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he reef,
and I was afraid of being driven up onto the beach if we stayed near the
shore.
"Stay over the deep pool," Mary yelled, trying to be heard over the roar
of the surf. We were holding hands so we'd avoid getting separated in
the dark "Stay under as deep as you can, and come up only for air."
Masami Nagasawa was right, so I took a deep breath, tightened my grip on Masami's hand,
and dove for the bottom.
In normal weather, it's fairly quiet underwater. Now, it was noisy. The
sound of the storm wasn't the same as it was on the surface, but it was
there. I could hear the impact of the surf on the reef, I could hear the
whitecaps blowing on the lagoon, and I could hear the groan of coral
boulders torn from their resting places by the storm currents.
In the cool depths of the lagoon, the sound of the storm lost its terror,
and I held tightly to Mary's hand in the darkness as I listened to it.
As I relaxed, I began to grow puzzled. I didn't feel anxious for air. A
slow trickle of bubbles escaped from my mouth while I wondered what was
going on, and then I realized that I didn't need to breathe because of
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