The Underworld

Your humble narrator remember…

I’ve heard that “Curiosity killed the cat.” I’m not sure how accurate that saying is. It seems to me that coyotes are much harder on cats than curiosity ever was. But I know that curiosity has caused me some trouble over the years.

Back in the early nineteen-eighties, when I was still in school, I went on a Marine Biology class field trip. We were working on top of some limestone cliffs that overlooked the ocean. It was a windy day, bright and sunny.

I finished my work early and wandered away from the group to do some exploring. I found a way to descend the cliffs and get closer to the ocean. There was no beach at the foot of the cliffs – just the waves breaking against a limestone ledge. The cliffs were full of caves.

Well, I thought, that looks interesting. I picked one of the larger caves and went into it.

The inside of the cave was dry, and about the size of a large bedroom. The floor of the cave was mostly level, and there was not much rubble or debris. There were structures in the cave, though – irregularities, outcroppings and small fins formed by the cave’s limestone.

I explored the interior of the cave, looking for some signs of life – expecting insects, or bats, or birds – but I found nothing.

I did find a hole at the back of the cave, though. The opening was perhaps four feet in diameter, and seemed very intriguing. I had a flashlight with me and shone it into the hole. The hole was the entrance to a tunnel, which looked like it went back for a surprising distance. Hmm. I wonder what’s in there, I thought. I had read about the discoveries of cave paintings in Europe, and I recalled some of the accounts mentioned crawling through tunnels just like this. I didn’t expect to find cave paintings in here, but what if…

I got on my hands and knees and entered the tunnel. I had my flashlight out in front of me and pushed my day-pack ahead of me as I crawled forward. As I proceeded, the tunnel got smaller and smaller, until I had to crawl on my belly. I went forward until the tunnel gradually became small enough that my shoulders wouldn’t fit.

I stopped to consider what I was doing. On the face of it, this was starting to seem like a bad idea.

On the other hand, it was going well so far. I could creep my way backwards if I had to. And I could tell that the tunnel kept going. So pushed one of my arms forward, ahead of my body, and the other backwards, along my body and towards my waist. This changed the angle of my shoulders such that I could inch my way forward on my belly.

I kept going forward for a few minutes. The tunnel took a sharp downturn. I thought, this might be as far as I can go. But maybe not. Let me try.

I wriggled into the downturn, then the tunnel took an abrupt upturn. It was like the P-Trap in the drain-pipe of a sink. I was able turn my body enough to shine the light and look up the vertical part of the P-Trap. And I could see that the tunnel opened up. There was space, lots of space, just past the P-Trap.

I continued forward, gradually twisting my body so that my spine could flex in the direction that it needed to be in to get past the vertical part of the P-Trap. My leading arm entered the room ahead of me, and I was able to pull myself into the room with my leading arm. First with my hand, then my elbow, then my shoulder. Wriggling upwards like a cicada emerging from the earth. And then I was out of the tunnel and into the room.

I shone the light around the room. There really wasn’t much to see. The room was quite large, perhaps ten feet by ten feet. The ceiling was about six feet high, so I couldn’t stand up straight. The floor of the room was limestone, with no debris. The most interesting feature in the room was a tree root that came down through the rock and into the room.

I wondered if there is any light in here, any cracks to the outside. I turned out the flashlight and sat for a minute or two. There was no light. It was profoundly dark. As dark as Nothing.

It was also intensely quiet. I tried my voice – “Hello”, I said. The sound died as soon as it left my lips, no reverberation or resonance at all. I wondered if this room had ever heard a voice before. I thought that it had not.

I turned the flashlight back on. Its light, which had seemed so flickering and pale yellow before, seemed very bright now.

Well, that was fun, I thought. Shame I didn’t find anything in here, but still. How interesting. I’d better be getting back. I went back to the tunnel entrance. I had the flashlight and my day-pack ahead of me and tried to enter the tunnel.

I didn’t fit. Not even almost. I had a flash of panic. Getting out of here was not going to be as easy as getting in.

I tried again, this time putting one arm ahead of me as I had on the way into the room. That changed the angle of my shoulders enough that I could enter the vertical-down section of the tunnel, but my spine would not flex sufficiently to get around the bend as the tunnel rose again. I squirmed backwards out of the tunnel and into the room, breathing heavily.

I’m not going to be able to get out. I’m stuck here. This room is where I’m going to stay. I thought again of the P-Trap of a sink. My spine won’t bend at that angle.

I thought, I wonder if this is what The Subterranean Homesick Blues are. I’d like to say that I smiled at the thought, but I do not believe that I did.

I could feel myself start to panic, an urge to scream and run. I thought, if you’re going to panic and run, please take me with you when you go. Don’t leave me here when you go.

Maybe I could call for help. Maybe somebody would hear me. I didn’t think so, though. For one thing, nobody knew where I had gone. When they noticed that I as gone, they’d probably think that I had fallen down the cliffs and into the ocean. They probably wouldn’t expect that I’d gone down the cliffs, and certainly not into a cave.

Also, I wasn’t just in a cave. I’d gone back in a tunnel. The tunnel would attenuate the sound of my shouts. There was also the sound of ocean waves crashing on the rock outside the tunnel entrance. That noise would drown out the sound of any shout that did make it down the tunnel and to the mouth of the cave.

I didn’t think that they were going to find me. And even if they did, how were they going to get to me? If I wanted to get out of here, I was going to have to do it myself.

I thought about the tunnel some more. When I came into the room, I’d had to pull myself in. So of course it was tight. I had also turned over onto my back as I came in. So maybe, if I went to the tunnel again, but this time entered the tunnel upside down, on my back, that would work. I’d be able to get myself around the steep turn of the P-Trap.

But what about the other turn, after the U-shaped bend, would I be able to do that? What if I ran into the same flexibility problem negotiating that turn? Then I’d be truly stuck. I told myself that would not happen, since it hadn’t happened on the way in. But saying it and believing it were different things.

I took off my shirt, put it into my day-pack. Maybe that will make a difference. I rolled over onto my back, stretched my arm above my head, and entered the tunnel, pushing the flashlight and my day-pack ahead of me. Down the vertical portion, to the sharp bend. This time I was able to work my way around the tunnel bend.

The rock of the tunnel was in my face. I wriggled forward a fraction of an inch at a time until I was at the last bend of the P-Trap. My back was able to bend enough that I was able to get around the bend. Well, I’m glad that worked out, I though. Now it’s just a straight shot out.

Except it wasn’t. I was quite firmly stuck in the tunnel. Lying on my back, one arm stretched ahead me. One arm down along my body, held tight by the ceiling. I couldn’t move forward at all. I thought that I might be able to move backwards, towards the room. But I wasn’t sure that I could negotiate the P-Trap as I wriggled backwards. And what then, if I made it back to the room? I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make myself try again. So would I just wait in the room? For what?

I tried to calm myself, to slow my breathing. I could feel myself starting to panic. Stop it, I thought. If you get into a spot where you can’t catch your breath, or you manage to force yourself into a position where the cave walls won’t let your chest expand, then you’re done. So stay calm.

How was it that I was able to negotiate this tunnel on the way in with no problem? Has the the tunnel changed, gotten smaller?

Is the cave trying to keep me here? Maybe the cave doesn’t want me to leave. Maybe caves are lonely. Maybe they call out for life. And then embrace it when they can. Oh, don’t ever leave me. Ever.

Okay, I thought to the panicked part of myself. Maybe you’re right and the cave is hugging you. I supposed that’s possible. But let’s not think about that right now, since there is not much we can do about it if it is true. Can you think of another reason why it’s more difficult on the way out than it was on the way in?

Well, there was the directionality of the texturing in the limestone. On the way in, the ridges and bumps of the fossilized coral in the limestone were pointing inwards, towards the room. On the way out, I was pushing against the edges of the ridges.

The ridges in the limestone were like the hairs in a Pitcher Plant, pointing towards the trap of the plant’s leaf, making it easy for insects to enter, but harder for them to exit. Like the papillae at the back of a Cormorant’s throat, making it easy for the fish to slide in, but hard for it to slide out. I was a fish in the throat of a stone Cormorant.

I thought, well, that’s one thing that’s different. There’s not much you can do about that, though, is there? Another difference is that you are on your back. Maybe the tunnel isn’t round in cross-section. Maybe it’s an oval shape, and you’re wedged into the narrow part of the oval. Can you rotate yourself, roll over onto your side, maybe?

No. I couldn’t rotate myself. Okay…back up an inch or so. Exhale all the way. Elongate, attenuate my body as much as I can. Relax. Now try again to rotate.

This time I was able to rotate myself so that I was off of my back, and almost on my side. I did it again, rotating a little more.

Then tried to go forward. It worked. I was able to scootch myself forward a few inches, past the point where I was stuck. I kept repeating this process, wriggling forward until I got stuck, then rolling my body one way or the other. Seemingly forever.

Then, suddenly, I was free. I was able to crawl forward on my stomach without getting stuck. Then crawl on my hands and knees. Until I made it out of the tunnel and into the cave.

Once I was out of the tunnel, the initial chamber of the cave felt enormous to me. I couldn’t stand up yet, though, my legs were too shakey. So I crawled over to the cave mouth. I felt weak and wobbly without the support of the tunnel walls.

I squinted out at the world, so impossibly bright and noisy. So noisy that I couldn’t even hear myself breath. I sat in the cave mouth for a couple of minutes until my eyes adjusted to the light and I could stand. I walked out of the cave and into the sunlight.

The world seemed unbelievably big. Bright and colorful. The wind on my skin felt good. I had a few scrapes and cuts, but my shirt covered most of them.

I got back to the rest of the class just as they were assembling to get on the bus. They hadn’t yet noticed that I was missing. I didn’t tell anybody what had happened. Partly, I was too embarrassed that I had gotten myself into that much trouble.

I also still could not believe that the cave had let me go. I wondered if maybe I was actually still in the cave, that I was imagining being out there in the sunshine. Like the short story “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”, living in a dream-not-dream. It took a while to lose that feeling.

I’ve only told a handful of people about this incident. Writing of it seems strange to me, as if I’m writing of secrets.

What if this experience, the telling of it, the knowledge of it, has been stuck inside me all these years, in the same manner that I was stuck inside the cave?

What if, with telling this story, I’ve let the experience out in the same manner that the cave chose to let me go? Maybe the experience is even now sitting out in the sun, marveling at the light and the sounds until its legs stop shaking. Maybe it’s considering letting out the simulacrum of myself that it contains.