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Four days after my mother died I went 1）scuba diving for the first time. Indirectly， it was her death that led me to take up diving in the first place. Going underwater seemed like a way to displace the emotional 2）turbulence of my grief. It quickly became an obsession. In that alternative， liquid world I found freedom and 3）tranquillity， mixed with excitement and the stimulation of discovery. That obsession became the focus of my life： I moved countries and jobs so that I could dive regularly in warm tropical water. I took my wife and three-month-old daughter to a small island where surface life posed many challenges： practical， financial， emotional and spiritual. Going underwater kept us 4）sane， and all other problems were subordinated to the short but frequent doses of 5）euphoria delivered by the ocean.
Almost 15 years after my mother’s death， I was the sole passenger on a seaplane over the Indian Ocean when my father died. We landed in a 6）lagoon where a 7）rubber 8）dinghy collected me and ferried me to a larger boat where I was to spend a week cruising the outer 9）atolls of the 10）Maldives， diving four times a day.
Mobile phones did not reach to that part of the islands at the time， but the cruiser was equipped with a satellite phone. As I carried my luggage to my cabin， I was summoned to the bridge. On an echoing， static line my wife broke the news. Before I could ask for any details， the connection was broken and I was unable to speak to anyone in the outside world for another five days.
The shock was immense. But I was surrounded by people—ship’s officers， diving staff and a handful of other passengers—none of whom I had met before. There was no point in trying to return home， and I had no means of reaching any members of my family. I decided that there was no one aboard the boat in whom I could confide. It seemed rude to impose my grief on strangers who would inevitably feel awkward at the situation. My loss was a painful， private wound that could not be exposed.
Two hours later I was in my diving kit， sitting on the side of the boat ready to plunge. The dive leader explained that we were heading to a 11）reef 12）promontory that was swept by a strong current. We were to follow him， swimming as quickly as possible to the deepest part of the reef， about 36 metres down. The speed of descent was meant to keep the current from forcing us apart. I was last into the water， and I followed a stream of silver bubbles into the misty grey-blue depths. Halfway down I could already see the other divers clutching on to the reef to steady themselves. Surrounding them were dozens of grey reef sharks， the object of the dive. Keen as I was to join them， I paused， sensing a presence behind me. 13）Swivelling in the water and looking back towards the pale surface of the sea， I stared into the eyes of an ocean giant： a sailfish. I abandoned my descent and finned towards the lurking presence. For a few moments the giant fish hung there， suspended like a 14）mounted trophy. It was the kind of encounter that is so immediate and thrilling that time and action seem compressed. For no more than five or six seconds we watched one another， then the sailfish shimmered， sideways， downwards， blending again into the darker water beyond my vision. None of the other divers saw my encounter， though the dive leader did， and we talked about it privately that night. I wanted his affirmation that I and the sailfish had really just been metres apart. I did not， could not， tell him about my father.
I have had hundreds of special underwater experiences， but I have never again seen a sailfish underwater. I know from other dive masters that such encounters are rare. I cannot shake the idea that， for many people on earth， this would have been a clear example of shape-shifting： my father’s only opportunity to say goodbye. My father was not a 15）spiritual man. Indeed， he revelled in denying the existence of God—partly， I think， in order to 16）infuriate my mother who， frankly， believed in everything.
And yet， how strange， in the hours and days following the loss of both of my parents， that I was able to be underwater， the place where I am happiest. I felt blessed by that. My mother had died without ever seeing me discover this pleasure. When I was a young adult， she worried constantly that I was unhappy. I hope she would have been pleased that I had discovered something that gripped me with such deep joy. Dad lived long enough to witness some of my underwater life. And yet his habit was to deny spirituality， to deny faith， to deny any sentimentality. But if 17）reincarnation， perhaps momentary， as a sailfish was his route to wishing me farewell， I hope it came with a sense of acceptance： that all shall be well. I take my dead parents with me still， every time I dive.
My senses were ill-suited to understanding the dark depths. I cannot say what passed between us， but as he circled me at a steady distance he inspected me closely， unhurried and calm with an eye that signalled intelligence. I have never forgotten the intensity of that gaze， and my own joy and awe.
母亲去世四天后，我第一次尝试了轻便潜水。间接地，是母亲的离世促使我初次尝试潜水。潜入水下似乎成了我搁置悲恸愁绪的一种方式。这很快成为了我的执念。在那异于寻常的水世界里，我找到了自由和平静，混杂着兴奋和探索的刺激。那个执念成为了我生活的焦点：我换了一个又一个国家和工作，只为时常可以在温暖的热带海洋中潜水。我带着妻子和三个月大的女儿来到了一个小岛，在那里，陆上的生活带来了不少挑战：日常杂事、金钱开支、情感挣扎、精神困扰。潜入水下能让我们保持理智，所有其他难题都敌不过海洋给我注入的一剂剂短暂但频繁的欢乐强心针。 近乎母亲离世15年后，我的父亲也去世了，那时我作为一架水上飞机里的唯一乘客在印度洋上翔行。我们降落在一个环礁湖上，然后一只橡皮艇来接我，将我送到一艘更大的船上。在这艘船上我将待上一周的时间环游马尔代夫的外环，每天潜水四次。
那时候，移动电话的讯号还未布及岛屿的那个部分，但是游船上配备了卫星电话。我刚把行李送到船舱，就又被叫到了船桥上。在一通回音噪声重重的卫星电话里，妻子把那消息告诉了我。我还未来得及问任何细节，通话就断了，而我在后面的五天里都没能和外界任何人说上话。
这个冲击是巨大的。虽然身边有着众人相伴——游船的船员、潜水员还有一小批其他乘客——全是陌生人。折返回家是不可能的，也没有任何联系到家人的方法。我认定船上没有一个人是我的诉苦对象。把我的痛苦强加于陌生人似乎不大礼貌，在那种情况下，他们总会难免尴尬。我的丧亲之痛是个痛苦、私密的伤口，无法向外人展露。
两小时后，我穿戴上潜水装备，坐在船边，准备下水。潜水领队交待说我们将前往一个暗礁岬，那里水流急速。我们将跟着他，尽可能快地游到暗礁最深的那个部分，大约36米深。快速下潜是为了防止水流将我们一组人冲散。我是最后一个潜入水中的，追随着一连串银色气泡潜入那片迷蒙灰蓝的深海中。在下潜的中途，我已经能看到其他潜水员在抓紧礁石以固定自己了。在他们的周围，有几十条灰礁鲨，那正是我们这次潜水的目标。尽管我渴望加入他们，但是我停住了，因为我感觉到自己身后有个东西。我在水中转过身，回过头看那片暗淡的海面，发现我正盯着一个海洋巨物的双眼：旗鱼。
我放弃了继续下潜，而是游向了那条在身后虎视眈眈的旗鱼。有好一会儿，那条巨鱼只是悬在那里，像是一个被裱好的战利品。这种偶遇是如此的突然和令人兴奋，时间和动作似乎都被压缩了。我们仅仅对视了五六秒，然后那条旗鱼就闪着微光，向一旁的下方游去，融入了在我视线以外的更为黑暗的深海里。其他潜水员都没有看到我这次偶遇，除了领队，那晚我们私下聊起了这件事儿。我与那条旗鱼相距真的只有几米远，我希望得到他的确定。我没有，也不能，告诉他关于我父亲的事。
我有过成百上千次的水中奇遇，但我却再也没有在水下见过一条旗鱼。我从其他潜水老手那儿得知，那样的偶遇是罕见的。我无法摆脱那种想法，我觉得对于尘世的很多人来说，这就是寄身托魂的一个典型例证：我父亲仅有的道别机会。我的父亲并非什么虔诚信徒。的确，他总喜欢否认上帝的存在——在我看来，在一定程度上，那是为了激怒我的母亲，实话讲，我母亲什么都信。
然而，奇怪的是，在失去双亲之后的时日里，我能潜入水下，在那儿，我才是最快乐的。我觉得自己很幸运。母亲生前从未见过我寻得这种快乐。当我还年轻的时候，她一直担心我不开心。我希望母亲能因我寻得并抓住了这样的快乐而感到欣慰。父亲的长寿令他能看得到我的某些潜水经历。而他还是惯性否认精神灵性，否定信仰，反对任何的多愁善感。如果父亲化身成一条旗鱼来与我道别，或许那很短暂，但我也希望自己能相信这个瞬间：这一切都会好起来。每一次，我仍然带着我已故的父母，潜入水下。
我的感知力还不能理解那片黑暗的深海。我无法说出我们之间发生了什么，但是当他以一个固定的距离绕着我游时，他紧贴着观察我，从容而平静，眼神中透露出智慧。我从来都不曾忘记那种凝视的强度，以及我自身的欣喜和敬畏。
Almost 15 years after my mother’s death， I was the sole passenger on a seaplane over the Indian Ocean when my father died. We landed in a 6）lagoon where a 7）rubber 8）dinghy collected me and ferried me to a larger boat where I was to spend a week cruising the outer 9）atolls of the 10）Maldives， diving four times a day.
Mobile phones did not reach to that part of the islands at the time， but the cruiser was equipped with a satellite phone. As I carried my luggage to my cabin， I was summoned to the bridge. On an echoing， static line my wife broke the news. Before I could ask for any details， the connection was broken and I was unable to speak to anyone in the outside world for another five days.
The shock was immense. But I was surrounded by people—ship’s officers， diving staff and a handful of other passengers—none of whom I had met before. There was no point in trying to return home， and I had no means of reaching any members of my family. I decided that there was no one aboard the boat in whom I could confide. It seemed rude to impose my grief on strangers who would inevitably feel awkward at the situation. My loss was a painful， private wound that could not be exposed.
Two hours later I was in my diving kit， sitting on the side of the boat ready to plunge. The dive leader explained that we were heading to a 11）reef 12）promontory that was swept by a strong current. We were to follow him， swimming as quickly as possible to the deepest part of the reef， about 36 metres down. The speed of descent was meant to keep the current from forcing us apart. I was last into the water， and I followed a stream of silver bubbles into the misty grey-blue depths. Halfway down I could already see the other divers clutching on to the reef to steady themselves. Surrounding them were dozens of grey reef sharks， the object of the dive. Keen as I was to join them， I paused， sensing a presence behind me. 13）Swivelling in the water and looking back towards the pale surface of the sea， I stared into the eyes of an ocean giant： a sailfish. I abandoned my descent and finned towards the lurking presence. For a few moments the giant fish hung there， suspended like a 14）mounted trophy. It was the kind of encounter that is so immediate and thrilling that time and action seem compressed. For no more than five or six seconds we watched one another， then the sailfish shimmered， sideways， downwards， blending again into the darker water beyond my vision. None of the other divers saw my encounter， though the dive leader did， and we talked about it privately that night. I wanted his affirmation that I and the sailfish had really just been metres apart. I did not， could not， tell him about my father.
I have had hundreds of special underwater experiences， but I have never again seen a sailfish underwater. I know from other dive masters that such encounters are rare. I cannot shake the idea that， for many people on earth， this would have been a clear example of shape-shifting： my father’s only opportunity to say goodbye. My father was not a 15）spiritual man. Indeed， he revelled in denying the existence of God—partly， I think， in order to 16）infuriate my mother who， frankly， believed in everything.
And yet， how strange， in the hours and days following the loss of both of my parents， that I was able to be underwater， the place where I am happiest. I felt blessed by that. My mother had died without ever seeing me discover this pleasure. When I was a young adult， she worried constantly that I was unhappy. I hope she would have been pleased that I had discovered something that gripped me with such deep joy. Dad lived long enough to witness some of my underwater life. And yet his habit was to deny spirituality， to deny faith， to deny any sentimentality. But if 17）reincarnation， perhaps momentary， as a sailfish was his route to wishing me farewell， I hope it came with a sense of acceptance： that all shall be well. I take my dead parents with me still， every time I dive.
My senses were ill-suited to understanding the dark depths. I cannot say what passed between us， but as he circled me at a steady distance he inspected me closely， unhurried and calm with an eye that signalled intelligence. I have never forgotten the intensity of that gaze， and my own joy and awe.
母亲去世四天后，我第一次尝试了轻便潜水。间接地，是母亲的离世促使我初次尝试潜水。潜入水下似乎成了我搁置悲恸愁绪的一种方式。这很快成为了我的执念。在那异于寻常的水世界里，我找到了自由和平静，混杂着兴奋和探索的刺激。那个执念成为了我生活的焦点：我换了一个又一个国家和工作，只为时常可以在温暖的热带海洋中潜水。我带着妻子和三个月大的女儿来到了一个小岛，在那里，陆上的生活带来了不少挑战：日常杂事、金钱开支、情感挣扎、精神困扰。潜入水下能让我们保持理智，所有其他难题都敌不过海洋给我注入的一剂剂短暂但频繁的欢乐强心针。 近乎母亲离世15年后，我的父亲也去世了，那时我作为一架水上飞机里的唯一乘客在印度洋上翔行。我们降落在一个环礁湖上，然后一只橡皮艇来接我，将我送到一艘更大的船上。在这艘船上我将待上一周的时间环游马尔代夫的外环，每天潜水四次。
那时候，移动电话的讯号还未布及岛屿的那个部分，但是游船上配备了卫星电话。我刚把行李送到船舱，就又被叫到了船桥上。在一通回音噪声重重的卫星电话里，妻子把那消息告诉了我。我还未来得及问任何细节，通话就断了，而我在后面的五天里都没能和外界任何人说上话。
这个冲击是巨大的。虽然身边有着众人相伴——游船的船员、潜水员还有一小批其他乘客——全是陌生人。折返回家是不可能的，也没有任何联系到家人的方法。我认定船上没有一个人是我的诉苦对象。把我的痛苦强加于陌生人似乎不大礼貌，在那种情况下，他们总会难免尴尬。我的丧亲之痛是个痛苦、私密的伤口，无法向外人展露。
两小时后，我穿戴上潜水装备，坐在船边，准备下水。潜水领队交待说我们将前往一个暗礁岬，那里水流急速。我们将跟着他，尽可能快地游到暗礁最深的那个部分，大约36米深。快速下潜是为了防止水流将我们一组人冲散。我是最后一个潜入水中的，追随着一连串银色气泡潜入那片迷蒙灰蓝的深海中。在下潜的中途，我已经能看到其他潜水员在抓紧礁石以固定自己了。在他们的周围，有几十条灰礁鲨，那正是我们这次潜水的目标。尽管我渴望加入他们，但是我停住了，因为我感觉到自己身后有个东西。我在水中转过身，回过头看那片暗淡的海面，发现我正盯着一个海洋巨物的双眼：旗鱼。
我放弃了继续下潜，而是游向了那条在身后虎视眈眈的旗鱼。有好一会儿，那条巨鱼只是悬在那里，像是一个被裱好的战利品。这种偶遇是如此的突然和令人兴奋，时间和动作似乎都被压缩了。我们仅仅对视了五六秒，然后那条旗鱼就闪着微光，向一旁的下方游去，融入了在我视线以外的更为黑暗的深海里。其他潜水员都没有看到我这次偶遇，除了领队，那晚我们私下聊起了这件事儿。我与那条旗鱼相距真的只有几米远，我希望得到他的确定。我没有，也不能，告诉他关于我父亲的事。
我有过成百上千次的水中奇遇，但我却再也没有在水下见过一条旗鱼。我从其他潜水老手那儿得知，那样的偶遇是罕见的。我无法摆脱那种想法，我觉得对于尘世的很多人来说，这就是寄身托魂的一个典型例证：我父亲仅有的道别机会。我的父亲并非什么虔诚信徒。的确，他总喜欢否认上帝的存在——在我看来，在一定程度上，那是为了激怒我的母亲，实话讲，我母亲什么都信。
然而，奇怪的是，在失去双亲之后的时日里，我能潜入水下，在那儿，我才是最快乐的。我觉得自己很幸运。母亲生前从未见过我寻得这种快乐。当我还年轻的时候，她一直担心我不开心。我希望母亲能因我寻得并抓住了这样的快乐而感到欣慰。父亲的长寿令他能看得到我的某些潜水经历。而他还是惯性否认精神灵性，否定信仰，反对任何的多愁善感。如果父亲化身成一条旗鱼来与我道别，或许那很短暂，但我也希望自己能相信这个瞬间：这一切都会好起来。每一次，我仍然带着我已故的父母，潜入水下。
我的感知力还不能理解那片黑暗的深海。我无法说出我们之间发生了什么，但是当他以一个固定的距离绕着我游时，他紧贴着观察我，从容而平静，眼神中透露出智慧。我从来都不曾忘记那种凝视的强度，以及我自身的欣喜和敬畏。