I.

In the darkness, to prove her humanity, she recites the eucharistic blessings: tantum ergo sacramentum. It is the only Latin she knows, a language long buried now her only connection to the world above. The words echo off the smooth walls and drip with condensation into the water below. Præstet fides supplementum sensuum defectui. In her mind, the ripples become waves.

II.

The cross-section of a nineteenth century diving bell
would be familiar to those accustomed to the anatomy of something man made. Shaped like the instrument it takes its name from, it is large enough to seat two or three grown men comfortably, though this one does not. Filled with a pocket of pressurized air, the bottom of the bell is open to the relentless maw of the ocean, allowing passengers to look freely into the waters beneath. They sit precariously on a wooden bench that encircles the entire vessel, which is lowered from a boat via a long cable, a precarious tether fastening sea to sky. A thin hose running through the cord provides fresh air to the interior of the bell; a valve sitting just above the passengers’ heads releases their stale breath into the dark depths. Attached below are three weights, pressed against the salt-logged earth, solitary warriors against the bell’s buoyancy, temporary anchors.

III.

The items brought aboard the diving bell (for what may be a maiden and final voyage):

• One bible, now waterlogged
• A large metal crate, intended to hold that which is collected from the sandy bed of the sea
• One brick of hardtack, exposed to the corrosive elements of the pressurized interior
• A quarter of a pound of salted pork, wrapped in wax
• A cup of dried peas, canned
• A half-gallon of drinking water in a sealed glass jar
• No plates nor cups nor silverware, as table manners are not necessary this far beneath the water’s surface, and you can eat with your hands, silly girl
• One young woman, found selling matchbooks on Long Wharf to anybody who paid her a second glance, as she was already quite familiar with hopeless spaces
• The knowledge that if God never intended for humans to breathe beneath the water, it would be blasphemous for humanity to find their own way to do so
• One serpent that snuck through the gaps in the riveting, slipping in with the inevitable flood, only seconds before the vessel implodes.

IV.

The bestiary’s interlude

V.

In this situation, it is the matchgirl who considers breaking bread — albeit hardtack — with the serpent. The water is now rushing in at a relentless rate, and it would be devastating to eat one’s last meal alone. As the salty foam encroaches the bench, she scrambles to find purchase on any surface within the slick insides of the bell. She is unaware that this creature’s diet does not consist of stale biscuits, but solely blood.