why?" I ask. "Cause I like you." she smirks like a schoolgirl. Her hand planted on my thigh, I put mine over hers.

"I read your little black book." she chides, "You're crazy." she whispers in my ear. With our guards down she leans in to kiss me. She slides out of her clothes, I slide into her. Before I can finish the first thrust, I black out.

I wake up to Paulette naked and asleep on top of me with my little black book between her legs. I also wake up to a missing wetsuit.

This is bad.

I pull up my notebook gingerly enough not to disturb Paulette, and try to find a clue. With no luck and no idea where I am, I look up from my black Moleskine notebook.