Flying in the helicopter with Werner's body to Eilat, I
knew - had known ever since I saw him dead on the reef - that I
was now up to my neck in trouble, bureaucracy, and
complications. Short of going to jail or having my instructor's
license revoked, everything was going to pile up on me, and all
I could do was to hold on and pull through, whatever it took.
A medical team was waiting for the helicopter in front of
the Eilat hospital and pronounced Werner dead once again, right
there in the helicopter cabin. (The army doctor who had come
with the helicopter had already done that on the beach.) A few
hours later, after a post mortem, an elaborate death
certificate was made out, with the cause of death given as loss
of blood due to shark bites, with the shock of the two wounds
probably hastening the end. (The chief physician of the Diving
Association and a well-known marine biologist were present.)
No water was found in Werner's lungs; he had breathed to the
last - as the subsequent meticulous check of his equipment
showed - from a perfectly functioning regulator attached to a
three-quarters full air tank. Finally, in the evening, Werner's
body, slit open from neck to pelvis and from shoulder to
shoulder in addition to what the shark did to him, was slid
into the mortuary refrigerator. He was a morbid sight for
someone who had seen him only that morning on Sinbad's deck,
suntanned and cheerful with a cold drink in his hand; although
I personally have seen dead bodies before, in the two or three
short wars I had participated in, and the victims were younger
than Werner, occasionally more mutilated, and, in some cases,
closer and older friends.
Leaving the hospital I had to face a small but persistent
group of reporters, and told them the story, stressing that
some details still had to be investigated. They were second-
rate reporters, banished to Eilat where nothing much was
happening, always on the lookout for anything newsworthy, and
now they had this scoop served to them on a silver platter and
were determined to make the most of it. None of them seemed to
know much about diving, and they said "oxygen equipment"
several times until I corrected them, saying it was compressed
air, pure oxygen being risky and in restricted use only, mainly
in the navy, because of depth limitations and physiological
hazards. I had to step softly with the reporters, being as
helpful as I could while doing my best to prevent
sensationalism and panic. I repeated several times that this
was the first ever shark attack in these waters, that there
must have been some exceptional circumstances leading to it,
possibly illegal spearfishing in the vicinity of the reef, that
it would be fully investigated, and that there was no cause for
alarm. I came up with the spearfishing to forestall any
questions about the possibility of foul play, which had been on
my mind from the start, so as not to spook anyone who may have
been involved, although I still couldn't imagine how it could
be done.
Afterwards I telephoned the German consul in Tel-Aviv, gave
him all the details, and made arrangements for the body to be
flown to Tel Aviv, where the consulate would take over and
convey it to Germany. I would also have to write a letter to
Werner's wife or ex-wife. Helga had told me that they lived
apart but wasn't sure whether they were separated or divorced.
There were two children, a girl student and an electronics
engineer son, who had lived with their mother but were on their
own now. Helga had the wife's or ex-wife's address in her
address book. I have had some experience, after those wars, of
writing those traditional personal letters from the commanding
officer to the families of the fallen soldiers. The letters had
to be as tactful and complimentary as possible, avoiding
certain details if the death happened to be a stupid or a
cowardly one. With Werner there were no such problems; I would
give a glowing account of him and how everyone had liked and
befriended him in the short time we were privileged to know
him; what a shock and loss his death has been to all of us and
obviously how much more so to his family. I thought that the
fact that Werner and his wife were separated might soften the
shock for her; she might even feel that fate has punished him
for leaving her; while for grown-up children the loss of a
parent is usually easier to bear than for little ones.
There happened to be a plane going from Eilat to Sharm-el-
Sheikh that evening and I got a seat on it. The three top
officials of the Diving Association were also on the plane,
going to the inquiry which was to take place later that night
at the Marina Hotel.
When we arrived, the room was already full; they were
waiting only for us to begin. I thanked God for little favours
when I saw representatives not only of the police and the
Diving Association, but also of the army, the diving clubs, the
tourist trade, a couple of diving doctors, and even Sheikh
Muhammad with his son; I would not have to repeat the story
separately to each of them in the days to come. Yankele was not
there but one of his close associates was, in civilian clothes.
He did not introduce himself or ask any questions; Yankele must
have sent him as an anonymous observer so as not to alarm Max
who was also there to testify. All the investigators were
gentle with us, but the faces of the Diving Association were
grim. I could well imagine that out there, their colleagues
were in an uproar, fearing the worst as the result of the
accident. As for myself, I knew I would have Yankele on my back
as soon as this meeting was over; he would not be easily
convinced that it was an accident, and neither would I. There
would also be more meetings with the Diving Association, behind
closed doors, and they would be gruelling. Last but not least
there were Sinbad's passengers who, for all I knew, might now
be packing their bags to leave on the next plane, and I didn't
know whether they could be persuaded to stay on. The desert
trip on camelback might help, taking them away from the sea for
a couple of days and providing a sort of buffer between the
accident and the rest of the vacation.
"We went down slowly to about fifteen metres, and then
levelled out and started following the reef face, stopping from
time to time to watch the fish ," Max was telling the
investigators, in slow and precise English. " I was in front
and Werner right behind me. We were not side by side as is
customary between diving buddies because there is a current
running there and we both wanted to hold with one hand onto the
reef face. But I kept glancing back all the time to make sure
he was right behind me, and from time to time we would give
each other the OK sign. Everything was in perfect order and we
were enjoying the dive and seeing a lot of fish, of the same
type we saw on our previous dives along that reef. We saw two
or three white-tip sharks among them, once again of the same
size we saw before, and not behaving any differently. After a
while - we might have been down ten minutes or so - I looked
towards Werner again and saw that he had stopped, investigating
something in a crevice. I went back and made the OK sign, as a
question, but he shook his head, and then I saw that he had his
left wrist held by a large moray eel whose head protruded from
the crevice. I don't know how it happened because we were told
that moray eels will not attack you unless you put your hand
into their hole or something. Whatever the case, the situation
did not look too serious just then. It was a large moray eel
alright, about as thick as a man's arm, but it had its jaws
clamped over Werner's wetsuit sleeve just above the wrist so
that the teeth could not have gone too deep into the flesh
because of the thickness of the sponge rubber, and Werner was
not showing any signs of panic. He pointed to the eel with his
free hand in a sort of half-annoyed and half-despairing
gesture, and then took hold of the eel just behind the head and
tried to pull it off. It didn't succeed because of the slime
and because the eel was wriggling."
"Of course, they hold on like a bulldog," someone said.
"That's exactly what this one did," Gunther said. "I
pointed upwards, suggesting that we return to the surface and
sort it out there, but instead Werner drew his knife and
started sawing off the eel's head."
"Oh, no," two or three voices moaned.
"Fish blood in the water."
"And all that thrashing."
"I thought of that too," Max said," and tapped Werner on
the shoulder and pointed up again, but he just shook his head
and kept sawing away. He must have thought it would be quickly
over, but the eel kept wriggling and thrashing about which made
it more difficult; finally, however, he must have cut through
the spine because the eel stopped struggling, and Werner began
to pry the jaws open. We didn't see the shark coming and had no
warning of any kind; I suddenly felt a push and saw the shark's
head between us with its mouth closing over the eel and
Werner's hand, and then it shook its head a couple of times and
swung around and away and Werner's hand was missing, with blood
pouring out of the wrist. I believe he still hasn't panicked
even then. He grabbed hold of his upper arm with his other
hand, the thumb under the armpit, obviously trying to stop the
blood, while I took off the cover of my bangstick, slipped off
the safety catch, and then we started on our way up the reef
face, me holding the bangstick ready with one hand and helping
Werner with the other. The second time I did see the shark
coming, directly from the front, very fast and sort of shaking
its head from side to side."
"That's the feeding frenzy," someone from the Association
said." They're at their worst then."
"It went straight for Werner's leg," Max continued. "When
it closed in I pushed the bangstick against its head and fired,
and it rolled over and away, but not before it had taken a bite
out of Werner's leg. I took him up as fast as possible; he has
passed out somewhere on our way to the surface but breathed all
the way, or almost. Once we broke the surface I blew my
whistle, and Cobi, Ilan, and Bob got there in the inflatable
almost at once."
The Diving Association asked me some additional questions.
Had I warned my guests that fish blood in shark waters was
likely to bring on an attack? I said I did, and Max confirmed
it. Would I or any other instructor allow a guest to start
cutting a fish's head off underwater near the Shark Reef had we
been with them? Absolutely not, I said, and Max repeated that
he too tried to prevent it but in vain. Werrier's behaviour as
retold by Max sounded to me out of character but Werner was not
here to give his version of the story, so I kept my thoughts to
myself, and said only that both Werner and Max were fully
qualified skindivers, with several Red Sea dives behind them,
and fully entitled to go down on their own, like many foreign
tourists who came here and never joined an organized group.
With this, the Association had no more questions, but I knew I
would be in for heavy going as soon as they had me to
themselves.
Later, outside, Max told me, having first glanced around to
make sure that no one overheard:
"You know, Cobi, I withheld a little detail there. It is
true that after Werner had lost his hand we started going up
together. What I didn't mention was that I was holding him from
behind, with my back against the reef wall. I keep telling
myself that this was the best and fastest way of bringing him
up, but the fact is that it was also the safest position for
me, with him a sort of shield between me and the sharks should
theey strike again. I must confess that I don't feel too guilty
about it, because after all it was him who got us into this;
but still it's an uncomfortable thought."
"Don't let it bother you, Max. You did your best and you
did fine. Nothing was your fault."
"Thank you, Cobi."
Helga came towards us from the dark - this was the first
time I was seeing her since the accident - and I hugged her and
kissed her on the cheek while Max lay his hand on her shoulder
in a gesture of silent sympathy.
"How and where is everyone, Helga?" I asked.
"At The Dolphin" she said, " drinking a lot. It's a quiet
place tonight."
"Has anyone left?"
"No."
"I'll join you two there later," I said, "just have to
attend to something on board first. Who's looking after the
boat?"
"Ron and Ilan. Bob's with the guests at The Dolphin,
trying to reassure them."
"Is Maria there too?" Max asked.
"Yes, she is."
"Oh, Helga," I said. "Could I have just a word with you,
please?"
She came closer while Max discretely moved a dozen steps
away.
"Look, Helga," I asked her gently, "are you thinking about
flying back with Werner's body, or something?"
"N ... no," she said, "I think I would better not. You
see, there's his wife in Germany, and although they've been
separated for some years, I am officially just his secretary,
and on vacation in Spain with a friend. Nobody knew we were
taking this trip together. I think it would be best if I came
back when expected, and pretend not to have known what happened
to Werner."
The Zodiac was on the beach, and I rode out to Sinbad and
climbed on board. Ilan and Ron were in the galley, also
drinking. I said I would be with them in a moment, went down,
slipped into Max's cabin, opened his suitcase and found the
packet of tissue handkerchiefs at the bottom, but it was quite
light this time. The spearhead wasn't there. Nor was it
anywhere else among his belongings.
