Or: one searches for the Wall with the instrument... but the Wall is not found. Unlike the Prof, Maiorca thinks that the bottle shaped sensor is a joke. After three months the Prof will still think about this unexplainable episode... we only find iron... is it possible that this Wall has really disappeared? If so, where has it gone? Everything is chaotic, when we disembark... even though the chicken and turtle with coke-cola represent reality for us. Hemingway and Bacardi.
February 15th
Wake up at eight. I go with the Prof to have breakfast. Plentiful: fruit juice, bacon and eggs, jam, coffee, sandwich, the cost of all this is $5. It breaks my heart. We leave and then buy some postcards to send to Italy. On the road we meet Paolo Sironi who is heading towards the radio station to phone home. I take advantage of this opportunity and go with him. I want to phone the Bocami in Milan. The Prof wants to buy a few things so we arrange to meet later on board. The call lasts just a few minutes, but costs $18 each!
Our families are fine and there is fog in Milan. But fog there is not unusual; however, we leave much happier, because here everything is very nice. We head towards the boat, ‘Adventure 2’, because high tide has enabled it to enter the harbour, and following in its wake there is a trail of other boats, now it is moored just behind ours. I make a courtesy visit to Biagini where I also find Uri Geller, Tirelli, Fogar and some others. I say hello but then I take my leave as the other boat is ready to sail, it is 11 o’clock. We want to try to stop directly over the top of the Wall (well, yes, it is a sort of wall under the sea, but nobody knows if it is natural or man-made. They want to try to position the boat right on top of it so that the measurements they take are as accurate as possible). As we approach the Wall we slow down, and lower a dinghy into the water to which we attach a sixty metre line. Maiorca climbs into the dinghy with the buoys and I throw the sensor into the sea and reel out the same length of cable. As the boat increases speed the Prof puts the instrument which measures the magnetic field into operation. Both the sensor and the boat move in tandem, and on my signal Maiorca throws the first buoy into the sea. We look at the first recorded anomaly on the ribbon; now the Prof and I know that this recorded anomaly cannot be the Wall, it must be just some piece of iron.
The recorded anomaly is different from that of yesterday and the pen moves rapidly to the right and to the left of the normally continuous line... it is iron, undoubtedly. The Prof turns the boat around and retraces one hundred meters to where the first signal was recorded, following the same path so that we cross the Wall again. We are crossing the Wall, any signal? We go back and try to cross the Wall again from further away... the Prof gestures to Maiorca to drop another buoy... another anomaly, more iron.
The Prof begins to get agitated, he cannot sit still and relax, and he won’t rest until he sorts out this mystery. He cannot make any sense of it; he cannot explain why the instrument is failing to record/signal/identify the Wall, it seems as if the instrument has a will of its own. For more than an hour we continue to criss-cross the area; the Wall is below us, but the instrument won’t identify it. We stop. The Kuk drops anchor and Enzo climbs back on board. Then we check the signals. I listen to what Maiorca has to say, and I am amazed! So is the Prof.
Readers please don't forget that we are in the area of the "Triangle" where they say the strangest things can happen. Well, now something strange has happened to us, and therefore no one can argue against us. Maiorca approaches me and very calmly says “Menconi, listen, you have to explain something; why does the sensor stop flashing at a certain moment during our navigation, explain why this happens because this is what is interesting me”. I look at him in amazement, I stare into his eyes, you must be joking I say….come on, the sensor didn’t flash, did it? Enzo Maiorca is a man without any fixed ideas, a man who looks at what is in front of him and who doesn’t suffer from hallucinations. We both think the other is joking, but he looses his temper, a typical reaction from a Sicilian man like him. I try to calm him down, but he insists that he saw the repeated flashing of the sensor. He thought this was a typical function of the sensor, an aid to help divers identify what they are searching for. We continue arguing about it.
The Prof is as amazed as me... we have never known a bottle sensor that would send flashes of light. There are no bulbs in the sensor; there are some electric wires encased in rubber and that is all. The sensor is shielded by a five millimetre thick amorphous fibre which isn't reflective. There is no point in talking about reflected light, especially as the sky was the colour of lead, there was no sun, just clouds. Maiorca remains absolutely certain that the sensor lit up, shone for a few minutes, and then went out. It is something I had never seen before, and the Prof had never told me about any previous, similar phenomenon. There is nothing else to say about it.
We go over our readings repeatedly. Enzo prepares to go into water, together with his daughter and Gianni. They dive at the point where the first buoy is positioned; they go deep, they check, after a while they return to the surface with a piece of rust encrusted iron in their hand. But there is no sign of the Wall; they are in an area where it does not exist. We are ready to take another measurement. Down they go again, time passes, and then they surface. They have yet another piece of something metallic in their hand, and they say that the Wall must not be very far away from the signal. They recover another metallic object near the third signal, but the Wall is not to be found.
It is a mystery, yesterday the gauge perfectly identified the presence of the Wall, but today the same instrument doesn't show anything. The Prof cannot make head or tail of it. There is no technical explanation, the instrument is in perfect working order, and after all it was able to recognize the presence of the pieces of submerged iron. The instrument works, so why does it refuse to show the presence of the Wall today?
What has changed over the past twenty four hours? If the rocks that form the Wall are artificial are they man made? If they are man made, if that is what we were expected to believe yesterday, why is it that today the instrument refuses to tell us anything? Does a scientific explanation for all this exist? Is there a logical explanation? The Prof is very serious, he is not at ease. And he doesn’t let me rest either. He wants to go deeper into this question and he would like to do some more tests now, but it is getting late, so we postpone everything until tomorrow. Tonight we are invited to dinner at a restaurant which is characteristic of the island.
So Kuk steers towards Bimini, and we put the instruments safely away again in their hiding place. After a while we disembark and go to the hotel to enjoy a beautiful shower.
The Prof is thoughtful, he is troubled, there is something about the story that is not convincing; he has brought the recorded ribbons to the hotel and from one cigarette to another he continues to study them. It will soon be May and he will still be examining them. Finally it is time for dinner and hopefully, God willing, we can put aside this problem. Come on Prof, let’s go.
We can still do some more experiments, come on. We have tomorrow or another day to try again. Persevere. We walk .We keep talking, optimistically, until we arrive near the boat and meet the rest of the party; hi everyone, handshakes and then we leave for the restaurant. What a wonderful spread! We arrange the seating and while talking a waiter takes our orders. I find myself sitting next to Uri Geller who, having learnt about the work I do (I defuse bombs both in and out of the water) seems to be very interested in the subject. I think that his interest is pretty normal, but then I remember that he is an Israeli and since I have worked with the Bocami in Libya, in the Bay of Tobruk, on behalf of the Libyan government, I do not encourage talk on the subject. I wasn’t sure, but I had no intention of becoming mixed up with the Arabs. The Prof changes the subject and shows everyone a brand new teaspoon he bought; the purpose being to challenge Geller’s ability. After picking it up and carefully weighing it in his hand, Geller refuses the Prof’s challenge. But the request is not in vein because during dinner, I witness a phenomenal show! After persistent requests from Livio Biagini, Uri accepts a teaspoon... he holds the narrowest part with two fingers and starts to rub it. In an instant half of the spoon falls onto the table. Fantastic. But what is even more inconceivable, and I would never have believed it had I not been there, sitting at the table, assisting the event, the two pieces of the teaspoon when put together again didn't fit. Unbelievable. By rubbing the teaspoon Uri not only succeeded in snapping it in two, but also in pulverizing it into thin air. A piece of the teaspoon is missing; nobody can understand where it might have gone. We are totally amazed; this man is really in possession of a diabolic power.
We eat. The Prof and some others have chosen turtle, the meat seems to be swimming in a brown watery soup and I believe, looking at some of their faces, that there isn’t much difference between my chicken (I have a good imagination!) which is drowned in a such a hot spicy sauce that leaves the mouth completely dried up, and their pieces of swimming turtle. But some are enjoying the meal very much, they have large portions and they eagerly wallop it down, followed by enormous glasses of iced coke! Oh, the sublime culinary art of these Americans, the edges of the dishes are stained with fat, onto which they place buttered croutons with jam, good God, what delights! Give me a beautiful fresh fruit juice to wash down the turtle. Cheers.
On my extreme right all I hear is the scrapping of cutlery on plates so I deduce from it that the whole gang is lapping it up, yes everybody is eating and nobody is speaking. I want to say that since I am at the far end of the table, I am not able to see everyone’s reactions, I can only imagine them. My grandfather said that in the entire world what is really important is to be satisfied with what you have. He was a tall, big man, who weighed more than one hundred and twenty kilos when dead; how was it possible for my poor grandmother, who was such a tiny woman; I asked myself this many times as I grew up. Ah, the mysteries of life. Finally the meal ends, and we all go our separate ways. On the road back to the hotel, me, the Prof, Enzo, Mrs. Maria and the two Maiorca girls, see a sign saying "Ancorage", it is a typical English pub with a small band. In fact from the outside we hear a loud noise; however, the singer has a decent voice and is accompanied by a guitar. Since we are all are very thirsty, and because we have to try to digest the terrible swill we have just had, we decide to go in. Having already spent a lot, a little more won’t make much difference, after all, the firm is paying.
Inside, it is beautiful, furnished in the simple taste of the islanders but with American cents. We make ourselves comfortable. Immediately a peppery young native girl, with all her curves in the right places, takes our order. As we glance around we see that the bar is full of blonde, decent looking rich Americans, some are dancing, others just look at us and roll their eyes, and they wink knowingly. Not sure about the wink, I look over my shoulder. The Prof and Maiorca get up to have a dance with Patrizia, I keep Mrs. Maria and Rosanna company. Meanwhile the Bacardi arrives. There are some glass showcases full of sketches and photos of big sail fish; and photos of a man with the beard, Hemingway. Then I remember that he came to Bimini and lived here for many years, this is where he wrote several novels. In fact, above a door there is a nameplate that says that Hemingway lived above this café from 1933 to 1939 and it is here that he wrote the novel "Islands in the tide". He also drank hectolitres of Bacardi.
February 15th
Wake up at eight. I go with the Prof to have breakfast. Plentiful: fruit juice, bacon and eggs, jam, coffee, sandwich, the cost of all this is $5. It breaks my heart. We leave and then buy some postcards to send to Italy. On the road we meet Paolo Sironi who is heading towards the radio station to phone home. I take advantage of this opportunity and go with him. I want to phone the Bocami in Milan. The Prof wants to buy a few things so we arrange to meet later on board. The call lasts just a few minutes, but costs $18 each!
Our families are fine and there is fog in Milan. But fog there is not unusual; however, we leave much happier, because here everything is very nice. We head towards the boat, ‘Adventure 2’, because high tide has enabled it to enter the harbour, and following in its wake there is a trail of other boats, now it is moored just behind ours. I make a courtesy visit to Biagini where I also find Uri Geller, Tirelli, Fogar and some others. I say hello but then I take my leave as the other boat is ready to sail, it is 11 o’clock. We want to try to stop directly over the top of the Wall (well, yes, it is a sort of wall under the sea, but nobody knows if it is natural or man-made. They want to try to position the boat right on top of it so that the measurements they take are as accurate as possible). As we approach the Wall we slow down, and lower a dinghy into the water to which we attach a sixty metre line. Maiorca climbs into the dinghy with the buoys and I throw the sensor into the sea and reel out the same length of cable. As the boat increases speed the Prof puts the instrument which measures the magnetic field into operation. Both the sensor and the boat move in tandem, and on my signal Maiorca throws the first buoy into the sea. We look at the first recorded anomaly on the ribbon; now the Prof and I know that this recorded anomaly cannot be the Wall, it must be just some piece of iron.
The recorded anomaly is different from that of yesterday and the pen moves rapidly to the right and to the left of the normally continuous line... it is iron, undoubtedly. The Prof turns the boat around and retraces one hundred meters to where the first signal was recorded, following the same path so that we cross the Wall again. We are crossing the Wall, any signal? We go back and try to cross the Wall again from further away... the Prof gestures to Maiorca to drop another buoy... another anomaly, more iron.
The Prof begins to get agitated, he cannot sit still and relax, and he won’t rest until he sorts out this mystery. He cannot make any sense of it; he cannot explain why the instrument is failing to record/signal/identify the Wall, it seems as if the instrument has a will of its own. For more than an hour we continue to criss-cross the area; the Wall is below us, but the instrument won’t identify it. We stop. The Kuk drops anchor and Enzo climbs back on board. Then we check the signals. I listen to what Maiorca has to say, and I am amazed! So is the Prof.
Readers please don't forget that we are in the area of the "Triangle" where they say the strangest things can happen. Well, now something strange has happened to us, and therefore no one can argue against us. Maiorca approaches me and very calmly says “Menconi, listen, you have to explain something; why does the sensor stop flashing at a certain moment during our navigation, explain why this happens because this is what is interesting me”. I look at him in amazement, I stare into his eyes, you must be joking I say….come on, the sensor didn’t flash, did it? Enzo Maiorca is a man without any fixed ideas, a man who looks at what is in front of him and who doesn’t suffer from hallucinations. We both think the other is joking, but he looses his temper, a typical reaction from a Sicilian man like him. I try to calm him down, but he insists that he saw the repeated flashing of the sensor. He thought this was a typical function of the sensor, an aid to help divers identify what they are searching for. We continue arguing about it.
The Prof is as amazed as me... we have never known a bottle sensor that would send flashes of light. There are no bulbs in the sensor; there are some electric wires encased in rubber and that is all. The sensor is shielded by a five millimetre thick amorphous fibre which isn't reflective. There is no point in talking about reflected light, especially as the sky was the colour of lead, there was no sun, just clouds. Maiorca remains absolutely certain that the sensor lit up, shone for a few minutes, and then went out. It is something I had never seen before, and the Prof had never told me about any previous, similar phenomenon. There is nothing else to say about it.
We go over our readings repeatedly. Enzo prepares to go into water, together with his daughter and Gianni. They dive at the point where the first buoy is positioned; they go deep, they check, after a while they return to the surface with a piece of rust encrusted iron in their hand. But there is no sign of the Wall; they are in an area where it does not exist. We are ready to take another measurement. Down they go again, time passes, and then they surface. They have yet another piece of something metallic in their hand, and they say that the Wall must not be very far away from the signal. They recover another metallic object near the third signal, but the Wall is not to be found.
It is a mystery, yesterday the gauge perfectly identified the presence of the Wall, but today the same instrument doesn't show anything. The Prof cannot make head or tail of it. There is no technical explanation, the instrument is in perfect working order, and after all it was able to recognize the presence of the pieces of submerged iron. The instrument works, so why does it refuse to show the presence of the Wall today?
What has changed over the past twenty four hours? If the rocks that form the Wall are artificial are they man made? If they are man made, if that is what we were expected to believe yesterday, why is it that today the instrument refuses to tell us anything? Does a scientific explanation for all this exist? Is there a logical explanation? The Prof is very serious, he is not at ease. And he doesn’t let me rest either. He wants to go deeper into this question and he would like to do some more tests now, but it is getting late, so we postpone everything until tomorrow. Tonight we are invited to dinner at a restaurant which is characteristic of the island.
So Kuk steers towards Bimini, and we put the instruments safely away again in their hiding place. After a while we disembark and go to the hotel to enjoy a beautiful shower.
The Prof is thoughtful, he is troubled, there is something about the story that is not convincing; he has brought the recorded ribbons to the hotel and from one cigarette to another he continues to study them. It will soon be May and he will still be examining them. Finally it is time for dinner and hopefully, God willing, we can put aside this problem. Come on Prof, let’s go.
We can still do some more experiments, come on. We have tomorrow or another day to try again. Persevere. We walk .We keep talking, optimistically, until we arrive near the boat and meet the rest of the party; hi everyone, handshakes and then we leave for the restaurant. What a wonderful spread! We arrange the seating and while talking a waiter takes our orders. I find myself sitting next to Uri Geller who, having learnt about the work I do (I defuse bombs both in and out of the water) seems to be very interested in the subject. I think that his interest is pretty normal, but then I remember that he is an Israeli and since I have worked with the Bocami in Libya, in the Bay of Tobruk, on behalf of the Libyan government, I do not encourage talk on the subject. I wasn’t sure, but I had no intention of becoming mixed up with the Arabs. The Prof changes the subject and shows everyone a brand new teaspoon he bought; the purpose being to challenge Geller’s ability. After picking it up and carefully weighing it in his hand, Geller refuses the Prof’s challenge. But the request is not in vein because during dinner, I witness a phenomenal show! After persistent requests from Livio Biagini, Uri accepts a teaspoon... he holds the narrowest part with two fingers and starts to rub it. In an instant half of the spoon falls onto the table. Fantastic. But what is even more inconceivable, and I would never have believed it had I not been there, sitting at the table, assisting the event, the two pieces of the teaspoon when put together again didn't fit. Unbelievable. By rubbing the teaspoon Uri not only succeeded in snapping it in two, but also in pulverizing it into thin air. A piece of the teaspoon is missing; nobody can understand where it might have gone. We are totally amazed; this man is really in possession of a diabolic power.
We eat. The Prof and some others have chosen turtle, the meat seems to be swimming in a brown watery soup and I believe, looking at some of their faces, that there isn’t much difference between my chicken (I have a good imagination!) which is drowned in a such a hot spicy sauce that leaves the mouth completely dried up, and their pieces of swimming turtle. But some are enjoying the meal very much, they have large portions and they eagerly wallop it down, followed by enormous glasses of iced coke! Oh, the sublime culinary art of these Americans, the edges of the dishes are stained with fat, onto which they place buttered croutons with jam, good God, what delights! Give me a beautiful fresh fruit juice to wash down the turtle. Cheers.
On my extreme right all I hear is the scrapping of cutlery on plates so I deduce from it that the whole gang is lapping it up, yes everybody is eating and nobody is speaking. I want to say that since I am at the far end of the table, I am not able to see everyone’s reactions, I can only imagine them. My grandfather said that in the entire world what is really important is to be satisfied with what you have. He was a tall, big man, who weighed more than one hundred and twenty kilos when dead; how was it possible for my poor grandmother, who was such a tiny woman; I asked myself this many times as I grew up. Ah, the mysteries of life. Finally the meal ends, and we all go our separate ways. On the road back to the hotel, me, the Prof, Enzo, Mrs. Maria and the two Maiorca girls, see a sign saying "Ancorage", it is a typical English pub with a small band. In fact from the outside we hear a loud noise; however, the singer has a decent voice and is accompanied by a guitar. Since we are all are very thirsty, and because we have to try to digest the terrible swill we have just had, we decide to go in. Having already spent a lot, a little more won’t make much difference, after all, the firm is paying.
Inside, it is beautiful, furnished in the simple taste of the islanders but with American cents. We make ourselves comfortable. Immediately a peppery young native girl, with all her curves in the right places, takes our order. As we glance around we see that the bar is full of blonde, decent looking rich Americans, some are dancing, others just look at us and roll their eyes, and they wink knowingly. Not sure about the wink, I look over my shoulder. The Prof and Maiorca get up to have a dance with Patrizia, I keep Mrs. Maria and Rosanna company. Meanwhile the Bacardi arrives. There are some glass showcases full of sketches and photos of big sail fish; and photos of a man with the beard, Hemingway. Then I remember that he came to Bimini and lived here for many years, this is where he wrote several novels. In fact, above a door there is a nameplate that says that Hemingway lived above this café from 1933 to 1939 and it is here that he wrote the novel "Islands in the tide". He also drank hectolitres of Bacardi.
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