 Deep, deep is my love. Starring Mr. Lloyd Bridges. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. A man's got a right to be alone once in a while. It isn't too much to ask. A couple of hours of solitude in the weekends poking around the sea bottom with an air tank on your back. Joyce had me the rest of the time, waking and sleeping. That was all right. She was a good kid and I loved her. But I had made one bad mistake. I taught her to skin dive. Now she even wanted to be with me underwater. Darling? Yes, dear. Why not? Why can't I dive with you? What could I tell her? That today I had to dive alone, return alone to the deep, to see if I'd gone insane, to see if the beauty below was real or as false as the colors of the kelp fish, to see if the girl was real. No, no, of course she wasn't. And yet, I had to go. And alone. I had to be sure. It's a, well, a dangerous current set there. I'm as good a skin diver as you. You said so yourself and George is bringing some gear for me. He promised. No, Joyce. Hand me my fins, will you? Here. If it's too dangerous, I don't want you out there. George said you went too deep last week anyway. He went just as deep as I did. Looking for you, you said he got a touch of narcosis. Narcosis. Raptures of the deep. Too much nitrogen in the blood at two greater depths. Any diver, even a pro, could get it below 100 feet. They say it's a kind of ecstasy. But it could be a deadly ecstasy, luring you downward and downward, spiraling through the swaying greens. Through the sapphire blues, to the depths where all was black and white and motionless as death. Had George had it? Had I had it? Was it this that tempted me deeper and deeper? Or was it simple escape? To a world where a man is as truly alone as the crayfish under his rock, or the moray eel in his grotto. What's wrong with you, Don? You've been acting funny all week. Did you have narcosis with George Rock? No, no, of course not. And I'm going to tell him to stop tating me around like an anxious porpoise. I've been diving just as long as he has. Good. Maybe he'll quit and you'll dive with me again. You play tennis with me. You never go skiing without me. We're together every second you're not at work, so why can't we? Joyce. Well, I want to know. We do everything together, and now you just... Maybe that's the trouble. What do you mean? I can't. I'll skip it. Here he is. Hi, Joyce. Hi, George. I'm sorry, I had to fill with tanks. It's okay. Some more tanks? Some gear for you, Joyce. She isn't coming, George. Oh? Well, whatever you say, but we could keep it shallow. A lot more lobster's at 30 feet than 200. She's not coming, George. Meet King Neptune. That's his world, and he doesn't want any women in it. You know, Joyce, he was out of my sight in that grotto for 15 minutes last week. Maybe he's got a mermaid down there. I was after a lobster. What, at 200? Hey, no kidding, buddy. I'm not following you down there again. Those old nitrogen bubbles started playing tag in my brain. I could hear the angels singing loud and clear. I just about fell in love with a sand shark. What do you mean? I had it, man. Nitrogen narcosis. It's cheap drunk with no hangover unless you go all the way, and then it's so permanent. Oh, sir, it's not for me. There's plenty of warning. Sure, but it's such a lovely warning. Real pleasant. Your arms turn numb. You couldn't care less. You maybe hear voices, and you couldn't care less. The deeper you go, the deeper you want to go, and you couldn't care less. Oh, sir, make mine martinis. You might drive off a cliff going home, but at least it's quick. So let's keep it a little shallower today, huh? You tell him, Joyce. I don't care if he finds a tunnel to China. I'm going to look for seashells if that's all right, Don. I won't get my beef wet. I watched her start down a beach, head up to hide a disappointment. Lovely brown body swaying as she picked her way through the rocks. I almost called her back. She liked diving. It really wasn't fair to cut her out. But something stopped me. Something calling to me from beyond the rolling surf. You ready, George? Yeah, just about. I think you had it too, Don. What? Acosis. And I finally got the guts to go hunting for you. Remember where I found you? In the mouth of that cave with a silly look on your face. When I tried to get you to go, you looked like you were going to go for me. Well, I was, uh, looking for something. You ready now? Oh, for crying out loud. What? Don't go deep. Oh, I'm telling you, if it isn't you, it's her. Okay, Joyce. All right, let's go, huh? And snorkeling on the surface, I could see that it was clear as air below, clear and green, with the giant kelp swaying, beckoning me down. But I pushed ahead to the hole off Pointe-Dumay. A bottomless deep astride the great circle course the gray whales take from Galita Point to the breeding grounds Magdalena Bay. I had seen whales here, startling as moving reefs, suspended between surface and bottom, driven southward, always southward, driven by the urge to mate. I had seen black sea bass flashing down with the sound of a boat and great bat rays gliding deeper than I could follow. And here I had once speared a 30-pound sheep's head. I had nightmares for weeks in remorse because he was harmless and friendly, and I'd killed him on impulse to bring him back to Joyce. He'd sounded for the deep when I hit him, trying to lose me in retreat to some dark hole to nurse his wound, as all creatures will. But the spearhead held, and I'd taken all the depth that he could find. Now he hung as a reminder in my garage. I hadn't speared a fish since. I hated lately even to drag the big bull lobsters from their holes. It was so much better just to drift along the bottom and look and wonder. Hey, John, how far are we going? I pretended that I hadn't heard. To drift and wonder. To drift and wonder in a world of silent creatures who ignored a man as long as he made no hostile move, as long as he left them to their holes. This was a world where a man could hide from supermarkets and freeways and movies. Hey, John, won't this do? We were over the deep area now. I adjusted my face mask, put my mouthpiece in my mouth and blew out what water was in my hose. Then I tested the free flow there from my tank and dove. I was back in my underwater world again. The water caressed me as I dove down 30, 40, 50 feet, heading for a spire of rock to a castle guarding the edge of the underwater canyon of Pointe-Dumay. The water turned slowly to light blue and the cares of the weak slipped from my back. I told myself to be content with this. The other thing down there was fantasy. At the spire, I stopped to tickle a starfish, stared into the pink eyes of a golden Garibaldi until he flicked his tail at me and swam away, joined a school of perch as they started their flight over the canyon. Then I saw it, just like last week. I told myself that it must be a leaf of kelp far below or some golden-sided fish. But no, I caught the flash of a slim body again, girl-like, turning below, beckoning me down. Another skin diver? No, no, it was the girl. The girl who had danced in my mind all through the week. There were no voices beneath the sea, not even from other divers. But we had talked before for minutes, hours and eternity and she remembered my name. I shivered, fighting the urge to dive deeper. No, no, I better not. The voice was gone. She was gone. I had to know. I dove into the canyon, searching for the flash of gold, catching it, losing it, while my arms turned to wings and my body to water and everything was glorious, shimmering blue. If I could only find her, catch her, the golden girl. The golden girl that I remembered with the lonely laughing eyes. Wait! Midnight blue at 200 feet, soared through a lighter blue spotlight of sun, filtering through the branches of a giant kelp above. I had somewhere lost her, the golden girl, but I knew that I'd find her again, that she was only teasing. Until I did, it was ecstasy to move suspended in the liquid void. Watching my air bubbles form a pearly necklace past my face mask. The moray eel rattlesnake of a deep, flash by and I wave to him. It didn't seem odd anymore, words underwater. And I could speak too. Where are you? I don't know, I just feel like laughing. Where are you? All at once, rounding a reef, I did see her. She was sitting in a shaft of blue sunlight and all around her towered the age old rocks of the Dume deep. Her body was as golden as I remembered. Her face half familiar, her eyes laughing and lonely. This was no thing of the deep, no mermaid of legend. This was a woman, all mankind's woman, and in her eyes was understanding of all men. And I loved her and feared her at the same time. Who, who are you? Why do you stay down here? I told you, because I like it. Well, aren't you lonely? I like being alone. Yes, yes, yes, I do too sometimes. But it seems like I never am anymore. I know. How do you know? I know all about you. Hey, you don't have a mask. How do you breathe? I'm used to it. Where do you stay? Don't you remember? Faintly I remember the cave and the depths. A dark, warm place of song and peace. Yes, yes, I think I do. Do you want to go there? No, no, I better not. We'll be alone there. But I've been down so long, my tank, sir. We'll be alone there. But George will be worried. We'll be alone there. And my wife. We'll be alone. Then she was swimming lazily through the boulders and I was following her to a dimly remembered grotto. At last we were close together in the dim, watery cave. You're alone now, Don. You're alone. I wanted suddenly to kiss her. I fumbled with my mask. If you take off your mask, you won't be able to see. You might drown. Come here, come here. There's somebody there. What? I can hear somebody outside. We aren't alone. I peered from the grotto and saw George groping through the shadows, searching. It's my buddy. What is he looking for me? What can I do? I don't know. What can I do? He found me ever once before. You're the right to be alone. I know, but what can I do? If he comes closer, you're as strong as he is. Stronger. You mean? You know what I mean. I grouched in the cave, coiled like a moray eel, ready to strike if he... He peered in, blocking my light. And I danced. He's gone. She slid into my arms, pliant as kelp, light as water itself. Aren't you afraid? You've been down so long. No, I don't care. What's that? If he's back, I'll kill him. I'll kill him. No, no, it isn't he. It isn't he. Well, who is it? It's your wife. My wife? How could she be down here? They're looking for you. You've been down so long. Who did I do? Do you want to go with her? No, no, no. I wanted to let me alone. Just for a little while. She won't. She's even followed you here. She'll never let you be alone. What did I do? You know what to do. But I love her, you know. A man has a right to be alone. I'd let you alone. I backed into the cave and waited. A form moved by the entrance to the grotto and I saw in the gloom my wife's face frowning behind a mask, peering and worried. Why can't she let me alone? She never lets you be alone. All right, all right then. What did I do? Don't you know? Don't you know it's Joyce? But she's dead. Yes, she's dead, Don. She wouldn't let you alone and she followed you here and you killed. No, no, no. It's all right. Nobody knows but me. Come on, Don. Come with me. No, no. To the sky. It was an effort to breathe now and up there was air. Air and life in useless bubbles. And on her face was the look of one asleep in peace. Seeing her there in the narcosis, the crazy rapture passed. And I knew that I must stay. Stay with her under the surging tides. A bonita stared at us for a moment. Perch, be with me always.