As the water engulfed me, I relaxed. It welcomed rather than alienated, seemed familiar and peaceful rather than threatening. Visibility was perhaps four meters. I peered around me; there was no sign of the manta. When I raised my head above the surface and my eyebrows in a question, Frank pointed to my right and I finned hard in that direction, my snorkel thrumming against my temple.
A shape materialized out of the opaque blue and I let myself drift. My breathing echoed in my ears. The manta turned and came towards me. Now I could see its blunt head, the horn-shaped projections at either side of its closed mouth, even a small fish taking shelter in a fold of its fin. Peter had warned me not to let the manta brush against me; their skin is like sandpaper and could rasp strips off mine.
The ray stood on its wing (the words "pectoral fin" are too mundane) and swam under me, pale belly up. I say ‘swam’ but mantas don’t swim. They fly. They soar. They sail. It’s as though water offers them no resistance. While I struggled to keep up, my legs thrashing and my chest burning, the ray subtly altered the curve of its body and wafted away, its slender tail trailing behind.
I stared until it dissolved from view, then headed back to the boat. Frank hauled me over the side, and I collapsed in an undignified sprawl in the bottom.
“How was it?” asked Frank.
I took a deep breath. “Absolutely perfect.”
He grinned at me. “The kids want to have a go. That okay?”
I nodded. The engine roared to life. Saba and Luca fired questions as I removed my mask and snorkel.
"How big was it, Mum?"
"Were you scared?"
"Did you touch it?"
“Look, another one!” Taurino pointed to starboard and slowed the boat. A triangular shape rode above the water. Peter scrambled to get ready and sat poised, both legs over the side, the GoPro in his hand.
“Wait!” Frank yelled. “It’s a shark!”
66 - SEVENSEAS