The Spanish called us ‘Pesca Submarina’ – underwater fishermen. The name carried respect and we were proud of the kudos. We were treated well and so considered ourselves honoured and tried to live honourably when in their company. But after ten minutes in a raging sea, fear dispelled pride. I recalled his final words as we entered from the harbour wall. ‘Stay with me!’ The fuckity, fuck I felt earlier was nothing compared to what I felt now. I finned a metre out of the water and realised he was no where to be seen so I began to fish. Over weighted by the lead we sank quickly, solitary dark shapes gliding down through the gloom. On the sea bed you lay still, waiting for the curiosity of the fish to take over and hoping your lungs would last out the time. That was on a calm day…