Our Wives Under the Sea

After some subtler hints, the Centre comes under justified suspicion in Part 4. In Leah’s narrative, she and her crewmates become skeptical of the Centre’s actual motives; their supplies are too well stocked for a three-week mission, for example. Leah remembers one of the guides from the Centre taking them through the submarine before the mission: “Deceptive, this space, the woman from the Centre had told us” (136). The implication is that the Centre itself is engaging in deception. Matteo believes they are the subjects of an experiment. In Miri’s narrative, her frustration at the elusiveness of the Centre turns into despondency when the phones are finally disconnected and the website taken down. She has nowhere to turn for an explanation of or assistance with Leah’s condition. All these factors play into The Mysterious Centre as a complex symbol of the powerful forces that pull people toward their deepest truths—whether for better or worse.

As Leah continues to drift away, her mind and body deteriorating, the stillness and quiet of this period of time continue to portray Liminality as Integral to Change. Miri is at a loss as to what to do. She realizes that she can no longer trust Leah to make decisions or care for herself: “I know she is only talking [about her condition] because I am making her talk” (139). This observation reverberates deeply with Miri in a nightmarish repetition of what happened to her mother, who lost her faculties before her death. Miri’s anxiety crescendos into panic, then settles into practicality: “I feel, at once, a sense of cavernous terror at being left alone and then set it aside. I reach for the plastic vase on the windowsill and ask if she wants me to wash her hair” (140). As a caretaker, Miri struggles to direct her anxious energy and fears into exercising tenderness and care. Miri cannot heal Leah; she can only care for her as long as she can.

Instead, Miri spends her time reminiscing about her time with Leah, working further toward grasping The Value of Relationships Ending despite the pain of this transition. She recalls their marriage, the affirmation that it brings, and a moment after the ceremony: “Leah suggested we find something to eat and walked us over the road to a place that sold burgers, her hand in my hand like something obvious, something grown from the fabric of my own body and pressing out” (143). This image of profound connection, dwelling in Miri’s memories, is in stark contrast to Leah’s recollections of her time submerged. Leah has trouble “dredg[ing] the name [Miri] from the bottom of my mind” (146). While Miri remains mired in memories, Leah is already feeling the inertia of her transformation and sensing, in turn, Transformation’s Role in Achieving Autonomy. Leah is moving on, albeit clinging to Miri’s name even as her very physical being manifests her internal change.

There is more haunting in these chapters, as well. Jelka is haunted by the voices that only she can hear, voices that she interprets as demonic. Her prayers are not enough to keep those voices at bay: “A ghost that speaks is just a demon, trying to tempt you into making a mistake” (152). Jelka’s death suggests the self-destructive fate of those who are unable to cope with ghosts, such as those that arise from concluded relationships. Jelka’s reaction, again, is in stark contrast to Leah’s memories of her own haunting after her father’s death: “There was no sense of haunting, to be honest,” she thinks, “only ongoingness, until one day he ceased to appear and I really felt fine about that, too” (153). This memory reveals a great deal about Leah’s ability to handle the unknown, to relinquish her grasp on others—unlike Miri.

Ironically, Leah understands, at least in a surreal way, what is happening to her. It is something at once literal and metaphorical: “‘Did you know,’ [Leah] says at one point—the dreaming lecture-voice that tells me she has, for the moment, forgotten me—‘did you know that we all carry the ocean in our bodies, just a little bit?’” (154). This literal fact hints further at the metaphors at work in this novel: though Leah is undergoing the most dramatic transformation, she is not alone in her capacity to transform. Transformation is a natural part of life, however monstrous it may seem sometimes. Leah’s fact also becomes a literal description, as the horror of her transformation becomes manifest. When Miri attempts “to heave [Leah] out of the bath [...] she is leaking water from the beds of her eyes, from the insides of her ears, from the side of her mouth” (155). Later, Leah loses an eye to a waterfall of ocean. The dreams that Leah once experienced in the deep begin to take on a more horrific, more permanent reality: “I dreamed that it was the ocean after all, that I was in the ocean, but not the ocean as I knew it. I dreamed that it was a different part, something older and deeper, and I dreamed that there were things there with me, in the dark” (164).